A Passion in Shambles

Allow me to introduce you to the first short story I wrote this past semester.
It encompasses a feeling I'm sure we've all experienced: self doubt.
Without further ado, I present "A Passion in Shambles."
Enjoy.


            An overcast of clouds began to rule the sky just as the forecaster predicted earlier on the morning news, much to Terrence’s dismay. Natural light provided a better setting for writing as opposed to the hum of the fluorescent lights that flicked sporadically in the office. With his cluttered desk flush perpendicularly to the floor to ceiling window, he had never been more envious of Andy in the corner office before him.

            Andy deserved that office. He’d been with the Urban Crusader two years prior to Terrence’s arrival, possessed great charming skills, and always touched on a hot button issue before anyone else in the greater Baltimore area. But Terrence knew he was a better writer, and better writers deserved corner offices. If only he hadn’t been so off his game, he thought before realizing his was bending the pen in his hand close to the brink of snapping. Wishing to avoid an explosion of ink over himself, he placed the blue stick on the upper right hand corner of his desk – the furthest position from his seat.

            He shook his head to snap out of his internal rant and returned his gaze to his computer screen; a word document with an outline waiting to be filled out stared back at him. It had since before his lunch break, often behind a window holding a game of solitaire or the website Gawker. Terrance often had to remind himself not to steal anything he found on the gossipy news site, no matter how hilarious he found it. Once he caught himself plagiarizing an opinion column on the over usage of bacon in the media while trying to relate it to health problems in America.  Since then he’s recognized his subconscious to be extremely detrimental to his job.

            He fiddled with his keyboard pressing one key hoping a letter would inspire him and immediately hitting backspace for seven minutes before giving up once again out of frustration and logging onto Facebook. He minimized the window to look over his shoulder as the page loaded. The coast was clear. Before he could scroll past five dull status updates, he heard a voice behind him. “Looking for a bit of inspiration, huh?”

            Terrance fumbled over his keyboard before he reached for the button on his monitor to turn it off. He turned around to find Andy smirking down at him. When did he sneak out of his office?

            “Oh don’t worry, I won’t tell. Even I take a bit of downtime every now and then. You know, about 12 minutes a day.” Andy let out a scoff. “I mean, if I can’t be expected to work straight through the day, neither should you right?”

            Terrence’s attempted to calm his flaring nostrils. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

            “Well, I leave you to it then. Gotta get back to my cover story. Oops. I was trying to keep that a secret this time.” Terrence glared at Andy as we walked back to his corner office. He almost seemed to glide over.

            He reactivated his monitor, turning it towards the window now being attacked by a downpour, and opened a new tab to Twitter to let out another passive-aggressive work tweet: When you think you’re hot shit, that’s when you’re really nothing but lukewarm piss. Not his best, but he submitted it anyway. Even his one-liners were off.

            Staring blankly at his failed philosophy, he recalled the last time he wrote a cover story. It was the only time he wrote one. Eight months ago, and it was a good one: a detailed examination of the success rate of minorities at predominately white schools with references and short interviews and statistics and everything. It was a topic he was familiar with having earned a bachelor’s in writing from Joyola. He placed his head in the palm of his hand wondering where that raw talent escaped to.

            Just then Steven walked by carrying a jug of water to the cooler. He was a senior from Joyola earning his internship credits. Terrence had a habit of checking everyone in the office’s Facebook as if he were protecting the integrity of the magazine. It was through this habit that he realized he shared friends in common with Steven, acquaintances really. In the same manner, Terrence read a few of Steven’s poems; his privacy settings were low. The kid was decent, definitely the kind of poet who could make something of himself the same way Terrence had always planned to.

            Terrence shook himself free from his train of thought and returned to his blank outline. Why did he have to get stuck with the opinions column for the fifth time in a row? Granted it was the freedom he had always wanted from his job, but now it performed the role of a burden. Maybe he could ask the boss for another extension. No, that would make it his third time in a row begging for one. It was perplexing that he hadn’t been reassigned to the reader’s questions section yet.

He reopened his browser and typed in his old blog address. He hadn’t posted anything in over a year. Its black background might as well have been covered in cobwebs. For a minute it seemed as if it actually was but it was just the settled desk on his computer screen. All the people this blog had inspired, all those people had done since then: entertainment reporter, local successful rapper, established buyer for a major retail store. And there Terrence sat, feeling unsure of the direction he was going.

            As the small hand hit the five on the clock, Terrence hurriedly logged of his computer and put on his jacket. He didn’t acknowledge his coworkers as we walked out of the office and took the stairs down to avoid any possible small talk that could be found while waiting for the elevator. He was too lost in his doubt.

            When he exited the building he stepped in a puddle as he walked to his car. As he sat in his car waiting for it to warm up, he pulled out his phone and opened a poem he saved to the device. Reading it to himself, he felt water roll down his cheek.

Shall We Catch Up

Hopefully I'm not the only one with this problem,
I really don't think I am,
but I often forget about people.
Not in a "Oh, I forgot you existed" way,
although some people actually fall in that category.

I'd like to explain myself as an "out of sight, out of mind" kind of guy.
If I don't see you on the regular,
chances are you won't hear from me often.
If I do think of you, it's most likely as a memory.
"And then she held my hat as I threw up on the side of the road.
Hmm, wonder what she's up to now? ...oh well."

There is definitely a list of people with whom I want to link up with
but I'm often busy with this or that and have no mode of transportation.
Even when I'm not busy, I'm too afraid to contact other people
because I figure they're busy with their own lives.

Then there are those people I don't know how to hang out with alone.
If I were to describe myself again,
I'm better as a group friend than an one-on-one buddy.
Chances are I wouldn't have more than 17 minutes of material
I could talk about with certain people,
that I would be comfortable enough talking about I should say.

I suppose there are few things more awkward
than running into an old friend unexpectedly though.
You're sort of thrust into a conversation
of seemingly meaningless small talk
until one of you has to hurry off
while the other says "We should hang out some time."

But I've been wondering lately,
how sincere are those offers?
Do people really want to catch up with you
or are they fine not giving a care about you?

Speaking from my own experience
it's sort of a combination of the two.
Yeah, I would definitely love to see you again,
but I can keep it moving without you as well.
Sad as it is, there are a lot of people in the world,
enough for me to forget all about you for prolonged periods of time
no matter how undoubtedly awesome you are.

That said, as I prepare for an actual life after college in Baltimore
I'm putting forth more of an effort to connect with my friends local to the area.
I've seen enough of my friends graduate and move back home
to realize I have to spend energy to maintain or rebuild friendships.
Because before you know it, you could be all alone.
And that's not a good look.
Word

59) Go without meat for a month

Vegetarians and vegans have always been something of a curiosity to me.
I suppose as a man, meat plays an integral part to my diet.
However, I wanted to see what would happen
if I took it out completely, without warning.

