Just notice I'm glowing. Just watch and keep growing

Pen wobbles on paper, Hypnotiq, I'm chaser
I spit the escape for prisoners of paper
-Lyfe & Nas, "Must Be Nice (Remix)"

With meteoric success comes meteoric risk. One of the aspects of the stock market that always irked me was how the 'analysts' make their own predictions and companies are benchmarked against those estimates. Take Google for instance, who has seen its brand become a verb. They missed the Wall Street profit target for earnings per share, and thus saw their market valuation (share price * shares outstanding) drop by $15.3 billion. Yes, b!tches...billions. In the few months that is became a pubic company, it has embodied all of the extremeties of the investing. I need to holla at Fidelity.

Wireless 6" Condolences

At a Subway in Hyde Park. They have free wireless for anyone who wants to bring their laptop in and have a working lunch or breakfast or snack. It works. Very seamless. I wonder how often it gets used though.

Anyways, i understand Mrs Coretta Scott King has left us in the physical. An unfortunate departure just when the youth connection to the civil rights era is so ripe. May she rest in peace.

So I'm determined, like AJ after Free

Aparently the little person's sponge-like qualities are becoming evident. Caught wind that he insisted on watching the UMass vs LaSalle game on Sunday. And was cheering evertime a basket was scored. Funny. And yes, it is my fault because I'll be daned if we werent goin fuqing fool at last Saturday's game. Let's see how involved he gets with Monday's game. Disclaimer: I've been known to get into games a bit much during my tenure in this city. The non calm POPS comes out. Not pretty. Kinda like when some fire joints come through the speakers (like this). Elbows being thrown should be the least of your worries.

I rip your hottest MC like eenie mynie moe
Fuq dough I do it for fun, "Juice" like Bishop
"American Pie" n!gga, hit your momma like Stiffler
-Sheek Louch & Redman, "Get Up Stand Up"

The failed Challenger sace shuttle mission happened 20 years ago. And this artice really tugs at the heart. To think, the students who were seniors that year are now the same age as their former teacher. This is one of the take-a-chill-pill moments where you take a step back, look up, and say, "good looking out, yo." I think back to that time and can recall being in the first grade at Burns. I can remember vaguely the clasroom dynamics and faintly where we were in the building. Mostother thinsg are still a blur. I do remember Ron McNair held a special place for me at the time as a motivating factor. I didn't necessarily want to be an astronaut, but yet sometign intriued me about him. Plus, he was from SC, so to know he came up from where I was made it more meaningful. Oh well. Rest in peace to the whole crew. Shout out to those whose passions persevered though strife.

Talk a little. Say a lot.

Stoned may at times be the way of the walk
But senseless is often the code of the streets
Perverse thoughts toughen the hidden senses

I find myself up nights in a daze sans the purple haze
Amazed at how much more coherent these words become
Once imprinted on formerly blank pages

A never-ending soul-searcher trying to find my way
Lost in the abyss of sunkissed disses
I dismissed charges of insincere candor
With the air of an unaffected shrug
Not necessarily meant to be smug
Sometimes n!ggas need unprovoked hugs

-muthafuqin me

Living to Eat vs Eating to Live

Simple in form, yet complex in reality. Sometimes shT is more difficut than it needs to be, whereas other times it ain't that serious. Yet, passion, drive, desire, motivation, and guts don't just magically appear. You've got to be pushed, shoved, nudged, inspired, motivated, or rejected, lauged at, stifled, held back, hindered, or deflated. There has to be some impetus for the direction in which pople travel. Some like the comfort of safety and stablity and the warmth of the known. Others opt for the road less traveled, the spooky shT in dem back woods, the other side of the tracks. I constantly come in contact with people I either grew up with, went to high school with, or just used to know at some point in my life pior to now. And it is a wondrous thing to see the path that some take to get where they are or need to be headed. Some push the envelope and chart their own course as the cliche goes. Others say fuq it and do their thing. So I'm gonna stick to my guns and rep for what I need to be reppin.

Still no text for the essays though. Oh well. Fuq it. Next.

The past seven days have seen me go to sleep much later than usual, thus leaving much more dazed during the day than usual as well. On some straight dopefiend shT with my eyes flickering at the night sky, taking pictures of the Charles River as the morning sky awakes to a new day. Maybe I should take a trip to Asia or something. So I can really get into my element and enjoy a daytime that matches my nightime. Now there's a novel idea. (thinking) But then again, the flight will probably wear my a$$ out. Hell, I should get another job on the side. Maybe I can revert back to the super hustle days of '99 when I used to do the graveyeard shift at the telly at head to class afterwards. (thinking) On second thought, maybe I should call up the connects and cop a spliff. (thinking) Hmmm, not to bad. Might have to work that out. Some L in my system might help me relax a bit and go back to being cool, calm, collected. Some shT is just not going the way I would have hoped they would. For one, after all the issue with the whip, why did yet another hedache pop up tonight. And to think AAA wouldn't be able to top the consecutive migranes they inflicted in December. BUZZZZ!! Wrong like a mutha. But hey, I'm alive and well, I woke up this...yesterday morning, and I stil have all of my teeth. The kiddo is healthy without any debilitating disorders and work keeps me very busy. So who am I to complain. There's people starving to death, getting shot at, and living without dreams.

Speech is my hammer, bang the world into shape

Another whirlwind work week has drawn to a close. Got the truck back, got the room looking like its habitable, and got some free to time relax and check off some to-do list items this weekend.

My restlessness is my nemesis
It's hard to really chill and sit still

No real stresses (sike), no real worries (yeah right), no real beef (oh word), and no telltale signs that I'm even headed n the right direction. But hey. life is just that, right? A whim. An invariable snare kick to which I can go at my own pace in search of happiness and nappiness.

Stay fluid even in staccato
-Mos Def, "Hip Hop"

So maybe I'll find some ie to truly focus on this fuqing essay and bang it out like it should be done. I want to chalk it up to my normal bouts of procrastination, but I am obviously yping this shT instead of writing it, right? Ummm word. But on a good note, slow bus sis is really getting into a groove. Shorty's been breaking double-digits th last two games, including a serious a$$ kicking display in OT last night in Wellesley. So tomorrow's game should be pretty fun. Hopefully, it won't be the highlight of my weekend, but oh what the hell. She got a free whip right now, so fuq it, right?

My life is a blunt to the head, a prayer for the dead

I need the bills that the presidents got they face on
-Style P, "My Life"

Like that old-school Magic 8-Ball, there's always more than a few sides to the story. Hip-Hop is beautiful. Life is beautiful. Hip-Hop is my life. My life is aiight looking. Oh word, you say? Word, life.

I made a couple ends, lost a couple friends
I light a blunt cuz never will the struggle end

So Master P keeps getting voted to stay on that dancing show despite his lack of interest and talent for the craft. Hell, I may even start voting. To think people are geting upset over his popularity is funny to me. It is called Dancing with the Stars for a reason, right? Fuq a critic. For all the lame shT he has done, I actually like how he came off when defending himself. I can get with that.

