Clippers-Nuggets Gm 2

Monday night was bananas. Ok, I know some of you know that I do photography for the L.A. Scoop and consequently, cover Clippers games. I've been to about nine games this year and have a ton of pictures to show for it. Anyway, I missed Game 1 due to my housewarming but I wasn't going to miss anymore games, no matter what was going on.

The playoffs are no joke. I know what the players must feel like because even as a spectator, you can feel the energy in the air. I'm looking around me, I'm seeing Billy Crystal and Frankie Muniz (Malcolm from Malcolm in the Middle) and Jay Mohr and Penny Marshall. I'm seeing random NBA cats like Nate McMillan and Jay Williams (the ex-Duke one) and Mike Dunleavy, Jr. (that cat is TALL in person) milling around. I stand just inside the entrance. David Aldridge walks past. Kiki Vandeweghe. Doug Collins. Elgin Baylor with his fine wife. The crowd: a sea of red, not quite like a Nebraska home game circa Tommy Frazier, not quite like a Bloods convention, but getting there. And I continue to marvel that I've somehow talked my way into this gig -- and shot enough decent pictures to keep me around, but somehow, it all seems a little surreal.

 
 
Fifteen minutes till game time and I'm walking to my seat. I'm in front of the Clippers' bench, three seats in from the basket. This is prime real estate. I can't believe it.

But I have to snap out of it quick: as I'm approaching, some chubby, funny-built Newman off of Seinfeld looking cat is standing with his camera, complaining to one of the Clippers' staff. He's standing over my spot, pissed.

"The L.A. Scoop? Who the hell are they? What they doing over here? Have you heard of that paper? Who the hell gave them this spot?"

He goes on and on, failing to recognize that I'm right behind him. But I'm about my business. I step around him and take my seat. I ignore Stay Puff and begin pulling out my camera. I don't see him looking at me, but I feel him. Refrigerator's mood changes from angry to salty. He knows I heard him. He waddles up to me, all inquisitive, like, "Are you with the Scoop?"

"Yes."

"Where are you guys based?"

"South L.A."

"Are you a weekly paper or a group of papers?"

"A weekly black newspaper."

"Oh, 'cause I'd never seen you before."

"I'm usually on the other side of the basket, but I've been here."

(Scintillating story continued below.)

 
(Before and after? Just playin', Earl.)
  

Clippers-Nuggets Gm 2

Jay Mohr, niggas!
 

So, anyway, back to my story: so then, my hefty adversary bones out. I'm thinking, why are you all in my way? Go shoot your pictures from whatever spot they gave you. And I'm already peepin' game, like Cartman can't possibly be from a big paper because cats from Sports Illustrated and the AP already have the prime spots, so they're too busy flirting with the Clippers' dancers to be beefing cause some young black cat is doing his thing. I'm not tripping him, I've got work to do (c) Isley Brothers. But the hateration doesn't stop.

 

Midway through the second quarter, this brotha (and I use the term loosely) -- who I later learned was from a rival publication -- came and took Getty Images' seat (Getty Images didn't show up) to my right, closer to the basket. The fact that he did it, didn't bother me, because it's kind of an unspoken rule that if cats don't show up, you can take their spot. What got me was that this dude inched up on me, then sat all the way out dang near touching the Clippers' logo. I turned to get a shot under the basket and all I saw was the back of this negro's head. I'm abnormally laidback, but when cats try to take advantage, I go to some other place. So West Toledo Jason inched out with him and we was dang near out on the court. I imagined Cassell or somebody diving for the ball and tripping over us and breaking his leg and being out for the playoffs. We'd be on the cover of the Times' sports section, angrily blaming each other and be ostracized from the biz like some ghetto Jayson Blairs.

(Quick aside: when Cuttino Mobley hit his half-court three at the buzzer, my wife said she saw me on TV. She was hype. I thought my phone would be blown up. But I remembered that cats don't really watch Clippers games. Or maybe I don't have any friends. Or maybe I do have friends but they have better things to do than call me cause they saw me on TV for three seconds. Maybe I'm thinking about this too much.)

 

Then in the third quarter, some Coach K looking dude with a Brazilian accent is sitting in my seat. But I'm like water, nigga (c) Bruce Lee [except for the "nigga" part] so I just sat down in the Getty Images spot, because I knew they wasn't coming. Your boy from the rival paper came back late and ended up dang near sitting in Shaun Livingston's lap because there were hardly any spots left on the floor.

WITH A KEY, SISSSSSSSIIIIIIIEEEEEESSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If these cats get to the Western Finals or whatever, pray for your boy. Might see me and Chris Farley on some fisticuffs by the scorers' table.

  

Let the playoffs begin!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So here's the thing: a brotha won't even be at Game 1 because our housewarming is the same day and basically overlaps. I'm still hurt about it, but what am I gonna do? Tell people, "Thanks for stopping by, make sure you lock up when you leave." I am so amped about this year's NBA playoffs. I think, as several others have written, that this may be amongst the best playoffs ever. Regardless of the haters, Jordan's retired, Dr. J is long gone. Get over it. The new kids are taking over.