Now, I asked my vegetarian and vegan friends beforehand
about proteins alternatives besides peanut butter and beans.
They told me a few good things, like kale and such.
One suggested tofu,
but I've tasted tofu and it isn't for this negro.
I planned to stock up on different items,
cook different vegetarian dishes for myself
Neither happened.
Nevertheless, on October 1,
I embarked on my meatless month.
[Yes, many gay jokes ensued
the moment I mentioned it on Twitter.}

I basically continued to eat the same campus food minus the meat option:
pizza with no topping, burritos/quesadillas with black beans as the star, salads with no chicken.
At the time of consumption, I would feel perfectly satisfied. However, within an hour my stomach annoyed me with hunger.
As I figured, peanut butter became my best friend: the perfect anytime snack on a cracker, bread, or spoon.

There were often times when I wanted fast food.
But the thing about fast food is... it's all meat.
Yeah, there are salads, but if you buy salad from a fast food joint
you may want to reevaluate your life.

During my stint refraining from meat,
I may or may not have had slip ups.
When you've been eating meat repeatedly for 15+ years, it's a habit that dies hard.
For instance, October 2nd I ate a friend's dip sparingly for an hour after she said it was buffalo chicken dip before I realized the buffalo taste was coming from chicken.
A week later, at 9 am, I came across an opportunity for free bacon.
You don't pass up free bacon, unless you're (a real) Muslim.
I was chewing up the dead swine before I realized I couldn't eat meat.
That's was the hardest thing I've ever had to do:
spit out that delicious meat that made my mouth water.

However, I trucked on...
until I said f*** it two weeks in.
That's right, I only made it halfway.
I got tired of being hungry and cranky everyday.
Ultimately I asked myself what others had posed to me: why are you doing this?
I wanted to see the effect it would have on my body; I felt sluggish.
I wanted to see how vegetarians did it; by smiling through the tears.
I wanted to show off and be able to say I did it; two weeks is more than most Americans will ever put themselves through by choice.

So how have I felt being back on meat this past 2 weeks and a half?
A bit more content after meals, for sure.
At the same time, I've noticed a sluggishness afterwards
that wasn't there during those two weeks.

Overall, I've determined I don't need meat with every meal
for it to actually be consider a meal in my mind.
...I just need it with most of them.
Word.

And Then a Month Passed

So I inexplicably fell off the face of the blogging world in October.
It was one of those instances of time slipping away from right under me.

I actually have a few posts that are waiting to be finished
...or flushed out into actual posts for that manner.
I would tell you what they're about
but I don't wanna jinx myself.
I'll just say that I'm excited to get around to them.

So what's kept me from writing in my blog.
Well, remember when I talked about writing in public places?
My attempts to continue doing so were utter fails.
Somehow it had become part of my habit
although it was clearly one that produced no results.

Secondly, midterms turned out to slay me.
Between art projects and papers,
I have been grinding for classes.
Luckily, most of those papers consist of short stories
that I may later share on this blog.
Either way, it's definitely going into my portfolio.
I'm proud of those joints.

The last thing that's been taking up my time is acting.
I'm in this play. It's called Rimers of Eldritch.
You've probably never heard of it. [adjusts hipsters glasses]
It's a big cast show that requires everyone on stage at the same time.
So the rehearsals have been intense.
But the show goes up this weekend:
Thursday at 7, Friday & Saturday at 8, Sunday at 2.
You should come watch me be a trucker.

But yeah, I should be much more active in November.
Until then, have a jolly Halloween.
Don't do anything that you haven't already done this weekend.
Word.

One More Year

So I picked up my school's 2011 yearbook this afternoon.
I actually just finished looking through it.
A lot of the senior portraits made me laugh.
Not because they were bad,
although some people looked real rough,
but because some just people were just so quirky,
you could kinda feel their personality radiating of the page.
It kinda made me regret not taking my portrait.
[I scheduled to take it twice but never made it because I would have been
one of those kids looking a hot mess in need of airbrushing.]

I bring up the yearbook as an introduction to discussing my fifth year in college.
For me, it's always been something pretty taboo,
something I wanted to avoid at all cost.
I say cost because my scholarship was originally only for 4 years.
[I guess since I took a semester off,
I qualified for that special extra year. Claver, my savior.]
But besides cost, I saw it as a sign of...
not stupidity, but of neglect and irresponsibility, I suppose.
It just seemed very unfavorable to me.

This isn't to slam any of the 5th year seniors who have come before me.
In a way, I was glad to have them around.
Not only were they some of the coolest people I knew,
but it was kinda nice to still have someone older to look up to.
That almost sounds vain, but I mean it sincerely.

There is only one way to describe being a 5th year senior,
a saying I've adopted in response to whomever asks me what's it like:
It's like going to Disneyland and finding all the characters you grew up with are gone.
It's funny and sad, yet very true.
Going through my senior yearbook made me realize that even more.
I was pretty damn tight with a good amount of people in my class,
so tight I could go to their place and stay their even when no one was there.
I would be sitting their on my laptop and welcome them as they came through the door.
Some even let me sleep on their couch multiple times
as if my parents weren't paying $10,000+ for me to live on campus.

But I noticed an interesting statistic while reading the yearbook.
Yes, reading. We don't all just look at the pretty pictures, as pretty as they might be.
And I quote, "818: students graduated as part of the Loyola University Maryland undergraduate class of 2011, 79% of students who attend Loyola graduate in 4 years."
I've slowly been realizing that last part for the past month.

St Peter Claver, patron saint for slaves 

Not to blow up anyone's spot,
but there's a fellow minority student finishing up their last couple of classes that I chill with most anytime I go to the CMC (Claver Multicultural Center). [Refer back to "Claver, my savior."]
In two of my classes,
there's at least one other 5th year student.
And during my travels this weekend, I discovered kids who I was very tight with my freshman year still in the area finishing up their degree as well.

It's like, even though I feel alone in this, I'm clearly not. Obviously there's 21% of us still out here trying to do work. Suddenly, I don't feel so stressed about being here for one more year.
Besides, that's another year I have to actually find a job.
Word.

Writing in Public Places

Recently I have taken to writing around people.
I don't understand how others do it.

Perhaps it's because I'm too easily distracted.
An interesting conversation will draw me in without fail.
One would think I would wisen up and take notes,
but I feel like that's an invasion of privacy in a sense.
[And no smart writer writes about his friends in front of them.
He does it behind their back in the comfort of his own home
while changing their names like a professional.]

Usually, people who write
in public places are seen as egotistical.
Setting up shop in a small coffee or sandwich joint, they type away feverously in hopes of someone asking what they're writing.
When someone finally becomes bored or eager enough to ask the writer responds, "It's a suspenseful drama about the trials and tribulations of a Mexican boy as he paddles across the Indian Ocean to reach Scotland."
Before you can point out their mistake,
back they go to pretending
they're too busy to notice you.
This is most likely because they realized they sound like an asshat aloud too.

My intention for bringing my laptop around people to blog isn't as vain.
I actually hate when people look over my shoulder as I type.
In fact, I just swatted a kid's eyes away from my screen 5 minutes ago.
Multitasking was more so my goal.
I figured I'd come hang around friends, eat some food, write.
The first two are accomplished with ease.
The last ends up being a bastardization of the post I intended.

If you're wondering how this post turned out so well
it's because I took advantage of the 15 minutes
the change in between classes allotted me.

So, will I continue to write in public places?
Knowing my stubborn ass, yeah.
Do I advise it?
If you have a strong self-will, by all means go right ahead.
Just make sure you buy one of those privacy screen for your laptop.
Word.