"I wanna show kids, 'Do something else wit your life, you don't gotta [succumb to the streets]. I've never danced before. I grew up in the ghetto. I just want to show kids they can try something new. Most kids in these communities live until they're 18 or 19. If I made it out, they can make it out. I want to show them some change."

Now, I cannot get with this. Cassidy was found guilty of invluntary manslaugher. You've got to be fuqing kidding me. Of all the umb sht in the hod today, you gonan just up and follow-through on the most ignant shT ever to prove you bust yo gat?! Ain't enough tolet paper in the crib for me to shT on him enough right now. I may need some in the morning.

But for some real misfortune, your boy J-Hood (D-Block) had his whole crib burn down the other night in YO. Momma Hood started the fire by leaving some 'stuff' on the stove unattended. Tragic, sad, but odd indeed. Yet, even more tragic is the fire in Coney Island that claimed the lives of two young sisters and their teenage uncle. The mother/sister that they all lived with has to be going through some serious shT right now and I cannot fathom the depth of her sadness. I am blessed to say I ain't never had it that bad and don't hoe too. Sometimes, we see the bad in our lives and don't realize the deeper suffering that exists right around the corner. Makes you rethink moping over shT, huh?

They said death is eternal sleep
but the only thing is you ain't really sure if you prepared for the bed
So often we get merked in the head, instead of big money
They got big momma hurtin instead

And lastly, Mobb Deep were on the air with with Angie Mar not long ago and fielded this one caller who pretty summed up everything. "It's like you sold your soul." They were a bit miffed by the thought of true MOBB fans not feeling them simply because they are now down with G-Unit, but hey, some people relly do take their music that seriously. Same goes for Nas and his recent signing to Def Jam. It's all just a bit too back-pedal-looking for me. But I do like Jay's assessment of Cam's intent.

I play the part, and my heart seem colder than March
But on the flipside of things, it's still warmer than June
I have talks with the Lord and he'll be callin me soon

Note to self: I need to hit up the Lizard Lounge in February. Definitely a must-do.

There's no hocus-pocus, in the end, it's just us

Pure at heart because I deal with the mind
That's why I compose these verses
Audible worlds, my thoughts are now universes
Written on these pages is the ageless
wisdom of the sages, ignorance is contagious
So I hope you keep your focus
-Jeru the Damaja, "Ain't The Devil Happy"

Trying to be on some smart shT. My homegirl dizzy finished of her app and now awaits word, while I sill languish in a state of hesitation and worry. Fuq it. I'mma just gone ahead and put down all the disparate thoughts and ideas and then craft some semblance of an essay from the revisions to the topics. Hopefully, it will work...becuase it's approaching seven more days before I give all this shT up, refocus, and move on.

In general, a brief personal statement should describe your background, interests, and reasons for wanting
to enroll in the graduate program. You may include any other information that you feel might be useful.

Last time I did this shT, I got dissed on the strength - well actually, weakness - of the personal statement. It wasn't researchy enough. I've found that trying to get on a track and not write the same shT is a bit of challenge. Writer's block is a mutha. Awww fuq it.

To study the institutional barriers to orgnization change within urban school districts that limits student involvement in technology reform.

To study the contibuting factors that influence the low matriculatioon of urban teenagers into STEM majors and career paths.

To study how to make teaching and learning more engaging fo high school students by employing alternative, hands-on, project-based work that connectsw ith real-life experiences.

To study the impact of joint technology and entrpreneurship education on increased IT fluency of urban students through collaborative, grass-roots problem solving.

To study how student voice can drastically enhance the collaborative nature of urban school districts.

To study the impact of grassroots technology activism on social change movements in the hip-hop community.

To study the effect of policy change to address the impactof institutional barriers in urban education to a culture of student empowerment and engagement.

Itty Bitty Titty Committee

your shT's inebriated
Phased from your original plan, you deviated
I alleviated the pain, with a long-term goal
Took my underground loot, without the gold
You sold platinum round the world, I sold wood in the hood
But when I'm in the street, then shT, it's all good
-Pharoahe Monch, "Simon Says" *

an impending stream of random shT. mostly unrelated and irrelevant. Apparently, a whole lot of folks will get their wishes made when the UPN and Wb networks shut down in the coming months. It seems that a new network, the CW - a joint venture between CBS and Tim Warner, wil pul fom both network's top programming for a combined offering of entertainment. For all the complaining folks ahev done in lambasting the networks, I do hope tha it still continues tobe an outlet for Black folks to see Black folks on TV. I know it's all pervasive nowadays, but really though. Some shT is gonna egt cut that will have heads in tears.

Donald Trump is suing some dude that wrote a book, TrumpNation, in which he claimed that Trump was not a billionaire and overstate his wealth. The amount? $5 billion dollars. Yes, B is for Bilion, B!tches. So who exactly loses out here? The mthafuqa will remain rich and the author now has all this free press. Even if he loses, I doubt any court will award Trump the full amount. Plus, this shT will be a bestseller by Saturday. Sometimes, get-rich-quick schemes have the best disguises.

Your boy, Mister Ego, will be on the cover of the next issue of Rolling Stone looking like Jesus. And there's another shot of him posing like Muhammad Ali. First, Cam compares himself to Martin & Malcolm and now this. I'll leave it alone.

Bow Wow never really got any attention paid to him. But to call Will Smith a bubble gum rapper is like saying Jay-Z is the best rapper ever...because he's better than Bubba Sparxx. So basically, the Fresh Prince did some grown man shT and said he wasn't going to respnd to a child. If that ain't some classic shT, I don't know what is. It just puts all the other beef bullshT in a broader perspective.

*It actually goes, "New York city gritty committee pity the fool that act shTty in the midst of the calm, the witty." But I like my version better. I'm partial to headlights, I guess. Ok maybe half-n-half.

I don't care about your rims, kids ride Big Wheels

Up until they learn balance and it's obvious you haven't
With way more ego than you have true talent
-Murs

There's an article on a wonderful initiative that I think epitomizes the potential of technology and community empowerment. It combines economic development, youth development, technology immersion, community building, and IT fluency into a neat, compact program with benefits far more tangible than most others of its kind.

Then, on the other hand, you have additional dis tracks by the DipSet that have Hell Rell and juelz sounding like they rode the short bus to school. And I'm talking about the one that picked them up at 6:30 in the morning when you were just waking up. Some people render themselves irrelevant the second they open their mouths. If only n!ggas would realize the potential to affect change. But yet, more cats know the weak-a$$ cast of wack-a$$ rappers than they know of the Justus League, Aaron McGruder and other social satirists, and the like. Hell, I admittedly ain't even that well-versed in the state of black affairs, but dammit, I am somebody. Jesse was good for something. Don't get it twisted. I guess I'm just miffed because I try to enjoy somethings and then get sidetracked, plus I haven't been able to get in touch with my newest mentee. So I can't tell if he's ducking me out or just needs me to straight show up at his school like yo whattup to get his attention.

I went to the lecture by the angry balck white guy and he had some decent comments and anecdotes to share. I kinda missed a lot of the meaty topics because of a certain short dude but I won't elaborate. I did want to hit him with his thoughts on Little Brother's comments regarding their latest album and its title though. He came off as both genuine and insincere in one breath. Maybe I just didn't hear enough, but I'm not completely sold. Peep the last two verses of Murs' And This Is For, and you'll get the gist of what I'm saying. Son touched upon the topics and had some good insight and research bringing up Duke Ellington, Little Richard, & Chuck Berry. So I may have to borrow a book from someone who bought one last night and add it to my to-read list.