But to keep you laced, here's a few pictures I took from the last time the Clips played Denver, just a few weeks ago, when the Clips gave up 75 points in the first half but still came back and won. I got a quick chance to chat with Earl Boykins after the game, he's a real, cool, laid back Ohio dude just like I expected.

As you can tell, I'm rushing, but I had to say a little something. The film's going okay: I've been getting a ton of headshots and I'm holding auditions in L.A. next Saturday. Still trying to nail down some locations. Things are coming together piece by piece. But anyway, gotta finish cleaning up this house. Holla.




 

The Low End-centric Phife Dawg Interview -- September 30, 2004

Before y'all start clowning, like, "why this bushy eyebrow fool keep putting all this stuff from '04 on his page," understand that there's a lot of stuff I've done that has yet to see the light of day. (I have a 5, 000-word, seven-year-old article on Donny Hathaway that would make you cry.) Anyway, in the summer of '04, I was supposed to write for this startup underground hip-hop magazine called Resist. I pitched a "look back" article, designed to chronicle the making of a classic rap album. Eventually, we decided on A Tribe Called Quest's brilliant 1991 sophomore album, The Low End Theory. Through my boy Russ's connections, we got in touch with Phife Dawg's manager, DJ Rasta Root, who put me in touch with the man himself.

Most of the questions were Low End Theory-specific. If I had known that the magazine would fold before it started, and that getting to talk to the other two members would be decidedly more problematic, I would've asked more questions. Just as a fan. But as Phife said, you learn from your mistakes. Anyway, here's one-third of my favorite rap group of all time chatting via cell phone from his digs in Oakland. I found Malik Taylor (his given name) to be just as painfully honest and hysterically funny as the MC who let loose on such classic anthems as "Scenario" and "Award Tour." And I felt just as familiar talking with him as someone I had known my entire life.


JG: When did you first know that you wanted to do music?
Phife: I knew I wanted to be an MC when I realized I wasn’t growing any taller to play basketball. My dad played sports and around Queens, if you don’t play music and sports, you was a nerd. To get girls, rhyming was the thing. It was something that that I grew to enjoy. It became something I had to do.

JG: Who were your favorite MCs and musicians growing up?
Phife: Run DMC, LL Cool J, The Treacherous Three, Cold Crush… But my all-time favorites were KRS-One and Slick Rick.

JG: Your parents are both Trinidadian?
Phife: Yes.

JG: How did that culture influence you as a person and musician?
Phife: I couldn’t get away from it. Everybody in my family is from there. It kept me grounded. We wasn’t rich but had a lot of love. We were real close knit. Calypso is the thing in Trinidad. Like how reggae is the thing in Jamaica or go-go in D.C. Calypso was a huge influence.

JG: When did you first meet (bandmates Q-Tip and Ali Shaheed Muhammad)?
Phife: I’ve known Tip all my life, I guess we met when we were two. Tip’s mom went to church with my grandma. The church ran the private school that I went to. Tip came to that school in the third grade. We were running mates in school, Little League, everything. As for Ali, he and Tip went to the same high school. [Murry Bergtraum] Jarobi moved around my grandmother’s neighborhood in Queens and we met when we were around 12 or 13.

JG: What were your first impressions of all of them?
Phife: Well, Tip was my best friend all through grade school, so I loved him! Ali seemed stern. Not that he didn’t have fun, but he’s really about business. Once that vein pops in his head, you don’t want to mess with him. In Tribe, Ali is definitely the spoon that stirred everything. If Tip and Phife are off wandering, he’s the one that’ll steer them back into line. Jarobi’s a knucklehead, but in a good way. If there’s tension, he’ll say something stupid to break it up.

JG: Tell me about the early days of the group. Any early talent show memories? And how did you guys learn one another’s preferences and dislikes as far as rhyming together?
Phife: Well, it was easy for Tip and I because we grew up together. We hung out so much that we could finish off each other’s sentences. Ali and Tip came together in high school. The chemistry between me and Ali just happened. I don’t remember any talent shows as a group. Tip and Ali were going to do something together and me and Jarobi were going to do something together but we were all together so much that once they got on with Jive, they put us on. Me and Jarobi weren’t on the first record contract.

JG: How did you guys hook up with the Jungle Brothers and De La Soul?
Phife: For the Jungle Brothers, Mike G and Afrika went to Murry Bergtraum. Mike G’s uncle is DJ Red Alert. We were just in the right place and the right time. Red Alert put them on, then they put us on. As for De La, we were fans of the “Plug Tunin’” record. I met them at a Jungle Brothers concert in Queens. They seemed to get everything from the jump -- inside jokes and stuff like that. Like if they were joking about something, you might be standing there and not get it or not understand. But I got the things that they were saying right then. We hit it off right away. We were all just a bunch of buddies who could do music and come together.

JG: How did you all come to the attention of Jive? Were there other labels interested?
Phife: I do know that Geffen was interested. But we got Jive’s attention through Tip’s work with the Jungle Brothers and De La Soul.