Picky Over Forever

It's real easy to become desperate when you're single.
You see couples walking around and get jealous.
You think, "Why can't I have that? I'm good enough,
I'm smart enough, and gosh darnit, people like me."
[shout out to whoever gets that reference]

But I must advise all the single people out there:
don't get in a relationship for the sake of being in a relationship.
There are few things worse
than being attached to a person whom you don't care for.

Take it from me.
I have been known to pursue people who don't want me.
It's sort if a bad habit of mines.
But ever so often, I'll get someone who's interested in me.
Oddly enough, 4 times outta 5, I don't want them.
However, it's not like I pull all of stuff in myself
so I give them a shot.

That shot is almost always a straight miss.
So I'll just leave it
and alone I am again.
But being forever alone isn't that bad when you know the alternative.
Word.

The Social Conspiracy

By now most of us have experienced the new Facebook timeline.
By now most of us have complained about it.
People have already told us to get over it like every other facebook change.

However, I noticed something highly... suspicious.
This week the social network Google+
did away with their invitations
and opened its gates to the public.
So the same week
Facebook decides to alter its timelines
to the point of nauseating its visitors.
It's almost as if Zuckerburg wants people to hop on the Google train.

Now as it is, Google and Facebook has the internet on lock.
Almost every website you go to allows you to log in through them.
Anyone who uses the internet goes through at least one of them.

If you allow me to become
a conspiracy theorist for a moment,
I believe Facebook may be bowing out to Google.
Zuckerburg may have some stock in Google and wants to make a major move.
Cause I feel like Google $ is to Facebook $
as Jay-Z-Kanye $ is to Baby-Weezy $.

In a worse case scenario,
Facebook and Google merge.
Then all of my fears will have become realized.
We would all be trapped in the Matrix.
Think. Even if you delete your Facebook,
Zuck still knows how to find you, and so does the government.
We're all stuck in the world wide web
and the Google spider is coming to get us!

With that said,
Twitter is an angel among the mortals of social networking.
She will never change so much as to alienate us,
and I love her for it. #addictedmuch
Word

PS, if Facebook is only going to fade into the background
do you think Justin Timberlake will buy that too?

How Poetic: Voltron

Left arm whizzes right

Right leg slugs left

Right arm tumbles right

Left leg stumbles left

An orb circles from a distance

Torso ascends from the floor

Light fabrics fall from traps doors

      Tiny baby blue booties

      Medium white shorts

      Reasonably portioned red shirt

      Oversized nightcap striped to match

How backwardly patriotic it was

All components approach each other

Joining for brief instances

Realizing the combination is askew

Searching for the proper balance

Each time seemingly less hideous

Until all falls as it should

And the orb leaves its planned course

Landing firmly atop the masterpiece that has become

A bright flash of creation

Blasting heat of animation

Existing from the womb

Joining the world

But its heart was not committed

That baby doll was so life like on life support

until it wasn’t a doll.

It's My Birthday! ...Not.

Those who are my friend on Facebook
are familiar with my songs of the day.
Sometimes I pick the song out the day before,
other times I'll just hear it on my iPod that day and throw it up.

Yesterday, Virgo by Ludacris, Nas and Doug E Fresh came up.
It's a pretty catchy song that most people don't know
so I decided I would post it during Virgo season.
Upon googling it, I discovered we're currently in Virgo season.
A mischievous grin instantly appeared on my face.

When I woke up this morning,
I changed my birthday from June 14 to September 14
and posted the video as a happy birthday wish to myself.
I closed my laptop and went about my day.

Two hours later, at least 25 people wished me a Happy Birthday.
I slapped my knee, laughing in victory.
However, 10 of my friends were able to realize it wasn't the day of my birth.
The first two people to call me out were my best friends from high school.
I knew they would be quick to call bullshit,
because like real friends they know me.

They called shenanigans within twenty minutes of me posting the Virgo video.
Yet people still continued to wish me a happy birthday.
I found that a little odd and disturbing.
I'm not the first to pull this prank.
If a person's birthday suddenly appears out of the blue on Facebook,
you're damn sure I'll scroll down to see if anyone's blown the whistle on them.
Once I've found them to be a fraud,
I'll continue on my merry stalker way.

This is why I've been wishing fewer and fewer people happy birthday.
Before, if your name came up on that right hand side
you were guaranteed a wall post from me,
even if I looked at our wall-to-wall
and you had never spoken to me.
Now, only people who I actually chill with are blessed with my good tidings.

As social media rages on,
the interaction on the sites become more and more trivial.
Well, no. That's mostly just on Facebook.
Twitter and Tumblr are still quality, especially Twitter.
Think about it.
Even with the chat feature,
how many people do you talk to on the big F?
Probably the same 10-15 people, if that.

Let's just say this little experiment
would have me one step closer to deactivating my account
if it weren't for the fact that I would lose my main source
of viewership for this blog. haha
What can I say? Zuckerburg has a hold on us all.
Word.

Burlesque

I can no longer say I've never been to a strip club.

Well... no, I could.

It was a burlesque joint so it was classier,

but bitches were still taking the clothes off.

Let's be serious.

How and why I went to a burlesque joint isn't important,

just know that Baltimore has so much to offer.

The establishment wasn't too sleazy,

just one dark room with a bar and a small stage on each side.

Most of the performers, we'll call them, used the stage with the pole.

You see why I think of it as a strip club.

The first chick was skinny and coked out looking.

She moved slow and worked the pole like a lazy hooker.

When she took off her top, pasties covered her nipples.

Really, they covered her breasts.

She was a member of the itty bitty titty committee.

Most of them bitches held memberships.

No breasts, no cheeks, no face.

It's enough to even make a gay man sad.

I am so team thick girls it's not even funny.

So after a parade of skinny bitches on the pole,

a skinny bitch wrapped herself up in fabric hanging from the ceiling.

She took us to the circus real quick. It was much appreciated.

Then a skinny bitch decided to shake her bare tits around.

It was dark, but her areolas wouldn't look appetizing to an infant.

I was not amused.

For the last performance,

the second stage was utilized.

The lights were dimmed low.

Next thing I knew

two bad bitches walked out and starting doing their thing.

They actually had cheeks.

They didn't give themselves a round of applause 

but they were so much more entertaining than the other girls.

But all in all,

I had a good time.

Next time, I gotta find people to hit up a male equivalent though.

Word.

Prof Charles, no Xavier

Before I started my freshman year of college
my mother asked me this question:
"Why don't you try to become a teacher?"
"...no thanks. It's not for me," I replied.

Sure, it can be hard to find a job as a Writing or English major,
and becoming a teacher is a nice fallback.
The world will always need teachers,
but I couldn't see myself being one.
This is largely because of my speech impediment.
How can I teach children when they can barely understand me?
What if I mispronounce a word and they say it like that for the rest of their life?
I didn't want to mess any kids up like that.

Fast forward to the Summer of 2011.
A broke, bored college student
finds it difficult to find a job
until his church reaches out to him
to tutor children in reading and writing at an enrichment camp.
He works for free, but as stayed before
he is bored.

