How Poetic: Beckham in the City

There he is
standing a massive 220 feet 7 inches
with skin painted with neutrals
yet his lively essence shines through.
His perfectly parted hair
seems styled by the fiercest queer in the Village,
his scowl a signature look stolen
from disapproving Italian mothers,
a pectoral muscle so daunting
his own name cannot hold it back.
But all fall as minor characters,
yes even his airbrushed abs,
to what lies behind the "sensibly" priced trunks.
That mysterious sheath that protrudes for all to see,
slaying straight lady and gay lad alike.
Or so Hennes and Mauritz believe.
In actuality, not even a stray cat wishes to approach
the restricted member.
Mothers guard their own eyes before their children's,
a true travesty indeed.
Who to blame:
the painters or anatomy?
All that holds true
is the yearning for next season's substitute.

Story Time: Barking

[This short story imitates the style of Justin Torres' We the Animals]

I watched them. I watched as they turned the corner holding hands, her hand resting safely inside his, a rough and burly five digit creature. I watched as he told a joke and made her laugh, hiding his on satisfaction of bringing her such joy. I watched as he pointed to the restaurant where I sat under a canopy as if to suggest it as a place to enjoy brunch, his bare arm slightly flexing. She didn’t seem impressed by the place’s name: Minnie’s Munchery. I watched as they passed me, panting as they walk away in what seemed slow motion as I yearned for what she had.

            It was at this moment that I felt my jeans get tighter – in the general region of my right thigh. As I attempted to readjust myself, the waiter was leading Derrick to our table. I scooted up closer to the table and folded my hands on the table as if I didn’t still have a hard on.

            “Yo,” Derrick said as he came in for a hug.

            “What up,” I answered without getting up. I dismissed his embrace by saying he was late. It was only by a minute or two.

            “Sorry, Mr. Punctual. I’m guessing you ordered then.”

            I shook my head and handed him a menu. I studied my own without hearing the fruit cart come around. “Can I offer you gentleman anything? Apples, grapes? Perhaps a banana for you, sir?” I stared venomously at the fruit lady and crossed my left leg over my right. For some reason, bananas always reminded me of a lesson in a Shakespeare literature class where my teacher revealed that some women cut off the penises of dead men and put them in their mouth. I can’t remember what play this was in reference to; it’s just one of those odd tidbits I never bothered to fact check out of pure astonishment.

             We received our meals shortly after we ordered. He got french toast, side of bacon. A plate of scrambled eggs, link sausage, hash browns, and two biscuits was placed before me – a relatively safe brunch. I didn’t want to chance looking beastly as I ate my meal. I glanced across the table at Derrick as he pushed half a slice of french toast into his mouth, maple syrup ornamenting his lips.

            “You eat like the mutt you are,” I said to the Irish-Polish-other ethnicity I had forgotten man sitting across from me.

            “Right, like that curly brown hair of yours came from your black momma.” 

            I chuckled and went to place my hand over his. He pulled his hand away before I could reach it and slapped mines away. “Stop confusing my touchiness and clever retorts for affection, man. I told you that that one drunken night.”

            “But…” I started but didn’t finish, going back to my sausage.

            Across the street I heard a stray dog barking. Its front legs were against a tree. I looked to the branches and saw nothing, not even a nest. Then I noticed a squirrel on the next tree over. It looked down on the hound with a blank stare I read as pity. I smiled. I wasn’t going to bark anymore.

How To: Make Joseph Kony Famous

There are two reasons why I've avoided talking about this subject:
1) I lacked the facts I wished to possess.
2) I despise becoming political.
It usually leads to some sort of stress headache on my end.
But, for the sake of those curious about what I think - me being the all-knowing authority I am - I'll risk a brain aneurysm and spill my private thoughts.
You're welcome.

