Man, what a week. Where do I start? I had a ball with my boy Reshard in town. We went to the Clippers-76ers game last night (no Iverson, so sad) and then headed out to Roscoe's Chicken & Waffles for... chicken & waffles. Don't laugh if you've never had it, those in the know know where I'm coming from. He talked me into going out and playing ball on Monday, knowing I ain't been in true ballin' shape since... man, I don't even want to expose myself like that. But friends have a way of getting you to do stuff that you know you probably shouldn't do, so me and him and his brother went over to the Westchester Y to shoot some ball. The first game felt awkward to me, but my biggest surprise was that, endurance wise, I was in much better shape than I had anticipated. By the second game, I felt more in sync with myself. Unfortunately, my teammates didn't see the same things that I saw, so after I missed a couple of shots (badly, I might add), they pretty much froze me out. During the third game, I jumped to block a shot and felt a slight pull in my back. I disregarded it, until a few plays later when I jumped to block another shot and felt a STRONG pull, like someone punched me directly in my back. Remember the dude from He-Man who had the big iron fist? Yeah, it felt like he punched me in the back. That was it, I was done. I went and laid on the ground like Larry Bird in the '92 playoffs until the game was over. Even now, it still bothers me a bit when I lay down.
So I came home and told my wife what happened. She laughed.
Me: Just cause I'm 29 and had a back problem doesn't mean anything. Tracy McGrady is younger than me and he's got back problems too.
Her: But he's a multi-millionaire.
Me: I want a divorce.
But on to better things like a hip-hop forum... Wednesday was classic! You may remember that I mentioned my co-worker Markus who is an ill hip-hop beatmaker and producer. Well, Reshard and I have been rhyming on and off since junior high and I can honestly say that we're two ill cats. We bring out the best in each other and with his brother in town from D.C., it was just adding fuel to fire. So the three of us drove over to Markus's crib in Koreatown to hear his beats and we ended up freestyling to them for about 2-3 hours straight. It was sick. For those who have doubts, this is something I wrote last week:
Your boy JGil stay phat like killer whales
And impale all these frail MCs with tall tales
Talking bout your hoes & clothes, defeating foes
I suppose that your nose looks like Pinocchio's
Who's the grimiest and who's the graviest?
Subterranean like the US Navy gets
Divine like blamelessness
I'm out to game on just
Any MC who write rhymes with aimlessness
I destroy any scrub whoever try and stop me
Leave your family shook, waiting on the autopsy
Wonderin how you got mutilated and strangulated
Separate your crew like my flow was segregated
But that was written. That night, the three of us were coming straight off the dome, unrehearsed, and uncontrollable for hours. And Markus's beats were SICK. In June, he's supposed to get the rest of his equipment in (the reason why our classic session went unrecorded) and Reshard's gonna fly back out so we can lay it down.
Back to b-ball, March Madness is in full effect. (Sorry, for the old school slang, I've been listening to a lot of Public Enemy this week, trying to figure out how Flavor Flav ended up with this.) My bracket looks like a war zone already thanks to teams like Iowa (well, at least Steve Alford can start getting ready for the Indiana job) and Kansas. Thankfully, I chose the George Mason and Montana upsets, somehow. But as long as my Final Four teams are still around (Duke, UCLA, Boston College and UConn -- intriguingly, the same picks as Dick Vitale), I figure I'm in OK shape. I love this time of year. I remember in high school, on the first two days of the tourney, we'd race down to the cafeteria, get our lunch, then head back to the AV room to watch the first games. March Madness brings the country together: it makes you root for the Bucknells, the UNC-Wilmingtons, the Wisconsin-Milwaukees and other schools that you would normally never think about, all for the vanity of having a perfect bracket.
Music: I've been listening to Gil Scott-Heron obsessively this week. I'm back to fooling around with my keyboards again and songs like "A Song for Bobby Smith" and "Home is Where the Hatred Is" (I see you, Kanye) have been a big inspiration. Books: Been too busy to read any lately, but here's one I want to read soon. Angela Nissel is a hilarious writer and a really nice woman that I had a chance to meet back when her first book, The Broke Diaries, came out. I actually was able to have a conversation with her and didn't get all starstruck like when I met Zadie Smith. But for real, y'all, Angela Nissel. Support her.
That's it for now. Next time: scouting locations for my short film and more March Madness madness.
But on to better things like a hip-hop forum... Wednesday was classic! You may remember that I mentioned my co-worker Markus who is an ill hip-hop beatmaker and producer. Well, Reshard and I have been rhyming on and off since junior high and I can honestly say that we're two ill cats. We bring out the best in each other and with his brother in town from D.C., it was just adding fuel to fire. So the three of us drove over to Markus's crib in Koreatown to hear his beats and we ended up freestyling to them for about 2-3 hours straight. It was sick. For those who have doubts, this is something I wrote last week:
Your boy JGil stay phat like killer whales
And impale all these frail MCs with tall tales
Talking bout your hoes & clothes, defeating foes
I suppose that your nose looks like Pinocchio's
Who's the grimiest and who's the graviest?
Subterranean like the US Navy gets
Divine like blamelessness
I'm out to game on just
Any MC who write rhymes with aimlessness
I destroy any scrub whoever try and stop me
Leave your family shook, waiting on the autopsy
Wonderin how you got mutilated and strangulated
Separate your crew like my flow was segregated
But that was written. That night, the three of us were coming straight off the dome, unrehearsed, and uncontrollable for hours. And Markus's beats were SICK. In June, he's supposed to get the rest of his equipment in (the reason why our classic session went unrecorded) and Reshard's gonna fly back out so we can lay it down.
Back to b-ball, March Madness is in full effect. (Sorry, for the old school slang, I've been listening to a lot of Public Enemy this week, trying to figure out how Flavor Flav ended up with this.) My bracket looks like a war zone already thanks to teams like Iowa (well, at least Steve Alford can start getting ready for the Indiana job) and Kansas. Thankfully, I chose the George Mason and Montana upsets, somehow. But as long as my Final Four teams are still around (Duke, UCLA, Boston College and UConn -- intriguingly, the same picks as Dick Vitale), I figure I'm in OK shape. I love this time of year. I remember in high school, on the first two days of the tourney, we'd race down to the cafeteria, get our lunch, then head back to the AV room to watch the first games. March Madness brings the country together: it makes you root for the Bucknells, the UNC-Wilmingtons, the Wisconsin-Milwaukees and other schools that you would normally never think about, all for the vanity of having a perfect bracket.
Music: I've been listening to Gil Scott-Heron obsessively this week. I'm back to fooling around with my keyboards again and songs like "A Song for Bobby Smith" and "Home is Where the Hatred Is" (I see you, Kanye) have been a big inspiration. Books: Been too busy to read any lately, but here's one I want to read soon. Angela Nissel is a hilarious writer and a really nice woman that I had a chance to meet back when her first book, The Broke Diaries, came out. I actually was able to have a conversation with her and didn't get all starstruck like when I met Zadie Smith. But for real, y'all, Angela Nissel. Support her.That's it for now. Next time: scouting locations for my short film and more March Madness madness.
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