At some point I found out I was teaching math as well.
Most Writing/English majors would buckle upon hearing that,
but I've always been better at math than writing anyway.
I just don't enjoy it as much.
Rather, I couldn't see myself enjoying a job that entailed
cranking equations all day.


The children I was given charge of?
Let's call them... inner city youths between the ages of 6-12.
Niglets. I mean black.... they were black.
Reaching an age group that wide would prove to be a challenge as well.
I'll never know how teachers in the olden days did it.
I commend them.
I ended up splitting my kids up into halves though:
little kids (8 and down) and big kids (9 and up).

I didn't have a textbook or anything,
so I made up my own curriculm as I went along.
...I mean I had a syllabus. Yup, sure did.
Worksheets I found online did help structure my class, however.

How was it to actually tutor/teach kids?
Well, as expected, I found it difficult at first.
I felt as frustrated as Mr. Cartmenez:
"How do I reach these kids?"

Well no, I lied.
Math was easy to teach.
The kids actually wanted to learn that.
Mostly because it was like a competition.
Kids love to be able to say they're better than someone
so I used that to my advantage.
Don't worry, I told the kids not to say,
"Why you so slow? You so stupid. Gosh!"
One little girl kept saying it anyway, though.
It got her sent out the classroom a couple of times.

No, English proved to be the real challenge,
which hurt me as not only a teacher but a writer.
They considered it boring or hard.
Taught the wrong way, language arts can be rather boring.
And the English language is without a doubt a hard language.
But I still tried anyway.

I created vocabulary list and held spelling bees.
I held grammar lessons (because let's be honest,
most everyone's grammar in the hood is atrocious, including adults).
I even printed out short stories for them to read and comprehend.
Everything didn't reach any child,
but every child took something away from my lessons.

But all these feels static.
I should tell you about the children.
For the most part, they all called me Mr Charles.
I mean, I am an elder to them so it made sense.
I didn't feel like being called by my last name though.
That would have made me feel too old.
Some of the kids called me Uncle Charles for a while.
That was cool, too.

When I came to teach,
the kids would usually be at recess.
Seeing me meant recess was over,
so of course some kids resented me for it.
One had even more reason to resent me for mispronouncing his name all the time.
It wasn't even one of those ultra ghetto spectacular names, either.
It was just two letters.
But one of those letters was an R.
My mouth struggles to make R-sounds,
so it comes out more like a W.
Mispronouncing a student's name
wasn't my only speaking fail,
but I was able to overcome it.
Most of the kids were able to understand me enough.

They heard me whenever I yelled, as well.
They're kids. Bad ass little black kids.
I expected to have to yell at them to be quiet and pay attention.
It honestly was my least favorite part of the job.
Screaming always gives me a headache.
Eventually I stopped shouting at them and sent them out of the room
whenever they became too much of a hassle.
After seeing the leader of the camp,
they would usually return quiet and ready to learn.

Remember how I mentioned kids loving competition?
Well at some point or another, they all wanted to be my helper for the day.
What kid doesn't enjoy feeling important?
I used that to keep them quiet and in check as well

In fact, some of the kids kinda played teacher's pet to me.
This one kid, he kept trying to impress me.
It made me like him and I started to treat him like a little brother.
I found this was bad as far as demanding respect in the classroom.
But he disappeared two weeks later.

By disappeared I mean that his parent(s) stopped bring him to camp.
Kids were always coming and going.
I think I had 5-7 constant kids
and that's only because they were the kids of the counselors of the camp.
Because of this, I realized I wouldn't be able to teach everything I wanted.
I never set an end goal for my english lessons,
and I only made the little kids practice adding and subtraction over and over.
But the big kids, I wanted to get to decimals and order of operations.
I guess I should be happy though.
I got them through multiplication, division, and fractions
including mixed, addition, and subtraction.
I was on multiplying and dividing fractions when camp ended.

I sincerely hope I taught the kids enough to put them ahead
or at the very least catch up to their classmates.

As I typed that I realized how much I actually care for those kids.
I think that's what really makes a teacher:
their level of commitment to their student's excellence.
Needless to say, I'm reconsidering my job options.
With a year left of school, I might just take some education classes
to make my career as a teacher more of a possibility.
Next time, though, I'm dealing with teenagers.
Teaching the fundamentals is draining.
Word.

Baby's First Earthquake

As a 22 year old man living in Newark, NJ
I always thought I'd have to worry about a stray bullet
more than a falling ceiling fan killing me.
Well apparently Mother Nature thought it'd be funny
to remind me that anything is possible.

So apparently there has been a 5.8 scale earthquake in the DMV area.
My prayers go out to everyone who was caught in the midst of that.

I'm just surprised that it shook the whole East Coast.
Correction, I'm surprised there was an earthquake on this side of the states at all.
Did Pangaea fuck us all and now we're on the West Coast?
I'll be damned.

It started as my chair and table rocking back and forth.
At first I just thought it was a big ass rat fucking with my emotions.
Then the floor started to shake.
My heart beat faster as my body froze.
But I tell you what,
if stuff decided to fall from the ceiling
I would have tucked and rolled so fast!

After the mini shock subdues
of course I go to update Twitter
because I am a slave to social media.
I swear I thought it was just my imagination running away with me like the Temptations
Sure enough I see people from Maryland to NYC talking about the shake.
Have I never been more glad to be a slave.

The last thing I tweeted was:
I feel like I should hide in a closet in case it the earthquake comes back... but I promised myself never again. #gayboyproblem
I always like to make light of a situation, you know.

If Walmart is smart,
they'll start selling Earthquake kits
all along the East Coast
before people forget.

If there's anything I learned from the East Coast Earthquake of 2011 it's this:
IT AIN'T SAFE NO MOOOOOOORE!
Word.

57) Find community service to take part in

No one likes a lazy ass.
So when I found out I would be staying in Jersey during the summer
I searched for some sort of employment.
My standards refused to let me work in fast food.
My lack of a license kept me from jobs not reachable by bus.
My trust in the economy failed to supply me a paying gig.

Luckily for me, my church hosted a summer camp this year.
Well, it was more of an enrichment camp;
u kno, wit chil'rens learnin nd stuf.
Obviously, I was scooped up to be the kids' English teacher, or tutor rather.
Unlikely for me, it was not a paying position due to a lack of funds from the state.
I only decided to do it because it would occupy my time.
But again luckily for me,
this meant my community service challenge was about to be fulfilled.
I didn't even realize it until I was 2 weeks away from finishing up
when my mother mentioned that I could put it on my resume as community service.
I swear, she's more of a genius than I am.

Doing it to boost rep.

Why was community service so important to put on my 101 list?
Simply put, I have been able to dodge it any other time
and I started to feel bad about it.
At my high school we had this thing called Spring Phase.
Basically it's the last month of school devoted to one activity-like-class. We were to complete community service as a class at least one year.
However, I dodged it by being one of the few kids
to work on the literary magazine every year during Spring Phase.

At some point I decided to assign myself a reason for being against community service.
Reason 1) I shouldn't be forced into it. I should want to give back freely.
Reason 2) I may be black but I'm not felon given a clean up sentence.
Reason 3) I'm not privileged or established enough to give back to anyone.
Even in high school I was such a load of shit.
I went to catholic/private school all my life.
There was something I could have imparted
to my inner-city youth public school counterparts.