The woobie is mine for keepsies

Rap is something you do, hip hop is something you live.
The difference is kids nowadays, they got the videos.
Rappers don't need skills to build so they don't really know.
Hear me yo, I'm four times on Arsenio,
got ten videos, but does that help me flow? No.
That's why when I come to the show MC's act like they don't know
cause they were too young to rock up in the disco
Frisco disco the disc is like a Nabisco
chocolate chip cookie, don't fuq with me rookie.
-KRS One, Hip Hop vs Rap

Can't you tell how ecstatic I am that I get my DISCO back today! The woobie is mine for keepsies. Plus, I get to hear that extra little thump in the trunk as I prowl the streets behind my dark windows. Oh I love it. The woobie is mine for keepsies. Elmo is my mans N dem. Hopefully, the shT won't break down within a week. I'll take it easy so all the new parts can find their way, but once that week is over, it's on! Now, I wonder where can I find me some ear plugs?

And now I'd like to talk about Soul Plane

A week late, but just as important viewing for all. And to think, Ray Nagin went off that following Monday.

Innocence devoured like a chicken spot snack box

people coming home after corporate share croppin
And fuq flossin, mothers are trying to feed children
But gentrification is kicking them out of their building
A generation of babies born without health care
Families homeless, thrown the fuq off of the welfare
-Immortal Technique, "Harlem Streets"

Oddly enough, this photo gallery is an article in itself and I am not feeling the story that it is telling. But aside from that, the midget and I hung today but the day seem to get longer as it drew to a close. The basketball game was dumb exciting; which means it was very exciting for any slang-challenged people out there.

Sis ended up having to start at the point and did an admirable job. It was her first home game ever in the new gym and the first time a majority of her school had seen her play since her sophomore year during that fatefaul Feb game when she got hurt just before the playoffs. Anyways, her tentativeness was still visible, but she did her thing, hitting two big jumpers early on. But those would be her only baskets for the game (6 points, 4 assists). The game went down to the wire, with the crowd going bananas on a driving layup by one of the Lady Saints with less than 10 seconds left.

As for the banquet, I'd rather let it slip into the recesses of my afterthoughts. It was an obvious success, yet i...ahem...we did not get to see and enjoy much of it. Someone decided the lighting was not his cup of tea and proceeded to let everyone in the building know what was poppin. Headache city. Plus, he kept begging to go the bathroom and would not do anything when we were in there, yet each time we get there, his joint is soaking wet and needed to be changed. The clincher? How about money passed out on some straight coma shT a mere 5 minutes before it all ended. So none of our pictures really came out too well because the ill gasface he kept rocking all night was not a good look. Oh well. I got a nice little recognition award to make up for the vast ounces of drool & snot that found their way onto my shoulders, wrists, and suit jacket. I still love the little fuqer I guess. But if he jumps on my neck to try and wake me up in a few hours, there will be a problem.

RIP: Norman Conklin

As the instrumental to Dr. Dre's The Message plays in the background, please take a moment to read about one of Boston's unsung heroes; Mr. Norman Conklin. I had the good fortune of meeting him in the last few months and I am proud to have made his acquantinance in the brief time we shared. It's unfortunate the frequency with which living legends fall beneath the radar.

Until lions have their own historians, the hunter will always be glorified

I had the fortune of attending a very interesting retreat yesterday. It was a day-long session for Boston educators (administrators) to focus on closing the Achievemet Gap. The main attraction was a woman named Dr. Mary Bacon. Her words were powerful, her message clear, and her jokes hilarious. Actually, some of her jokes were a little funnier than the reaction would have you believe because they either cut closer to home for me or just made more sense to me I guess.

"Until you can learn to see the [school] building from their eyes, you are not going to be able to make the changes you're talking about."

But anyways, aside from the fact that I had to wake up at 6:30 in the muthafuqing morning to scoop up a co-worker and drive out to Waltham (the burbs) in the mornig traffic, the event was well worth it. They stuffed our bellies with grub and the only lowlight was the other presenter, whose energy and engaging factor paled in comparisn to Dr. Bacon. Hence, several people fought with all of their might to avoid dozing off. I got tapped only once. But it was plainly obvious that she was boring the shT out of many. But everything else is a blur. I fell asleep so early last night that I don't remember if I even listened to 88.9 at all.

Dr. Bacon's topics covered a wide range of issues urban districts face, including poverty, language, and cultural barriers that either inhibit student success or limit educators' ability to effectively deal with students. It definitely was an eye-opener on many fronts as her from a different perspective forced us to reassess how we rationalize and analyze ordinarily standard and cookie-cutter assessments of student achievement and opportunity. The illest part was when she said comething like why would we charaterize students as 30% non-English-speaking, as opposed to 30% most likely to be bilingual. Yes, that simple and that powerful. Had me thinking for hours, until I passed out of course.

If you can show me how I can cling to that which is real to me, while teaching me a way into the larger society,

Then, and only then, will I drop my defenses and my hostility and I will sing your praises and help you to make the desert bear fruit.
-Ralph Ellison

So word, today is a new day to be taken in stride with each passing minute to make the most of it and go for what I know. I'm gonna try and catch sis' game and then get the midget and I all dressed up for a banquet tonight. Hopefully, it will be a good time. But I do think I'll quoting Dr. Bacon for many future posts. Some things are beyond our control and others aren not. It's time for the game face and the focus to come back so bizness can get handled.

Feel the blast from the silencer

I fear for the eighty-five that don't got a clue
How could he know what the fuq he never knew?
-Ol' Dirty Bastard f/ Method Man, Raekwon, "Raw Hide"

We all know the worldly quote from Nelson Mandela's inauguration that starts with, "our greatest fear," which was originally penned by Marianne Williamson. So before I get into parts 2 and 3 of the WWYDIYWA series, I figured I need to assess the situation first, nahmean?

I fear...

losing my way
losing my job
losing my love of hip-hop
losing hip-hop
not wining
losing

instability
unhappiness
not giving a fuq
not fulfilling my dreams
no longer being able to dream

having to move back home
not being able to relate
not having enough in my emergency fund
missing all my jump shots
getting shot in the face

sinking in the ocean of consulting
not getting into a doctoral program
not realzing that a doctorate is not for me until too late
seeing sis get hurt again
not finding that right love
losing love
talking too much about mushy shT like love that I become mister r&b

having regrets
letting my current kids down
getting rejected
getting accepted with lukewarm receptions
the midget feeling for me how I feel for Big Red
not seeing the midget become a kid, teen, graduate, employee, adult, owner, parent, grandparent
dying having left no mark other than incurred debt and these words
...that I've omitted something

Eyes are crevices, life like a double negative

Philly crimin-al, I rhyme my, dirt Tariq already did
-The Roots, "Step Into The Realm"

We see things in varying shades of whatever tint we're most willing to let our light shine through. For some, that color is green. For some, it is red. For me, that color is Black. Black like the night sky that love to gaze at and feel secure in its aura as I randomly go out and about between midnight and dusk. Black like the skin I'm in, pigmented with poise and passion and pride. Black like the vinyl that symbolizes my collective life's experiences.