Let me start by saying no one is on the opposing side of this issue. No one wants those children to be forced into war.
Everyone wants to see them liberated.
Well, everyone besides Mr Kony and his associates.
It's such a basic debate (in the worst way possible).
People picking on each other because they don't care much
or because people are spreading information by any means possible:
posting/liking statuses and tweets, reblogging pictures and donation links.
As I ended my post yesterday, let people do what they want.
You can't control what they do,
so stop bickering over it

Speaking of donations,
Invisible Children, the group behind the 30 minute film,
have caught heat for using their money in a way people didn't expect.
Supposedly they used most of this charity towards
paying their workers, production cost, and travel arrangements.
The whole list of grievances with the group can be found here.
I would expect this though.
They're a non-profit whose main propose
was to raise awareness, if I'm not mistaken.
It's not as if they're not giving any money out to the Ugandan children that need it.
Besides, people are not going to work for free.
It'd be nice, but just because people are putting in all their time for a cause,
it doesn't mean they don't have bills to pay and mouths to feed.
I also wanted to wait to post this to allow Invisible Children the opportunity to rebut
which they have. Link found here.
Again, I'm not going to regurgitate everything they've said
but I may reference it throughout this post.

Next, there are those saying they've known about Kony for years.
You know, the hipster peace makers. Couldn't have a travesty without them.
It would seem we've been trying to capture Kony for years now.
He's been avoiding negotiations and such, the whole nine.
I've also been hearing/reading that Uganda might not be so innocent in this whole ordeal.
Not as if they're helping Kony, but they aren't stopping him either.
I would go on, but I sadly don't have all the facts on this aspect.
Any added information you have would be greatly appreciated.

Lastly, I want to bring up a point I overheard this week.
Allow me to direct your attention to this exerpt from Invisible Children's rebuttal:

This is because regional governments are often not adequately committed to the task, but also because they lack some of the specific capabilities that would help them do so. The KONY 2012 campaign is calling for U.S. leadership to address both problems.

My question: is the U.S. the only nation directly being asked to help, and if so why?
Are we the only superpower nation in the world?
Yes, we're the greatest country ever, we can do it all, hoo-rah!
But serious, it seems that over the years we're the ones everyone turns to for help.
We aren't even the real big brother here.
Britain, Spain, France, Portugual, etc has been around much longer.
China's population beats ours by a smooth million.
Looking at a recent list of population, though, we are ranked third.
Regardless, we have our resources being drained from other angles.
While this would be a very important battle to fight, we can't fight them all.
I'd love to finish a war before we begin our next at the very least.

In all honesty, I'm afraid that our national debt
could land us in a worse state.
If I recall correctly, we've already lost our coveted AAA credit rating.
To bring up a point another person made,
we have to take care of home before anything else.
If we end up in a wreck, how can we help anyone else?

I feel myself beginning to hyperventilate, so I think I should stop here.
Look how passionate you've made me get.
I didn't realize I had it in me.

So, to wrap it up, what do I think of the whole Stop Kony movement?
Well... I'm talking about it, aren't I?
But am I going to donate?
No. My house isn't in order.
However, I will continue to spread the word
through intelligent and thought provoking conversation
in hopes of devising a solution that may actually be effective .
Word

The Dangers of Not Giving a F***

For years I thought about what people would think before I said or did anything.

Well... most things.

I've come to realize in the past year that doing such only stressed me out to no end.

Somewhere along the way,

I've become a lot more loose lipped.

If something comes to mind, I'll say/type it without thinking if it's too taboo, hurtful, or raunchy.

Now for the most part, there's absolutely nothing wrong with this.

Sure some people may get hurt feelings or look at you differently.

So? They're just learning more about you.

If they don't like it, the wayside awaits them.

However, there are a few precautions I'm learning I should take.

Don't piss off someone you care about just for the sake of being honest.

They are different ways to say things;

you don't always have to be blunt about it.

Granted, that is the most stress-free way to go about it,

but if you want to stay friends with the person

it's probably worth it.

Don't broadcast your information to everyone.

About a month ago, I shared an event on Twitter

that could hang a negative stigma over me for some time to come.

You know how it is: once it's on the internet, it's out for good.

Do I regret it? 

No, it's a hilarious story.

Did I have to tell it to everyone? No.

Don't endanger your professional career.

I'd think this one was obvious,

but once again, the internet can make it a lot harder to cover your bases.

If you have an incriminating photo or

have said something incredible ignorant,

don't run for any type of public office

without a great publicity team.

For those of us finding regular jobs,

keep your professionalism up online.

My twitter has already ruined that for me, I'm sure.

Lastly, don't get involved in a hot button issue without checking your facts and yourself.