As I look back, there was probably some dope ass scholarship I could have received for being such a valuable memorable of the Newark community or something.
Fiddlesticks.

No, I have not participated in community service while at Loyola either.
Loyola has a program called Spring Break Outreach
where white kids (and a few minorities sprinkled in to help bridge the gap)
go to underprivileged cities along the east coast and south
and pitch in, in whatever way they can.
Usually spots include: Gulf Coast of New Orleans; Ivanhoe, Va; Baltimore, MD; Camden, NJ; and Newark, NJ.
I kid you not, look at the website.
How can I feel compelled to help out a city on the same list as my own?
Suddenly my third reason for ditching community service felt justified.

Doing it to boost album sales.

Honestly, who knows how long it would have taken me to find a city or organization
to help out with if I hadn't stumbled
upon this opportunity.
It probably would have been the last thing on my list to be completed. haha

But how do I feel
now that I've completed my service?
I'm not inspired to donate my time like crazy...
but I suppose I wouldn't turn down an invitation
or a good cause to go out and help. You do end up with a nice accomplished feeling.
What is that lame line elders always tell us?
It's better to give than to receive.
As far as help goes,
I'd have to say that's a pretty true statement.
Pretty true, indeed.
Word.


Oh yeah and if you want to read what tutoring kids was like, click here.

6) Become comfortable with wearing shorts

Anyone that's been around me long enough
knows that I only wear jeans.
Search your memory banks, friends,
and you'll know it to be true.
Beside the days I have to work in khakis,
my legs are covered in blue denim.
Winter, Fall, Spring, and especially Summer.

There really isn't so much a story
as there is a simple explanation.
I have eczema.
What that means is that if I don't moisturize my skin
it will become ashy, flaky, and scaly.
They'll even crack and bleed.
Luckily I've been able to treat everything but my hands so far,
those tough leathery bastards.
But back in the day, my skin was simply the pits,
my legs being the worst.
So like any logical kid,
to avoid humiliation I never wore shorts.
Even when we had gym, I wore sweatpants instead.

Though my legs have gotten much better and smoother,
I've still held on to my no shorts policy.
Mostly out of habit,
but also out of fear that my eczema'll catch me slipping.

I don't know what possessed me to include this on the list.
Well no, that's a lie.
It's number 6, so obviously it popped into my head immediately.
I suppose I included it to challenge myself.
To overcome a fear I didn't need to hold on to any longer.
And I'm sure I added it to create more possibilities to my wardrobe as well.

When I was finally ready to embrace my legs,
I posed a simple question to Twitter,
"I keep getting mixed signals on jorts.
What do you guys think about them?"
Jorts, for those that don't know, are jean shorts.
As a guy who knows only jeans,
I figured why not stick with what I know.
Besides, we all know it's the hipster thing to do.
The answers I received were mostly no's.
However, one friend told me wear them if I wanted to let my flame out.
All I needed was one yes to try it. I'm all for more ways for people to easily tell I'm gay.
Shortly after I had made up my mind, I received this response from a trusted gay friend: Who are you, Ellie May Clampett? Fucking nay!
Needless to say, I laid my jorts dreams to rest.

Three weeks later,
I went shorts shopping.
After much browsing in H&M
I found a nice little pair of black shorts.
Cotton, I believe there were.

I got home and tried them on.
They were so tight and short.
I was pleased.
They were very hipster of me.
Also, what gay man doesn't like to show off his ass?

However, my mother wanted to see how they fit me as well.
...she was not pleased with the fit.
She said they went up my crack.
I honestly couldn't tell.
She urged me to return the shorts, and I obliged her.
I don't know why, it's my body. I do what I want!
It might have been because she gave me the money to buy them, though...

The 38s

In any case,
I exchanged the black shorts for a bigger size.
From a size 33 to a size 38.
It was on the discount rack.
The size 38s fit fine with a belt because of the make,
but I miss the snugness of the 33s.
At least they still came above my knees.
Only roughians wear shorts below their knees.
[Is my bougie negro showing yet?]

So how do I actually feel about wearing shorts
now that I've had them for the past 2-3 weeks?
...they're not all bad.
I mean, I hate the breeze that comes across my legs.
It bothers me.
Also, air conditioning chills me much faster now.
However, wearing shorts has it's pluses.
They make great lounge wear,
allow the legs to move around freely while dancing,
and they're not a bad way to switch up how I wear a t-shirt.

Will I buy more shorts?
I honestly don't know yet.
Only time will tell.
I have been eyeing an old pair of jeans
with a hole at the knees that I could cut up though. :-D
Word.

Reunited

Usually when you go to a reunion
you meet with a side of your grandparents' family,
awkwardly ask how each other is doing,
make boring small talk for 5-10 minutes,
and then never talk to them again until the next reunion 5 years later.

Luckily I got a little something more
from my weekend in Myrtle Beach.
And no, I don't mean darker skin and a random hook up.
Although I actually did get one of those. [no wink wink nudge nudge :-/]

As little time as I spent in Jersey these past four years I've spent even less time talking to my family.
It's not like I was trying to be the anti-Peter Griffin or anything.
You see, in order to stay in touch with most family members
you need to ring them up on the telly.
I loathe talking on the phone.
But it's not just that.
I was basically the baby of the family on my mother's side before my sister had her kids,
and it happens to be very hard to break out of the mentality of staying out of grown folks business or even carrying a normal conversation with them.

I have two cousins that are between me and my sister's age (we're 12.5 years apart)
but they decided not to come to the reunion,
work schedules and distance and whatnot.
So I was left to hang with the old folks on the drive down to Myrtle Beach.
Said old folks include: my mom, her parents, and her aunt.
What I expected to be a boring ride was;
I slept the entire way down.

However once we pit-stopped at my sister's house in North Carolina, the laughs rolled.
This is mainly because anytime my sister and I are in the same room
we pick on our mother or just crack joke after joke.
My mom is dorky and funny most of the time too.
The real surprise came from watching my grandparents interact.
They've been married for over 50 years and still act like kids sometimes.
My grandpa'll make a crack at my grandma or poke her and she'll start to jokingly fuss.
When my grandfather fell asleep in the car himself,
she poked him until he woke up.
Little things like that made me feel like I could talk to them.

Once we got down to Myrtle Beach,
we were joined by my uncle,
a few cousins my mom's age,
and a couple of my grandma's siblings.
When I tell you we kept to ourselves, we kept to ourselves.
The way the reunion was set up
each family just did whatever until the banquet on the last day.
They didn't even have a proper meet and greet.
You could have been standing in line at a water park
and not even realize the family in front of you were your distance cousins.
After a while you kinda just assume anyone black is related to you. [hooray for enforcing stereotypes!]

Now even though my immediate family was either born in Newark (and its surrounding areas) and/or lived there for the latter part of their life,
we are still a pretty bougie, highfalutin bunch.

"Don't trust them new niggas
over yonder..."

We expect things to have class and order.
So when we went to the banquet, we came through in nice summer dresses, linen suits, and shirt and slacks.
In return, we were greeted with stank eyes aplenty.
I looked around the ballroom
and saw negroes in shorts, tees, raunchy attire.
I judged them so hard as they stared us down.