I grew my record collection today. Step by step; crate by crate. It's time will come. And when it does. These wack b!tches betta beware.

On Tuesday, I did some networking and realized how un-smart i am. In a room full of brainiacs and social change leaders, it actually was also a quasi-feel-good moment knowing I wasn't the most techie cat in the building. But it definitely may have led to some good contact and connections for several reasons.

The Roots joint came to me as I was reading about the recent sentencing of Steady B and Cool C. It made me think back to last Sunday's eipsode of the Boondocks in which - although I was not feelign the first half of it, I thoroughly enjoyed the rest - MLK got real ignant on the ignant n!ggas that had ruined everything. I can't help but how much of a waste of potential has gone down the drain. And it's not even a matter of did he keep it real, but the logistical irony is what annoys the fuq out of me. Son (Cool C) gets sentenced to be executed on the same dat BIG was murderded. But in addition to that, as essentially the forefathers of Philly hip-hop along with DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince (fuq that will shT), it's a sad state of affairs when the creme of the crop from Philly are also known for their fair share of run-ins with the law. You'd have thought Beanie Siegel and Cassidy were jurors as much as they be in court rooms. "Life in the Ghetto" is more than just hustling (too much hidden meaning there - google 'em) for hip-hop to continue to get characterized by a bunch of bullshT entertainers (not the artists) who can rap a few lines, but do nothing for my pulse. Speaking of flatlining, Cam was sucking his own sausage again and is getting at Jay, but after all the Lambo profiling, civil rights invoking, barney rapping that I could take, I'll have to continue to ignore you, duke. So anyways, back to the MLK episode of the Boondocks. I wish I could find the script. Definitely something I would like to print and frame. And lastly, all this started (well not really, but really though) because I got tired of hearing about Pimp C (who got real creative when thinking of a name because Cool C was back in the 80s - another issue in itself) get out of prison. I won't waste too much time, but let's suffice it to say, son had a fam waiting on him, yet let's just say he was up in the Bentley showroom and jwelery sto fo sho. Hmmm. Now there's a thought. I should create an entirely new blog dedicated to letting bum a$$ rappers hold my nuts. For now, we'll let my man A-Plus hold you down.

note to self

don't fall asleep with mint candy in mouth. just say no.

UMass Boston survey on the BS in IT

maybe I should change the title? oh well...

UMass Boston is in the process of designing a Bachelors of Science in Information Technology degree.

They are interested in getting feedback from prospective students about what they would be interested in seeing included in the degree program. They are looking for at least 200 students to respond to the on-line survey (see link below).

The link to the survey is: http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.asp?u=228521668212

Also, if you or a teacher has any suggestions as to how we might improve the survey, or any of the questions, contact Bill over at UMass-Boston.

edit: sorry, please only fill out the survey if you are a high school student or an actuall prospective student considering such a degree program. This was meant for my Wed after-school crew to complete. sorry for the mix-up.

What would you do if you weren't afraid?

Of all the lines of text in the Who Moved My Cheese book, this one stand out the most to me. There's this new joint that I am loving right now with KRS-One, OC, and local homie L the HeadToucha. I think I had a post a long time ago about songs that were like musical self-affirmations for me. Add another to the list. The beat is sick and the lyrics smooth a butter.

We did what we had to do
Be what we had to be
Go where we had to go
See what had to see
Growing up (Growing up)
Blowing up (Blowing up)
OH! Fulfilling our fantasies

The fear factor kinda goes hand-in-hand with the thought of having regrets. In our attempt to live out our dreams and fulfill our fantasies, something gets sacrificed or dismissed. There are some things that are done and I cannot change, but it would have been nice to be able to relive a few moments of life to right a wrong or experience a high to avoid a low.

So I'll start with the past and work my way up to the present. Chalk it up to trying to dream more than I worry. If I believe in you then I better believe in me too. nahmean.

I would have told my grandmoms I stole & crashed her car
I would have told my moms I lost that scholarship
I would have stayed a Chemical Engineer in 1999
I would have studied abroad in 2000-2001
I would have learned to program software
I would have gone straight for the PhD in 2002
I would have taken that cross-country road trip in 2002
I would have ran for NSBE National Chairperson in 2003
I would have done more to be self-employed and self-sufficient upon graduating
I would have left the last job much earlier than I did
I would have explained my ambivalence to my father
I would have invested much earlier
I would have copped a crib much earlier
I would have asked for help and advice
I would have gone to sleep earlier and woke up earlier

So what would you do?

But my language universal they be recitin my quotes

I think I'm far from being ill.

Not that I've lost any self-confidence lately; in fact, i think I've gained some ground. But I can plainly see areas where I need to improve. In some respects, I envision myself as having this wide-reaching sphere of influence whereby I am able to interact and inspire people of all shapes and sizes. But then conversely, I can get so humble and passive that it becomes nauseatingly unbearable to open up and talk about myself. Sometime I guess it takes some straight lightning bolt shT to open your eyes.

My moms and grandpops used to be so annoyed at me as a child because I would answer their questions with either a yes or a no. They are great storytellers. It's no secret that my moms can hold court with anyone, anywhere in the world. She's no caked up, world-reknown visionary, yet the ease with which she can talk to damn near everyone is an enviable trait to possess. She only speaks English (y un poquito of that nuyorican shT), but her demeanor is so universal that it transcends any social, economic, physical, metal, or motional barrier. When I finished my undergraduate studies, I said some corny phrase about how she inpisred me or something, but I think back and it definietly wasn't a fluke. She inspired me to aspire to gretness. Whatever that greatness may be; I always knew the world was mine for the taking because she said so.

Caught up, in conversations of our personal worth
Brought up, through endangered species status on the planet Earth
Survival tactics means, bustin gats to prove you hard
Your firearms are too short to box with God
Without faith, all of that is illusionary
Raise my son, no vindication of manhood necessary

I finally finished that Rich Dad, Poor Dad book and I'll be dmned if my mind isn't racing a hundred miles per minute trying to digest and analyze its main points in tangible tidbits that I can put to use immediately. But on a real level, the way the author used the advice from both of his pops made sense to me. For all the hardships we experienced, I hope to be a parent blending the good that I saw and learned, with an acknowledgement of the bad and how I can use it as a lesson to learn from and improve upon as I help take the midget from a boy to a man. And it's gonna be a while. He shaT (ie; shTted) on the back of his jeans tonight, but I digress.