For instance, take the #StopKony/Kony 2012 movement that's blown up this week.

Yes, some people are going to want to help out after seeing a video.

Yes, there are other evils in the world that deserve just as much attention.

Yes, there are people who will criticize you for only caring about this.

Yes, other people will criticize you for not caring 

or for trying to make them feel like a horrible person.

Bottom line, there's no way to win in this situation.

Just follow your own beliefs on the matter 

and keep your mouth shut.

...what are my thoughts about the popularize Kony movement?

[rolls duct tape over fists]

dckmfd nmfdkde, n,wiwekc ekwik jmcdkjxikQ.

I think that answers it.

I hope you've found this little tutorial helpful.

Let me know any additional guidelines or criticisms you have.

I'm still a fairly nice guy who probably won't tell you to wank off.

Word.

Discovering Race: Middle Easterners

The premise of this series to convey how I learned about different ethnicities,
how I initially responded to them, and how I act towards them now.
With that said, I've decided to work my way backwards - for the most part.

The time I remember hearing anything significant about Middle Easterners was during the 9/11 attack.
This may be the most common exposure of their kind for my generation but it was by far the worst way for us to learn about them.
I was in seventh grade at the time.
At the time I was a very compassionate kid.
[Not that I'm not compassionate now,
but my view of the world has been tainted by age.]
So instead of feeling anger towards them,
fear overcame my judgment.
There had been Middle Easterners all around without me realizing.
Store owners, McDonald's employees, bus riders.
I remember hearing about the senseless attacks
on Muslim-Americans and thinking it was ridiculous,
but my fear still kept me suspicious,
wondering if somehow they deserved it.

I feel at this time I should mention I was just beginning to learn about Muslims.
Obviously all Middle Easterners aren't Muslims, though I didn't know then.
I did know, however, that all Muslims weren't Middle Eastern.
Black Muslims are common in Newark, no matter what level their devotion.

It wasn't until I got to high school that I saw my first practicing Muslim.
He wasn't black; my earlier years judged him as white,
though in reality he may have been Palestinian or something.
I just thought all Middle Easterners were brown.
This kid's name was Pablo and he brought his prayer rug to school,
prayed five times a day, participated in Ramadan, the whole nine.
There were several black Muslims at my school that struggled to get through lunch without sneaking something to nibble on.
Not Pablo. He just sat at the table cracking jokes.

Sri Lankans, Indians, and probably a third nationality
were all present during my four years at St. Benedict's Prep.
As far as I knew they didn't take any heat.
Benedict's had its incidences of student on student discrimination,
but there were so few Middle Eastern students
that as a race they flew under the radar.

I was surprised to find that some were darker than me.
They had a very pronounced mahogany quality to their skin.
Occasionally they did smell like curry,
but I assumed it was because they had it the night before.
As I spent a bit more time around them,
the less my inner 7th grader was afraid of them.

My senior year of high school,
I had the privilege of reading the Kite Runner.
It is still in my top 10 books
because it presented me a whole new aspect
to Afghani culture that I wouldn't have visualized otherwise.

If having Middle Eastern classmates wasn't enough, I got an Indian as my direct roommate freshman year of college.
Anand was the best welcome to college I could have gotten.
He was humorous guy who introduced me to partying and new music, mainly Jack Johnson & John Mayer which I still fall asleep to.
As far as keeping up with Indian roots, he didn't worry much about it.
It seemed like he knew who he was
and he didn't feel the need to convey that to anyone else.
Probably the biggest plus to having him as a roommate
was his complete acceptance of my sexuality.
It didn't seem to phase him.
I think in the back of my head
I figured all Middle Easterners homophoic.
Certainly some are,
but no greater a percentage than in the black community;
that percentage is up there.

At college
I also had the opportunity to interact with Muslim women.
Going to an all boys preparatory robbed me of that.
Managing to not stare at their headdresses proved difficult at first
but I learned to respect their practices just like any other decent human being.

Speaking of respect,
Middle Easterners are probably the only group of people
you'll never hear me joke about.
This is mostly because of 9/11.
I don't know how anyone will react to such a joke.
Granted I've heard a few, but you really have to gauge your audience beforehand.
The fact that I don't make fun of them bothers me, actually.
I'm not treating them as equals by my standards.
The day I use sand-nigga/er as freely as nigga/er
is the day American can truly stand as one.