You see, this reunion was so extended that my grandmother's maiden name wasn't even on the program.
I'm guessing it was her mother's side of the family.
Well, they suck.
Damn southerners.
I felt so unwanted I didn't even stay for the dance portion of the evening,
and ya'll know how much I love to show out on an actual dancefloor.

But being so excluded from the rest of the family
kinda made my immediate relatives tighter.
We banded together and had our own damn fun
without being bothered with the rest of them.

So while I've been focused on only relying on my friends these past few years,
it's nice to know I have family I can actually reach out and talk to when I'm ready to.
Because as much as I tried to deny it in the past,
in the end you've got nothing if you don't have family.
Word.

46) Try seafood again and not die

The past four years I've stayed in Baltimore
there have been countless crab feast,
not to mention the copious amounts of fish fillets served at any occasion.
Have you any idea how much this sucks to a guy with a seafood allergy?
I mean, I can still smell that shit.
It's fucking delicious from what my nose can gather.

It's not as if I've never had seafood, though.
What, you thought I was told by a doctor I had an allergy?
I'm black, my mother ain't have money for no damn allergy test.
Anything she found out I couldn't eat occurred through trial and error.

I don't remember the first time I ate seafood, but my mother says I have a different reaction each time.
I accredit this to her subjecting to me to a different species of fish each time.

The last bit of seafood I remember having is shrimp.
I was about ten or so.
There was butter sauce.
It was delicious, pure ecstasy.
That was until the swelling in my face and throat began.

Every since then
I was the kid keeping a group from going to Red Lobster.
It's not like I didn't want to go to, though.
I mean them cheddar biscuits are to die for, man!

My father has wanted me to try seafood again for a while now.
"It's probably just shellfish," he tells me. "You gotta at least eat a tuna fish sandwich."
Out of all the fish, that's the one I don't want to try.
It looks like cat food for goodness's sake.

But he was right.
I felt I needed to try seafood one more time.
I had out grown my other allergies as a kid:
meat, dairy, tomatoes, chocolate.
Yeah, I could only eat fruits and veggies until I was about four.
So who's to say I wouldn't outgrow this one.

Well Saturday I had my opportunity to try fish once again.
My mother grilled up some tilapia and offered me a piece.
If I was to try fish again anywhere
it would be in the comfort of my own home
literally two blocks away from the hospital I was born in.

She cut me a bite-sized piece
and lifted it to my face with a fork.
I was wary of the dead sea critter, nervous even.
I sniffed it like a suspicious dog.
Then I peaked it, attempting to see if it would be the kiss of death.
After 5 seconds, nothing happened.
I licked it for extra measure before finally chomping down on it.

My initial impression after swallowing it?
Tilapia: the pork of the sea.
It wasn't bad at all...
until my tongue started to itch.
Then my throat joined the party.
My upper lip was fashionably late,
showing off its new boils.

My mother gave me two Benadryl and watched me like a hawk for the next hour,
making sure I downed bottles of water as if I were a fish myself.
Sure enough, my lip and throat slowly got better.
A trip to the hospital had been averted,
but I would still have to decline the invitation to my next fish fry.
...least I didn't die. That's always good.

Part of me still wants to try shellfish though.
Mainly because I want to fully participate in a crab feast, really.
Swinging a mallot at a dead animal: who wouldn't enjoy that?
Word

I Actually Don't Mind Them

There have been multiple cases,
and I'm sure you've experienced this too,
when I'm around a group of people
and they will collectively shit on a person's life.
Usually it's behind the person's back
but most have no qualms with doing it to their face either.

Now to each their own.
As long as you stand by your opinions and beliefs at all times
I have no problem with you.
However, I have a problem with those who don't.
In this case I had a problem with myself.

You see, while I never said anything to degrade a person
I would nod along and "mm-hmm, yeah" while others did.
I went with the group just to go with the group.
I had no reason to dislike the person they disliked.
I was a phony, and I felt sick about it.

I have this irrational disease a few weak-spirited people have,
that wanting to be liked by everyone shit.
And I felt that if I aligned myself with the wrong people,
others would dislike me by association.
Well, that's stupid.
If people were to do that,
the fuck do I need them around me for,
to bring me down?
I'll pass.

It wasn't until about the middle of my junior year in college
that I finally figured that out
and said, "Fuck it, I'mma hang with who I want."
Granted, I did it secretly at first,
but I found I was happier.
I almost let other people keep me from a person
I shared common interests with,
more common interests than with those previously mentioned.

Basically, all I'm saying is don't let other people
determine how you view other people or the world, even.
Come up with your own conclusion
before you shut yourself off from something you might actually enjoy.
Otherwise you could end up a depressed, lonely fool
among a sea of people you don't even care about.
Word.

So You're 22 Now...

Having just turned 22 less than a month ago,
I find myself faced with the same problem day after day:
I keep seeing teenagers on the street and follow them with my eyes.
Eventually I'm gonna land myself in trouble.

I mean, I won't lie.
I often find myself still thinking like a teenager:
thinking in the moment, worrying about the future when it comes.
Something like that is hard to break out of
when you don't pay the majority of your own bills.

To me, liking a 17 year old when I was 20 seemed totally acceptable.
...not that I ever actually did it.
I'm just saying, I wouldn't have stopped myself.
It's only an age difference of three years,
and they'd be legal soon enough.
But now that I'm 22 (and back in Newark),
I find myself looking at 15 year olds,
and I instantly feel like a creep, a pedophile [pronounced in an English accent].

How the hell did I get older
and shoot for even younger suitors?
I can't even begin to comprehend this mess.
Usually, I like to go for older peeps.
That way I feel as if they're in charge.
[You should be seeing a trend by now.]
I suppose I've been eyeing teenagers lately because
1) I'm used to not worry about a person's age after living on a college campus for so long and
2) the lust for youth and irresponsibility still calls out to me in the dead of night.

22. Do you know how old I feel when I say that to myself?
Like I'm fuckin 30. Oh lawd, I'm going to be 30 someday.
See, that's it!
22, it means the rest of your life you have nothing to look forward to but your body breaking down, losing friends (between arguments, lost connections, and death), year after year of work, bills, a shitty economy, possibly no social security or retirement.
The shit is daunting, man.
What I wouldn't give to be 21 again.

Actually in retrospect, living on this earth as a 21 year old was very shitty.
I thought that was supposed to be my best year ever.
I think... I think that's it.
I was promised such fantastic times during my high school and college years,
but I've realized they were either terrible or wasted.

But, I have to remind myself that there's no way to go back.
I have to just learn from the shitty mess I've made of certain circumstances
and be ready for the ride that life has planned for me.
I mean, the bitch only moves forward.

So, here's to fucking the anxiety of becoming an old geezer.
Here's to welcoming the responsibilities of the world,
no matter how unwelcome they are.
May we venture forward together, helping each other along the way.
For alone, we may become overcome with depression.
Word.

P.S. If you're 18 and interested, hit a brother up.
P.S.S. I'm not serious.