"Give me the fortune, keep the fame," said my man Louis
I agreed, know what he mean because we live the truest lie
I asked him why we follow the law of the bluest eye
He looked at me, he thought about it
Was like, "I'm clueless, why?"
The question was rhetorical, the answer is horrible
Our morals are out of place and got our lives full of sorrow
And so tomorrow comin later than usual
Waitin' on someone to pity us
While we findin beauty in the hideous
They say money's the root of all evil but I can't tell
YouknowhatImean, pesos, francs, yens, cowrie shells, dollar bills
Or is it the mindstate that's ill?
Creating crime rates to fill the new prisons they build
Over money and religion there's more blood to spill
The wounds of slaves in cotton fields that never heal
What's the deal?
-Mos Def and Talib Kweli are Black Star, "Thieves in the Night"

I've recently been inspired. Well, it wasn't actually that recent, but my implementation of the inspiration was. I think I used to read a lot as a child. I don't really remember. But anyways, I finished that book. And as a matter of fact, I finished another one today; Who Moved My Cheese. WMMC was a short read with a very simple yet enligtening plot about the power of change. I feel all scholarly and shT. No really. I have some serious business that needs to get taken care of by the first of February. If I don't handle that shT, then I'm going to have to rethink all of this other shT. But before then, I'll reflect on the MLK event this past Saturday and leave it at this. Life is a variety of building blocks that we deal with in stages. Sometimes whispers in your ear on occasion, sometimes it pushes you around monthly, and other times, it b!tch slaps us on consecutive days like, yo son...you need to wake the fuq up. So on Saturday, I do the panel thing, which ended up being for a target audience of high schoolers. Young black males looking to us for guidance and advice. It was an equally humbling, engaging, refreshing, and helpful experience. The teens learned from the panel, the panel learned from the youth, and panelists also learned from each other. We all have something to share in the form of our view of the world. It is the sharing of that perspective that enhances other's lives. I also sat on another roundtable discussion about the state of hip-hop. I felt both simultaneously corny as hell and proud that I reited the "beauty in the hideous" line from Kweli. It was timely and emphasized my point of how much like journalism, hip-hop sensationalism is what pushes the big brother marketing push and mainstream media morale to push otherwise subpar music into the stratosphere. But his one chick claimed to love hip-hop, but seemed to side with the business and left a sour taste in lmy mouth. Let's just say she said soemthign to the tune of, "I can't go to Harlem and find Evian water. It's all fried chicken, not health/organic food." Yes dear, choke-a-b!tch tendencies awoke. Then on Sunday, I finish reading the book and took away one if its key points of letting life push you around as oposed to always fighting it. Then the Cheese book kinda gave the same idea with its notion of moving with the cheese and adapting to change. Then I thought about homegirl from the MLK event who was so rigid in her beliefs, yet stuck to her guns (no matter how absurd her viewpoints) in regards to how some people are gonna have to simply be left behind if they don't change. At this time, we were talking about people with street mentalities and behaviors, among other topics. Yet, my man Dunn and I were passionate that we can't just turn our backs on our peoples like that. And this shT is probably not making any sense right now, but fuq it. So then it had me thinking about my cousin Mike, with whom I had a phone conversation 3 days ago where he pissed me off like a mutha. Yeah that whole change thing. I thought long and hard about going to the hood to look for him, but figured I'd wait until my next NYC visit. But then I get to reading the Cheese book and I'm seeing his face as I'm reading the book about those who refused to acknowlede change and got comfortable, even if the sense of comfortableness was actually discomfort in disguise. (Damn, this shT is one long a$$ paragraph). So now I'm thinking what I need to say to him to get off my chest and get him to act. And now I've lost all connectedness of my thoughts. Ok fuq this good night.

Ok I remembered some other shT. My man Wall Street and I ended up going to Harlem to visit my homeowning uncle, a black woman-owned business up the block, and ate some good italian food before we headed back to BK to TruthKnown's crib in Crown Heights. So yes, sweetheart, there is healthy food in Harlem, as well as homeowners, entrepreneurs, and a broad cross-section of Black people defined by more than just some muthafuqing fried chicken. Shout out to my dunny Dunn for the BedStuy couch & pillow combo and DJ ROC for the usual good tunes.

Survival got me buggin, but I'm alive on arrival

Though I don't know why I chose to smoke sess
I guess that's the time when I'm not depressed
But I'm still depressed, and I ask what's it worth?
Ready to give up so I seek the Old Earth
Who explained working hard may help you maintain
to learn to overcome the heartaches and pain
We got stickup kids, corrupt cops, and crack rocks
and stray shots, all on the block that stays hot
Leave it up to me while I be living proof
To kick the truth to the young black youth
But shorty's running wild smokin sess drinkin beer
And ain't trying to hear what I'm kickin in his ear
-Inspectah Deck, CREAM

This HipHopDX interview with M-1 of Dead Prez is speaking to me right now. I should be hitting the road (yet again) in a few hours to make my way to the planet of Brooklyn (shout to MC Lyte). I'm still trying to organize my thoughts on what exactly my primary foci will be as moderator for a panel entitled, Black Men United. The panel is one of a series of sessions at an MLK event set to take place at Polytechnic University in downtown Brooklyn (MetroTech area). I know the area and school well, having grown up visintg the neighboring courthouse, watching in awe the ill ballers back in the day at the park on Tillary, and random visits over the last eight years to NSBE events, Juniors, and Fulton Street. In another life, I think I breathed BK air. But anyways; back to the panel.

I have one hour and 25 minutes of time to manage with diplomatic precision and tact. I'm mentally preparing myself for the random a$$hole sure to show up and be more than willing to either speak over everyone or grind it out to get their points heard. I'm having flashbacks of the similar in Boston in April 2003 at the Hynes Convention Center that gave everyone in attendace headaches for days. So I think I've done enough brainstorming tonight. It would have been nice to have someone to bounce some of the other ideas off of, but I'll just save 'em for next time. This night owl thing does have its drawbacks. When everyone is wide awake, I'm in daydream mode. And at 2:23 am, everyone else is either asleep or on their way home from the club in a drunken stupor. So word; like I was saying.

I'll think have the panelists give a quick intro/bio of themselves, their background, and whatever it is they do and/or believe in. I'll also ask them to give an opening statement in which they are to identify the single biggest problem gacing Black men today and their thoughts on a solution in the form of a program , strategy, goal, or some sort of tangible objective that could be implemented to address the problem. Oftentimes, panelists want to talk and can get pretty damn verbose, so I'll give them a li'l time to get thri shine on at the outset. But then I think I'll enforce some time constraint for responses. A three-minute limit for both panelists and audience members alike. Damn, I need to find a timekeeper and a notetaker, too. I think I'll stick with three main strands as the center of the discussions - education, economics, and social justice - and then leave the last 15 minutes for the audience Q & A. Hmm. Ok I think I'm done. Time to pack.

You better play the background, and sit back down

Son, my form is too nice, my handle's precise
I'll take you right or go left
Because my game's so def, and now you're mine
-Gangstarr, "Now You're Mine"

shortyrock is back on the floor. four games into it, peep the stat line: 4.5 points per game, 2.3 rebounds per game, 2 steals per game, 1.3 assists per game, and seven turnovers per game.

compare to this to a freshman year the looked like this: 9 ppg, 3.1 rpg, 5.9 apg, 6 spg, 4 topg.

and a sophomore year that went like this: 9.1 ppg, 3.9 rpg, 4.9 apg, 4.6 spg, and 3.6 topg.

the road to recovery is a long one for ACL injuries, but hopefully she can settle down and hold it down for the fam. which reminds me, i need to sneak moms dukes up here before the season disappears. there's another game this saturday, but it's in vermont so that shT ain't hapnin. I'll just have to wait until next week.