In all honesty,
Middle Easterners are still the ethnicity I know the least about.
That's probably the real reason I don't joke about them.
I know nothing of which countries are in control of the oil,
which countries despise each other,
what cultural traits are specific to a region, etc
primarily because I don't watch/read the news often enough.
I'm sure as I grow into a more mature human being, that'll change though.
Because learning about one another is the true path to peace.
Word

Religion from a Stranger

In yesterday's post,
I expounded upon my session of people watching.
It was a fairly successful venture,
but I left one moment to be explored today.
To refresh your memory, this is what I jotted down:

"Asian woman from the group approaches me and hands me a pamphlet. She speaks in broken English but engages me in a conversation about Jesus. She assumes I'm a Baptist although I say Methodist when she asked me. My tongue make it's difficult to communicate with her. She invites me to a service and to spread the good Word. A young Asian man comes to fetch her as the prepare to leave. He departs saying, 'God bless you.'"

I wanted to talk about this separately
because it struck me as extremely endearing.

Here's this middle age Asian woman
trying spread the word of God
and she can hardly speak or understand English.
Usually I would be annoyed with people pushing religion on me,
but it was clear she was sincere.
I suppose that's why I went along with it.

See, I've been having an up and down with religion lately.
No real reason, honestly.
I'm just going through that 20-something agnostic stage.
There are days I believe, and others I pretend to.
I pretended with the Asian woman.

I know most people probably shoo her away,
so I wanted to make her feel like she was accomplishing something.
Maybe that was wrong of me - to treat her like a child -
but if you could have seen her smile.
I was unaware of how happy someone can get just talking about God.

Being around churches and "supposed" saved folk,
you start to question if there are any true believers left
or if everyone's just going through the motions
and doing what they think they're supposed to do.

That's gust why I fall in and out of religion.
If I'm going to do something like that,
I want to make sure I'm committed.
How dare I half-ass or barely believe something like that?
To me, that's simply offensive.

The Asian woman invited me to her church
where they would go spread God's word to others.
I gave her a "Maybe, yeah."
She most likely picked up my interest wasn't genuine there.
However, she still smiled
as she updated the number on the small pamphlet she handed me.

When the young Asian man came to get her,
they joined the rest of their clan in what seemed like a prayer circle.
I could only smile.
There wouldn't be anything better I could see in that park
than a group of Asians proudly exhibiting their faith.
I packed my belongings and walked to the train station
thinking of my relationship with God.

Letting a stranger talk about their beliefs can actually brighten your day
even if you don't necessary agree with everything they say.
However, Jehovah Witnesses who ring my doorbell at 8am on a Saturday
can feel free to enjoy the stunning architecture of my front door.
Word.

72) People watch on the quad/park and record findings

Long story short,
I ended up taking the wrong bus home for Spring Break yesterday.
Instead of catch the Bolt Bus that goes
from Baltimore to Newark, NJ to NYC,
I hopped on the one straight to NYC.
How the ticket checker managed that, I don't know.

Luckily it's only a $2 train ride from the City back to Newark.
With my general dislike of my hometown,
I decided to walk around Manhattan for a bit.
Eventually I squatted at Greeley Square between W32nd and W33rd street.
I picked this spot because I finally remembered where the train home was
after seeing its sign when I walked into the small park there.

Not wanting to pass up a beautiful New York day
and seeking to scratch off more of my 101 tasks,
I decided to record a bit of people watching.
Though I didn't have a specific purpose,
I wish I studied mannerisms and walking patterns a bit more.
Without further adieu, here are my jottings from the exhibition
with a few added after thoughts.


"Mother and daughter (Iranian?) beg for money with white paper bags."
I gave the daughter a decent amount of spare chance. She seemed to want more, but I was skeptical of giving to her. I suppose I equated her to an average bum begging for liquor money, but the defeat in her eyes made me immediately regret not giving her more.

"Latino gay man walks across busily on the phone with no jacket, switching for all the boys."
It was a nice day out, but it was still only like 50 degrees at best. He was a scrawny kid, so I don't know what he was showing off. Then again, I didn't mind catching a peak of his barely exposed chest...