Summer Albums

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that time of year is finally upon us. The first official day of summer is here, and you know what that means: it's time for the summer jams. When you think about it, there are just some albums that really encompass the whole vibe of summer more than others. And it being summer, you want to make sure it's an album you can listen to all the way through. So with that in mind, I have assembled a list of a few of my favorite summer-minded albums.

DJ Jazzy Jeff & Mick Boogie's Summertime: The Mixtape
Mixed by two great DJs, this album contains hit after hit from any soul, hip-hip, and R&B summer song you could think of, ranging from Kool & The Gang's Summer Madness to Ice Cube's It Was a Good Day to Pharcyde & Sublime's Summertime to Carl Thomas's Summer Rain. Each track is roughly 1-2 minutes long allowing for a true DJed vibe, one song scratched seamlessly into the next. Enjoy in the car, beach, cookout, or just in the house.

Nas' Illmatic
Every summer needs a classic album, and Illmatic is an undisputedly great record. From the Tri-State or not, N.Y. State of Mind will put you in one. With high caliber 90s lyricism and outstanding beats, you won't be able to stop listening. Even when the topic is serious, Nas finds a way to keep it light and uplifting. Play this while in the crib or rolling around the city.

Lauryn Hill's Miseducation of Lauryn Hill
Consider this album your summer school, but a completely enjoyable one about what love really is. Much like Nas, Ms Hill knows how to deliver her message and not bore you. Her genre bending of R&B, Soul, Reggae, Hip-Hop, and Gospel is impeccable and to be envied. Every song has it's own unique sound, guaranteed to keep you entertained. Every head at the cookout will love this, and of course it's great in the car.

Maxwell's BLACKsummers'night

You know I had to throw a little soul in there, and Maxwell is just the man for the job. And with "summer" in the album's title, this joint immediately came to mind. With a distinct voice and smooth instrumentals, this record well ease the thug in you and put some love in your soul.  This is perfect for those late night alone with your beau... between the sheets.

Jay-Z's American Gangster
One of Hov's most looked over but greatest albums, this album will without a doubt make you feel like a certified G. Drawing inspiration from the film of the same name, Shawn Carter becomes Frank Lucas in the booth. The album was released just before the winter; you can feel the cool breeze seep from your speakers. Blast this in your Caddy and receive head nods a-plenty.

Luke O'Brien's The Dopeness
Despite not being well known, this is the first album I associated with summer and the first that landed on this list. Lead rapper of A Cool Stick, Luke produces a solid solo album. Like American Gangster, The Dopeness is influenced by the Wackness, a movie that expands one boy's summer before he starts college. Every track is smooth and includes great lyricism. I cannot even begin to explain how much I love this album. Perfect in the car or hanging with the boys.

Drake's So Far Gone
If you don't love this album, you're a damn liar. This mixtape ruled the summer of 09, and will continue to rule every summer after it for a time to come. Great lyrics, great samples, great composition. This mixtape is easily the best thing Drake has dropped. It's a masterpiece, and I don't care if I seem like I'm dick riding. Play this anywhere, but especially at a cookout just before the old head dance party commences.

Vampire Weekend's self titled album

You know I had to include some white boy music, so why not go with the whitest of the white. Using Afro-beat inspired sounds, VW manages to blend in their own preppy sound perfectly. Fun and high paced, this album will have you everywhere between toe tapping and flailing around without fail. The beach with a giant bonfire is the best atmosphere for this music.

Common's Be

Last but not least, we have one of the Chicagoan emcee's greatest albums. Ranging from lines about "being faithful to the end" to "telling 'em fuck 'em like I do the police," this record has something for everyone. Produced mostly by Kanye West, the album will have you bumping. Let this blast at your crib or your car.

There you have it. A little something for your eardrums
to keep 'em pleased all summer long. Enjoy.
Word.

Post-Rejection Randiness

Let's say one night you go out
and you see someone you think is hot.
They're not out of your league,
and you're completely sure
they're the same sexual preference as you.
So you put in a fair amount of work,
spit your game, talk your shit.
You know, try not to come on too strong,
give them some space.
Yet when the end of the night arrives
and you go in for the final swoop,
there they are, walking out the door with some other stranger.

Well my dear friends [and associates],
this happened to me just last week.
Now, I have no doubt that
all of this return of affection I felt
came purely from my own mind.
However, it doesn't make the rejection any easier to deal with.

How does one deal with it, you ask?
Well it seems my body's natural response to sexual rejection
is to become even more sexually bothered.
You might remember my post about the Male Period a year ago.
Well, that bitch is working overtime right now.
I was doing good, too.
I've been turning down propositions from strangers online for the past 3 months.
But if one was to contact me now, I don't know if I'd be as strong.

Now I can see how some of you may blame this on the season change,
but I'm telling you I've experienced this before.
This is just my first time taking note of it.
But I refuse to believe I'm the only one that suffers from this ailment.
PRR (or Post-Rejection Randiness) is real.
I demand one of you to confirm it!
Otherwise, I shall be forever alone, physically and psychologically.
And we wouldn't want that, now would we?
Outstanding, I shall patiently await your response.
Until then, my dear friends [and associates].
Word.

Lessons Learned Taken Too Far, 1

My mama told me, "If you ain't got nothing nice to say then don't say nothing."
Now, to a three year old Charles
whose mama provided for him
and had never led him astray,
these words would be a key ingredient
in the sauce that would eventually become his personality.

Most people figure I'm quiet when they first meet me.
I'm not really quiet; I'm just observing,
figuring out what I can say without offending you,
just how far I can take my jokes.
Because honestly, I have a very vulgar vocabulary.
So to the people who find such words and phrases "not nice"
I keep my mouth shut around.

The same thing goes for my opinions.
My opinions are necessarily bad or rude,
I just always thought challenging someone like that was impolite.
I was a really nice kid that took things to far,
and it's still pretty hard to shake free from it.

So now, you have a man who's turning 22 tomorrow
still afraid of confrontation
because he doesn't want to upset anyone
or have them not like him.
It really is silly, because I know full and well I can please everyone.
But my mind tells me, "What's the harm in trying?"
The harm is that it can wreck your mind.
Holding things that bother you for too long is detrimental to your health.

So for your own sake,
tell a person to bug off.
Tell your parents this is what you believe and there's no change that.
Tell your obnoxious coworker what you really think of them.
...don't tell the police to suck your dick, though.
I don't want anyone going to jail because of me.
But remember to still be polite about it.
Rudeness is for Rihanna and her boyfriends.
Word.

The Smoky Connection

Smoking isn't all bad.

After a meeting tonight,
the only other guy close to my age came up to me.
I had seen him the week before, too.
It was nice seeing him around.
"You smoke?" he asked.
"Usually only when I'm drunk, but I still do it on occasion."
After pushing my mother to quit and
resenting my father for getting my clothes smelly every time I visited him,
I always told myself I would never pick up a cigarette.
Funny the things we swore as a kid that we eventually end up breaking.
But my casual smoking habits aren't the topic of this post.

As the guy handed me a cigarette and his lighter,
he started a conversation with me.
I handed him back the lighter and just listened as he vented.
I showed off by never removing the cigarette from my mouth
and blowing smoke out the side of my mouth
while offering my two cents whenever he took a pause to pull a drag.
By the end of our cancer sticks,
we had traded numbers to meet up later sometime.