Angry Black White Boy

Been reading up on hip-hop scholarship, particularly in academia, and the host of interwoven subplots that come into play. Interestingly enough, the notion of experts not of color on subjects specifically for and/or about people of color is nothing new, yet still fascinates and bewilders me concurrently. Check out what next Monday has in store 'up the road.'

Brothers About Change will be hosting an event Monday January 23, 2006 at 6:00pm in the Raytheon Amphitheater at Northeastern University. Author, poet, and rapper (huh?) ADAM MANSBACH will be our featured guest as we try to breakdown and understand the complexities of racial identity. The event will begin with performances by ADAM MANSBACH from his book, ANGRY BLACK WHITEBOY, a novel based on a white man's acute understanding of white privilege and his attempts to expose it. It will then transition into a discussion centered on white privilege, racial politics, and the way our generation is dealing with race and racism. It will be followed with a question and answer session. Please join us for an entertaining and humorous view on a serious topic.

Skepticism is sure to be one of many immediate afterthoughts for some. But I may have to hit it up nonetheless.

I'm trapped in corners bustin shots at Time-Warner

I'm America's nightmare
young black and just dont give a fuq
I just want to get high and live it up
so fuck a 9-to-5
and why you tryin to slave us
with minimum wages
slammin my n!ggas up in cages
-Onyx, "All We Got Iz Us"

Borne of a banal necessity. Steeped in surreal history. Conscious of the cause du jour. We fight with inner and outer demons throuhgout our days on the regular, but only find times to address them when we least expect it. I may have written Lying Eyes back in 1998 or so, but I came across it and it resonated with me. It's a bit choppy, misspelled, illeterate (lol), rushed, fragmented, and disconcerting; but that's the emotion with which I wrote it at the time. like those southside boys said, living life on the edge of dangerous, where you living, never giving a shT, cuz we living in it [shT]. Now if only I could fine that demo tape I made...then all those prior creative juices should start flowing freely once again, right?

Lying Eyes

Street fiends make cream
While cash rules everyone
With iced jewels
And a disdain for school
Peep those freshly-cut fades and Air J's
With the mad fat bubble gooses

The noose is loosened
Then pulled tighter
The fire gets brighter

Eyes turn glassy and stark
Like chalky coal from lighter fluid
A river must have run through it
And up in your ass
So think fast
Catching whiplash
Mind states shift

Mental quips and split spliffs
Leaves wrinkled weed in the midst
Burning trees like anti-environmentalists
The coke-crack epidemic is sytemic
Ain't no accident
Just a migraine headache
Boring a hole through skulls
While over life we mull

And wonder in passive voices
Making choices
Like to smoke or to puff the lah
Or go raw
Because many get left moist
With wood-grain stains
And red dots from blood unclotted
In the clutches of predators gone AWOL
Seizing shrunken balls
Off of project walls
In hotel halls
And corrupt corridors

Linking schizophrenics to anorexics
It ain't only the mentally dyslexic
That be seeing life backwards

Progressively slumping
Lower into slums
Claiming to be dumb
But I know that you're smarter, son
You're just not thinking harder
Or hard enough

But I will not allow you to be a tough guy
And look me in my eye
And lie
And disavow the beat of the drum
And the thump of one's
Own heart

When will you start
to open your eyes
And realize
Your demise
Has already begun

Fantasy is what people want, but reality is what they need

just trying to live my own reality show...sans the miscellaneous hoes and commercial breaks. I've been able to take care of a good 3-4 resolutions that needed to get dealt with. i signed up, got trained, and met my new mentee last week. i got the pic of my 3 great-grandmothers all together. i signed up to do some outreach work this weekend (Brooklyn on Saturday and Boston on Sunday). and i found someone to take the reigns of the alumni association. nice. however, i haven't opened rich dad, poor dad in over a week and i desperately need to finish it because it made me realize some extremely obvious shT that also needs to be dealt with with the quickness. it also spawned several deep, introspective observations that may be much too personal for me to share here, but I do need to talk through.

but now on to other matters...

...this unfortunately answers the question as to why I had to take that detour around Baltimore Monday morning. quite the sad story. and i'm sure more will come out in later days.

...and apparently, the n!ggas have not left the building. yet another shooting; this time in Quincy, that claims another life. interestingly enough, i just so happened to come across this essay by John Chuckman. I'm a bit conflicted in how I feel after reading it. There is a sensibility in me that nodded at many of the points he had to make. However, it was tinted much too much with an air of contempt for me - the black male - than I may be able to stomach. A little bit of bias sprinkled in with some scholarly rhetoric and a dash of immigrant animosity definitely makes it a interesting read to say the least. I was instantly trying to search for a deeper meaning while also extrapolating it to apply to Boston. We got neighborhood sweeps to proactively start rounding up cats with outstanding warrants, while we also have a governor who is barely here that plans to veto a bill that would allow illegal aliens that graduate from MA high schools to pay in-state tution rates.

yet, shT is apparently very real in the field, B. this shT is astounding. from the mouth of a student. regardless of race, age, ethnicity, socioeconomic status, gender, or what hood s/he reps; there is an obvious issue at hand. this should be required reading for all city officials. man up, b!tches.

8 Million Stories

Yo tip I tell you man the devil's tryin it
But I'm goin to stay strong cause I ain't buyin it
-ATCQ, "8 Million Stories"

Sometimes, words merely scrtach the surface of what you really want to convey. Whether it's with hand gestures or exaggerated vocal intonations or fuqed up punctuation, there's always a little room for some extra flavor to spice up the party.

Let's just say that the past few days were a serious mind fuq. One one hand, you can go through all kinds of ups and downs and turmoil, yet realize that things could be a lot worse given your situation. So I hope to chalk it up as a lesson learned to take the good with the bad and let's life's bumps push me around and adjust accordingly. It's the only way any meaningful growth will come my way.

The real crazy thing is that I've had random assorted mental notes that I've been logging in my brain since last Wednesday in the hope that I'll be able to recollectt them and type the words for preservation's sake. But alas, I'm a retard and I barely remember what I ate today. But I'll give it a shot. Plus, some of the topics may require their a separate blog entry in their own right. Things that made me go hmmm...

-> Why did I fly out on Thursday morning with one checked bag and returned home on Monday still not having seen my bag since I checked it?

-> Why does a new, cheap toothbrush purchased on the fly never quite feel the same those first few brushes?

-> Why couldn't I use my man Boone's 30% Foot Locker employee discount on those 5 for $20 tees?

-> Why didn't my family have a theme party until now?

-> Why did two funerals have to preceed the party/reunion?

-> Why does my old high school still seem the same?

-> Why did lil sis get jacked on her way from ATL?

-> Why does the old neighborhood look so bad?

-> Why does the old plantation in the country look so dilapidated?

-> Why did my gift-giving ideas get jacked up with the luggage fiasco?

-> Why do I like my aunt's macaroni and cheese so much more than anyone else's?

-> Why do families still beef no matter the effort put forth to reach out?