"Various couples parade their consensual bliss."
I believe you can pick up my bitterness. Adding 'consensual' was my way of wishing ill will upon each of their relationships, as a true hater should.

"Young Filipino man walks in a pea coat and his scarf wrapped around his left wrist."
Cuteness aside, I just found him interesting. I suppose it had gotten too warm - or maybe it was the lack of wind that day - but his decision to wrap his scarf like that inspired me. It seemed like such a fashion statement. I wanted one. Someone put that ish on a runway.

"A parade of shoppers and tourists looking 'totally posh.'"
I tweeted about 10 minutes earlier: This would be a beautiful day in city if it weren't for tourists. Granted, I'm not from NYC and I occasionally get lost, but I get lost everywhere. Besides, North Jersey is basically NYC's sixth borough. Don't listen to anything Long Islanders say. [Is that something they claim? I kinda just assumed.]

"Meeting of typical faced Asian men in business casual deciding where to go."
When I say typical faced, I mean you could watch any show from Japan, China, Korea, etc and see someone with a similarly structured mug. Look, I knew when I scribbled it down I would seem racist. Everyone's a little bit racist. Moving on.

"Statue of Horace Greeley sitting with a soft scowl as he presides over the park."
You look at that statue and tell me you aren't a little intimidated by his old dead white superiority.

"I become self-conscious of people becoming aware I'm watching them."
Insert socially awkward penguin here. Obviously, I didn't let that stop me from continuing.

"St. Paddy's Day college sluts and two of their frat bros are two weeks early."
They were all decked in green, with hats and springy antlers and everything. I later verified with a friend that Hoboken held their St. Patrick's Day celebration yesterday. Why? Just another excuse to day drink. Well, that and I suppose it would have been too wild if they waited until the actual day to do it. People would die.

"Hipster boy with glasses and orange bandana of sorts sits behind a potted shrub and I yearn to see more of him."
I can't help who I'm attracted to, ok?

"Tall black woman (30s) cuffed up by a short Italian man (50s) with wrinkly skin. She looks over it."
It was probably the oddest pairing I'd seen all day. She towered over him as he yammered trying to sound impressive, and the look of disdain in her eyes was priceless. There's a fair chance he has big pockets.

"Tall, bro-ish white guy stares and walks dangerously close to me before reaching his bro at the next table over, engaging in a shake-hug."
It was a sort of fight or flight moment because I'm sure we locked eyes at one point. I described him as a bro because he had a bulky body and a square head, wore a lightweight North Face, and spoke in a cocky tone when he was with his brethren. Why yes, I am judgmental. Thank you for noticing.

"Passing big black man hands Asians a flyer."
These are the same business casual Asians from before. There's a few more of them now. I wonder what was on that flyer.

"Young man who seems established. I wish I could sketch his face."
He was a rather dashing gentleman, but that aside he had a striking face. His eyebrows, his jawline, various other features. It bugs me I don't have a photographic memory; well, at least not an extremely keen one.

"Three mid-20s white women sit down for a questionable meeting of the minds."
They were actually talking about mundane tasks. I just wanted to make fun of them.

"One Asian talks to tall black officer walking around the park."
Nothing too significant about that. I just noticed the officer walking around before. Do I still think black cops are an oxymoron? I shouldn't; I watched Carl Winslow on television for at least six years.

"Two pigeons try my patience by getting too close."
Simply put, Manhattan pigeons are the worst. I would have tired to hook one if it wouldn't have been deemed  the act of a lunatic by those around me.

"Asian woman from the group approaches me and hands me a pamphlet. She speaks in broken English but engages me in a conversation about Jesus. She assumes I'm a Baptist although I say Methodist when she asked me. My tongue make it's difficult to communicate with her. She invites me to a service and to spread the good Word. A young Asian man comes to fetch her as the prepare to leave. He departs saying, 'God bless you.'"
I think I'll flush out a full monologue for this tomorrow. This one is long enough as it is.

So, what did I get from this?
A greater sense of understanding my fellow man?
A decent source of character study?
A few good ganders at cute boys?
Let's just go with all of the above and then some.
This is an exercise I'd suggest to you all.
You never know exactly what you'll get out of it.
Word.