Now I have to wonder...
would we have even talked to each other without the aid of tobacco?
I mean, I am kinda awkward.

I can attest to the connecting power of cigarettes.
I know it isn't the main reason why they hung out,
but within my group of actor friends
there was a group of smokers.
They would go outside during breaks from rehearsals or at parties
to smoke and converse.
Because I'm curious by nature,
I would often follow them and bum a cig off someone.
They usually had some pretty interesting conversations
that I felt privileged to take part in.
So much so I carried a lighter for a few months.
I figured I could trade fire for a rolled up plant.

That's the only appeal I can find for smokers.
I imagine the psychological part of quitting cigarettes
is leaving behind the conversations you have with other smokers
that for some reason you can never have with out a gray cloud around.

I just hope my inquisitive nature doesn't lead to a new addiction.
I have enough of those as is.
Word

#69 - Dance in the Rain

Oh, you thought I forgot about my 101 Tasks in 1001 Days?
Naw, I just had to regroup myself for  a second.
You know how things go.
And since I've been slacking these last few months,
I have major catching up to do.
So I got an easy one out of the way last night.

Now, I've never seen Dancing in the Rain....
[does a Google search]
That's because it's called Singin' in the Rain.
Wow, I'm terrible.
But in any case,
I obviously owe it to myself to watch it.
Without classic movies like those,
where would we be, right?

Luckily my challenge based of a movie wasn't a total bust, because if you're dancing why not sing too?

I got out of a meeting early yesterday evening.
However I still had to wait to be picked up.
Of course, being the guy I am, I always have my iPod and headphones on deck.
As soon as everyone else left,
I headed towards the empty parking lot.
I selected a playlist I knew most of the words to
and one I could easily bust a move to: Blaine and the Pips.
Yes, I pretended like I was Darren Criss on Glee
and moved around that parking lot like I had a whole crew of Warblers behind me.
Obviously, I'm not as good a singer as Mr. Criss,
but I like to think I'm damn good when I drop an octave. haha

In case you're wondering,
yes I did incorporate choreography from the show.
Shoot, I even kicked my foot across a few puddles
like I was Chris Brown in that one video [I think].
...I suddenly realize I could have performed
the Singing in the Rain/Umbrella mash up from Glee, too.
Oh well. Next time.

So what did I get out of doing this?
Well for one, I got my life.
It just... I excited myself.
When that light or steady drizzle hits your head
as you sweat through song after song,
you almost don't want to stop.
You could keep going like that rabbit that represents Energizer.
That is until the downpour comes.
Then you'll like, "Well it was fun while it lasted, but fuck this!"

But overall, it's just a freeing experience.
I highly recommended it,
even to those that can't sing or dance.
Go out and get your life!
Word.

Outside at the Restaurant

Whenever I visit New York City
I pass restaurants with patrons eating outside.
Usually I have to keep myself from staring.
It's not that I'm people watching,
I do that as part of my regular routine.
It's more of an admiration.

You see, I have this vision of a perfect life in my head.
As a writer, I see myself being part of the "in crowd" if you will.
I'll live in a small studio apartment
in some big city where there's always something to do.
I'll have friends and associates that provide great conversation.
And I'll eat at the small self-run restaurants that are recommended by newspapers.

To me, eating outside at a restaurant is a sign of class.
It says I'm good enough to dine here and be noticed by you.
I realize how pompous this sounds,
but dammit it's the life that's always allured me.

I feel as if some people, the middle-classer born to a well enough family,
naturally come into this kind of lifestyle.
It's their norm and always will be.

When I've visited NYC with friends in the past
[most recently with my best friend's friends],
we'll settle for eating at some fast food joint
or a popular restaurant in Times Square that has specials.
We tried to go to one of the restaurants where people dine outside once.
It was a beautiful white bricked building with a white awning.
Instantly I became excited and began checking my wallet
to make sure I had enough money to try something new and exotic.
But before I received a chance to count my duckets (ducats)
one of the guys in the group said, "Man, this place ain't for us. We don't belong here."

I had to agree.
Most of the people in our party were 16-19 year old black kids
wearing the latest in urban fashion trends.
The people I saw eating there,
and working there for that matter,
where all white, 25 and up dressed in sensible threads.
[There was one Asian waitress. Bad little number, too.]
My friend's friends were defeated before they even truly attempted to eat there.
A classic example of the black mentality:
a feeling of displacement without trying to integrate.

So I suppose I wish for a lifestyle of art exhibits, poetry readings, and outdoor dining
as a way of proving to myself that I don't have to fall victim to such a way of thinking.
It's a socioeconomic status I plan on achieving.
Besides, I heard this place called Benny's Burritos has great Mexican cuisine.
I can't let that go by.
Word.

The Facebook Music Club

A couple of weeks ago, I decided to share music on Facebook.
Not my own music, no.
I haven't even written a lyric yet.
But this isn't about my musical prowess, it's about my taste in music.

I'm sure I've mentioned something to the affect of college reshaping the kind of music I listen to.
To me, music is essential to development as well,
and the more you have,
the better of a person you might turn out to be.
That's why I have 8775 songs in my iTunes right now.
Now I'm not saying quantity over quality at all.
I'm simply saying the more songs you have,
and the more diverse those songs are,
the better chance you have of gain new outlooks and taste.

It is by no luck at all that my iPod is always sought after,
no matter who I'm around or where I am.
I like to think I've garnered a reputation as a person with good taste in music.
I've always been regarded as a hip-hop connoisseur at the very least.

So why have I taken to Facebook to share my music taste?
Well, because that's were I've been getting more and more of my music lately,
especially rock, soul, alternative,
and music I don't know how else to describe but as indie.
I happen to have friends with equally good taste.
Usually if I like the artist enough,
I'll start looking into some of their other stuff too.

So, I figured why not share the wealth as well.
It's always done tastefully through YouTube urls.
And if you're smart, you've figured out how to turn those videos into mp3s.
If not, that was your hint.

Always feel free to visit my Facebook page for music.
I post a song, or more, a day.
Hip-hop, R&B, Soul, Oldies, Alternative, Rock, Musicals.
Everything put Country and Heavy Metal.
Giving you the songs you might not have ever heard before.
It's there to be enjoyed.

I encourage you to join.
I'm sure there are websites devoted to sharing music like this,
but why not do it on Facebook?
It's already the Walmart of the internet.
Word.

For the few of you reading this who are strangers to me
and would not know me on Facebook,
here are some songs that have been previously featured:

Bell Biv Devoe - Poison vs The Beastie Boys - Intergalactic
Bjork - Who Is It
Bone Thugs N Harmony - 1st of the Month
Childish Gambino - Not Going Back
A Chorus Line - Surprise
A Cool Stick - Hippie Girl
Cosmo Jarvis - Sure as Hell Not Jesus
Cowboy Bebop Theme - Tank
Estelle - In the Rain
Jay Electronica feat Jay-Z - Shiny Suit Theory
A Goofy Movie - Eye to Eye
Metronomy - The Look
Nuyorican Soul - Nautilus (Mawtilus)
OutKast - Humble Mumble
Pogo - Living Island (H.R. Pufnstuf Remix)
The Temptations - Papa Was a Rolling Stone