Hurry up and give me the microphone before I bust in my pants

The mad author of anguish; my language, polluted
...
He took the words right out my mouth and walked a mile in my shoes
I've paid so many dues, I feel used and abused
And I'm.... so confused
...
I'm not watered down so I'm dyin of thirst
-Onyx, "Slam"

wow. i know i like to link to Globe articles way too fuqing much, but this one is just great. a ode to local spoekn word poetry. mind you, this IS the very same lizard lounge. fuq a link, i'm recycling this one. kinda makes me wish i'll be in town this sunday night. oh well.

The scene is slamming
Performance poetry is no longer just an underground art form

By Ethan Gilsdorf, Globe Correspondent | January 4, 2006

CAMBRIDGE -- Under the Lizard Lounge's amber lights, local poet Eric Darby mixes a verbal cocktail, one part politics, one part personal experience.

''What would Jesus drive?" Darby recites from memory as his three-minute explosive rant about SUVs and religion spills over the standing-room-only house.

Darby is one of two finalists at this night's poetry slam. He's competing against Erich Hagan, another talented poet, whose wordplay takes a different tack.

''Just hoping to feel necessary," Hagan implores in his tender yet violent love poem. Both poets receive roars from the mixed-race, multi-age crowd. After the judges' scores are tallied, Darby wins the night. Which makes sense, considering he happens to be ranked seventh out of some 500 slam poets nationwide.

The Lizard Lounge may be below street level, but battling head-to-head with words isn't an underground movement anymore. Whether you call it performance poetry, slam or spoken word, this literary art is definitely necessary.

After sharpening its cutting edge on a generation of young poets in the late '80s and early '90s, spoken word is big again. In Boston, slam just spawned a new record label and a poetry school. Throughout New England, spoken word has made significant inroads among academia and into the suburbs. Slam celebrates its 20th anniversary this year, fully matured and exerting a stronger influence on the area's cultural scene than ever before.

''It's not a novelty anymore," says Jeff Robinson, bandleader and founder of the Lizard Lounge Poetry Jam, a weekly open-mike slam. In February, Robinson, his co-host Joyce Cunha, and his jazz trio will mark nine years of Sunday nights backing up poets in the basement of the Cambridge nightclub. ''It's here to stay."

Robinson, who also hosts the biweekly radio show ''Poetry Jam" on WMBR-FM (88.1), launched two important ventures this winter that should help keep Boston at the hub of the poetry map: a spoken-word label, Poetry Jam Records, and a teaching venture called the Online School of Poetry, which begins classes tomorrow.

''By no means is this a 'slam institution.' Quite the contrary," says Robinson, who is 40. His school's teachers may have cut their teeth in seedy bars, not the halls of academia, but courses like ''Music, Mythography and Words," with the likes of Patricia Smith and Regie Gibson, will emphasize more than just high-scoring slam technique. ''Both are very good page poets who happen to perform well, but they will touch on performance when the time is right."

Until recently, Robinson would have had to convince more doubters that writing a good ''slam poem" isn't easy. Spoken-word artists have been less respected than traditional poets. But the second-class status of slam is changing.

''It's different now," says Michael Brown, 65, a Mount Ida College professor of communication widely credited with bringing slam from Chicago to Boston 15 years ago with Smith (who is a former Globe columnist). He was ''slammaster" at Cambridge's other well-regarded spoken-word venue, the Cantab Lounge, from 1992 to 2004. His ''Dr. Brown's Traveling Poetry Show" now runs Tuesdays at the Zeitgeist Gallery in Inman Square.

''It used to be hot in here, the atmosphere," Brown says, hanging out at the Cantab one Wednesday night. ''Now the atmosphere is less hot but the poetry is better." Unlike a decade ago, he says, younger writers today have more interesting things to say. Poets are more skilled, their writing more biting, and their audiences more discerning.

For its part, the Cantab keeps nurturing newcomers. The night Brown visits his old haunts, a woman named Gina, dressed in tight black clothes and a sparkling sash, takes the stage.

''If you can believe it," Gina tells the audience in the malodorous basement, ''I have worked as a stripper. I can dance around naked. But I'm terrified to read my poems." The crowd goes easy on her.

The reason a former stripper might risk literary humiliation is simple: Spoken word is less risque than before. Slams are now found in elementary schools, teen writing programs, and working-class areas like Brockton and South Boston. It has infiltrated all walks of life, spreading from urban centers to places like Providence, Lowell, New Haven, Burlington, Vt., and even Nantucket.

''There's been a resurgence lately," says Simone Beaubien, host of the Cantab's series, which attracts between 50 and 100 spectators each week. ''I don't know why but I'm not complaining." One explanation is increased activity: Beaubien organizes a regional slam ''league" among teams from Boston, Portland, Worcester, and Providence that she's continuing this winter and expanding to six teams. Adding to the Cantab's luster is local star Darby, who on Dec. 14 won the right to represent the Cantab at the Individual World Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C., this February. ''This year is the best we've done since 2000," says Beaubien. ''It's exciting."

Another ''why" is visibility. Boston slammers reach beyond New England and have competed in the National Poetry Slam and Individual World Poetry Slam every year since 1992. Last summer, at the nationals, Robinson's Lizard Lounge squad came in 16th out of 70 teams. This month, the Lizard Lounge begins slamming to build its team of poets for 2006 nationals. Anyone can compete. The infrastructure is in place for spoken word to keep speaking to a new generation.

''This particular medium seems to be an extremely long-lasting one," says Jonathan Wolf, 24, who is the ''slammaster" for Worcester's Poetry Asylum, a 15-year-old organization. ''With a rich history and grass-roots involvement, I can't imagine the idea ever being unviable."

That people now expect more than 20-something angst or political screed from slam has been part of spoken word's maturation as a real art form. The final hurdle was to convince academia.

Once, a rift existed between two camps -- poet-professors and their students on one side, and those who ''yell and wave, the wildly gesticulating types" on the other, as Cantab veteran Adam Stone, 28, of Somerville puts it. Today there is a two-way bridge, especially in Boston. Not only have slam poets benefited from more professional training, but university literature students now read slam-type poems in anthologies. Meanwhile, their prize-winning poet teachers have jazzed up their performances with more rhythmic language and lively deliveries.

''I think the twain are meeting more and more on campus, both outside the classroom and in the classroom," says Sue Standing, a Wheaton College English professor and poet. ''The academics have taken on some of slam's groove and attitude." Standing uses poetry textbooks like ''From Totems to Hip-Hop" and says students at her suburban campus have organized their own slams.

Robinson's Online School of Poetry further blurs the academic/slam divide. For his faculty, Robinson snagged former poet laureate of California and American Book Award winner Quincy Troupe, a dread-locked poet known for his powerful, melodic delivery. In September, Troupe visited Cambridge's Hi-N-Dry Studio, the legendary home base for the band Morphine, where he spent a highly charged evening recording live with Robinson's trio and several other spoken word poets -- Askia Toure, Richard Cambridge, Iyeoka Okoawo, and Patricia Smith. The session will be the debut release on Robinson's Poetry Jam Records.

During a break between sets, Troupe muses how slam, rap, and hip-hop have kept the craft vibrant. ''There are some intriguing rhythms that you can bring into poetry," says Troupe, who is 65 but seems younger. ''You gotta be a big sponge." All poetry has to be written well, he says, but working with a live band adds a final, improvisational layer that lets him weave his ''linguistic gymnastics" around the music.

Then Troupe sits back to hear Okoawo, who is representing the Lizard Lounge at the Individual World Poetry Slam in February.

''I want to believe that everything happens for a reason," Okoawo pleads in a raw poem -- part speech, part song, part sermon. Her body shimmies as each line rises to the surface. ''What reason comes from Ritas and Katrinas? All of what we think we know can all end abruptly."

Ethan Gilsdorf can be reached at ethan@ethangilsdorf.com.
© Copyright 2005 The New York Times Company

If I get to side steppin and grippin my weapon it's on

Please pardon me. I'm still a bit consumed by the street violence. As much as we had hoped to start the new year off with a fresh start, it has already been marred by muthafuqas who still didn't get the memo.

You see, ever since I was a youth
I promised to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth
I never been accused, of perjury
I will clap gats at them cats if they try to murder me
-Billy Danze

At some point, some real drastic shT is going to have to be done. As in some straight subversive, I'm Gonna Git You Sucka, hidden camera, corner store creeping, hot spot patrolling, stash stealing, glock jacking, on-blast putting, picture taking, and photo-on-pole hanging by regular folk with their own burners & bats in tow. It may not sound all that convincing or seemingly sane, but hey...sometimes vigilante justice has its place in society. Becase if the lack of cops the main retort, then someone really may have to eventually take the law into their own hands to protect their own, right?

I tote the 4 5 when I feel I'm doomed
Fuck them cassettes I don't plan to die no time soon
-Li'l Fame

Really though. Some of these muthafuqas really think they're untouchable. I visited my peoples last night and my man DK said there was only one fight at the big new years party. Lucky us. Some of these dumba$$es running the streets wylin out do so because they see grown a$$ men doing the same thing. Would you believe that a muthafuqa got bucked in a clothing store last Friday?! Mind you, this is the same store adjacent to where I get my muthafuqing haircut. And the midget. Yes, now my interest is vested. Too close for comfort or whatever you wanna call it, huh?

It's So Hard Where I Wanna Be

the oddest thing happend on the way to my pillow...

I had a tiny snack (fruit, b!tches) and played a few songs from Donell Jones' classic album from a few years back. Ok, well actually I played the ones I like, which include, "You Know What's Up" (the popular one), "Where I Wanna Be" (the title track), and "This Luv" (my personal favorite). And then I lamented..."dam, son was nice with his."

Then, I hop back onto the Toshiba and what just happens to play as I'm listening to my trusty play list? None other than Big Pun's track, "It's So Hard", featuring Donnell Jones. It's not like I really liked the song all that much, but it will forever be cemeted in my memory for the mishap that occurred one sunny August afternoon in Watertown. I briefly spelled the DJ we hired (because I like doing that when I can) and played a few tracks while improving on the turntables. Anyways, I launched this song and wnet digging inthe crates for my next discovery. When I came up it took a while to register in my brain why everyone had a look of horror on their faces. But then, once I paid closer attention to which version I had played, it became plainly evident that I should switch it up. Yeah, it was a family fun day, B. My bad. I don't really sing choruses too much so whatever. But ever since then I've made extra sure to pay attention to whether I'm playing the clean version or the uncut version whenever I jump on anyone's turntables. Lesson learned. (or is it lesson learnT?)

The P Is Free - Wait Til You See My..

...degree.

She jumped on my bike, I said "Huh, what's your stop?"
She said "Right around the corner to the crack spot
If you buy me a crack I'll know how to act
But if you don't, you might as well step back"
-Boogie Down Productions, "The P Is Free"

Crack kills and bullshT sells, but we gotta keep shining that light on the muthafuqas that really need to be highlighted, nahmean. Big shout to the National Black College Alliance for the event they are hosting on Tuesday.

So anyways, Pimp C was relased recently. He is half of the UGK duo and go paroled after four years in the bing. If you watch music videos, you may have peeped shirts and heard verses calling for his release. Yadda, yadda, yadda. He's out now. Yippee. No, I am not trying to link to that bullshT. Can we now refocus our attention on muthafuqas who be graduating and not getting love or be doing big things and not getting highlighted with press relaeases and guest appearances. This cat FELL BEHIND on doing his community service after pleading no contest to an assaut charge. On top of that, he pulled out a gun at a fuqing mall. Hmmm...I wonder what his first rhyme will sound like? Same ole bullshT probably. But maybe I'm being too hard on son. Nah fuq that. New year. New vices.

on some techie shT

online tools for teachers



Points and Pixels: An introduction to visual design

Alex Haines: As much as Mobb Deep has troubled me lately with their 50 fellatio, you can't front on this techie's ill 3-D rendering of Queensbridge with its fitting background music.

Ejovi Nuwere: A brother in the tech realm doing big things while seemingly still grounded in reality and in possession of a sense of social consciousness. I can dig it.

TechFinder: a resource to connect nonprofits with technology providers

Hip-Hop Therapy Project: a Milwaukee-based org similar in programming scope to Project Hip-Hop. Definitely some interesting perspective.

Dysfunction's Beauty

Some things get clear real quick while others take time to blossom. We realize how shT connects in retrospect without going back piecing the puzzle pieces together.

I'm about a third of the way through the Rich Dad, poor Dad book already and I've also been doing a lot of reading online with all of my recent free time. Some sht really is apparent only when you have time to reflect, reassess, and redo with hindsight. I've read a couple of things online that struck a nerve.

Being true. My man HC lays it heavy in response to an anonnymous commenter. Basically, the premise of of his retort is why should you have to shed your exoskeleton to blend in? Why woudl you sacrifice you who are and what you rep to fit a certain mold or avoid being typecast. As a matter of fact, fitting the stereotype in theory, but shattering it in reality is the ultimate come-up, no?

But then my man conscious decides to regain his consciuusness and become re-inspired. His op-ed letter to the editor is brillaint in its sublte kick to the gut way of articulating the angst of peoples without hood sensibilities sans the criminality. Then, upon learning of the death of one of the The Wire's guest stars, I had the chance to read more about writer and producer Ed Burns. Truly some real talk going on right here. The thought process that I've observed throughout the show's run has been simply engaging for someone like me who can identify with many of the character's and the many interrelated plotlines that exist. I'm going to have to give teaching some serious thought. Although my preparation pales in comparison to those who truly have it in their heart to be a teacher and go through all of the formal training and certification and test-taking, it still sits in the back of my mind.

But this shT really has me thinking now. I'm trying to piece my life's puzzle piece together one by one and while being careful not to make the wrong decisions, sometimes taking to long to make a decision could be the wrong decision. Feel me? So with all of this career talk and education talk and financial talk swirling through my head, I'm trying to make sense of it all and figure out my course of action. It's a seemingly continusous uphill battle of balancing priorities, fears, desires, lusts, wants, needs, and happiness. Which side will prevail is anyone's guess. Here's to hoping I figure some of this shT out in less than 364 days.