JG: By the second album, were you already having problems with Jive?
Phife: No, not by then. When Tip said the whole industry rule #4080 line, it was more due to managerial problems we were having. We learned a lot from the first album. We were under Red Alert’s management at the time. It was nothing that he did wrong. It was just time for us to become men and grow up.

JG: Did you do any production on the album?
Phife: No, Tip and Ali did all the production.

JG: What inspired you to write “Butter?”
Phife: Some of it was true. The other half was me making up stuff.

JG: Where was the group at while recording the album: emotionally, creatively, mentally, financially?
Phife: Do or die. We had to get over the managerial problems. At the time that we did the second album, the first hadn’t gone gold. Not that that’s the most important thing in the world, but, I felt like we’d have to get our shine on or we’d have to get regular jobs. I happened to run into Tip on the train one day and he said, “We gotta take it more serious.” We had a long talk. We decided I’d be more on the second album. We had to keep the Tribe thing going. Because we were doing shows and getting love everywhere we went. We had to step up to another level.

JG: How much do you think your personal lives affected what the album became?
Phife: I think that’s a good question for Tip. It was something that I had to do. I was working hard to accomplish something on all the Tribe albums, but especially the second one. It’s not that I wanted to be the star of the show. I’m a team player. My main concern was to contribute to the group. Get the money, get the house.

JG: Let’s talk about “Scenario.” Tell me about the night you performed it on The Arsenio Hall Show, the performance which made a whole lot of people pay attention to Busta Rhymes.
Phife: It was definitely a fun evening. We were just lovin’ to go to L.A. That was the epitome of traveling to us. It was our first time on Arsenio and everybody was juiced. Leaders of the New School came with us. I remember going to the Beverly Center. And Arsenio always had his guests stay at the Mondrian on Sunset. Instead of keys for the door, they had codes for the lock. They’d give you one or you could make it up. We were impressed by that. I kept thinking, “Everybody watches Arsenio, don’t mess up!” I think that was the best TV appearance that our group or the Leaders ever had. I remember I took Busta’s Dr. Seuss hat and held the mic for him.

JG: How do you feel about that song now?
Phife: When I hear it, I crack a smile. But I perform it all the time. When we first recorded it, it was one of the first songs we did. The original version had Black Sheep, Pos, Chris Lighty was even on it. Towards the end of the recording, we recorded it again and that’s the album version. Tip did the original beat as well as the other. He’s a perfectionist, which is his fault and strength. Tip could play me a beat on Thursday and I’ll be like, “That’s hot.” Then I’ll talk to him on Saturday and he’ll be like, “I hate that beat.” That’s just how he is. But as long as the music’s hot, I’ll let Q-Tip be Q-Tip.

JG: What was the difference between the way that Jive promoted that single and the way they did some of the other ones?
Phife: I never felt like they promoted anything, it was all us. They might have picked a single on the first album, but after that, it was us doing everything. They might have sent us on a promotional tour every now and then, but I don’t even remember that.

JG: Were you into jazz like Tip and Ali?
Phife: Not as much. No, I can’t say I was. I grew to love it being around them all the time. Seeing them pull things out for the samples. I do production now and they taught me all I know as far as production.

JG: Were there some other songs recorded for the album that didn’t make the cut?
Phife: “Mr. Incognito” didn’t make it. Thank God.

JG: How did you and Tip decide which songs you’d rap on together and which ones you’d do separately?
Phife: There were some songs that I didn’t like, that I didn’t want to rap on the beat. On the later albums, not on Low End Theory. Like on The Love Movement, “Like It Like That.” Originally, I didn’t like “Stressed Out.” Then, there was another beat, which I liked, but by the time he did the new one, I was in a foul mood.

JG: Tell me about the day you recorded “Check the Rhime.” And also the day that you shot the video.
Phife: I really don’t remember the day we recorded it. It was just an original beat that we had. As for the video, I just remember that it was the hottest day of the summer. And we were just out in the neighborhood, standing on top of the cleaners.

JG: Who directed that video?
Phife: I think his name was Joseph Swindell. He’s the same guy who directed the “Jazz” video. He shot all the videos for the album.

JG: What does the album title mean?
Phife: There’s two meanings: The first is the low end as far as the bass in the music. Also, how the black man is always on the low end of the totem pole for whatever reason.

JG: Where were you all living in those days?
Phife: I moved to Atlanta right after Midnight Marauders. Now Tip and Ali are in Jersey. I have homes in Queens, Atlanta and Oakland, where my fiancee lives.

JG: What was going on with Jarobi in those days?
Phife: When we were recording the first album -- Jarobi’s into the culinary arts, so he made up his mind that he wanted to go to school for that and that’s what he wanted to do.

JG: What was life like on the road promoting that album?
Phife: Staying up all night. After parties. Girls, more girls. It was never crazy. You know how you hear all those stories. Everyone had their moments but it never got out of control. Boys will be boys. Me personally, everywhere we went… like, if we had a show in Portland, I was at a Blazers game. Detroit -- a Pistons game. Tip’d be record shopping all day. Tip really didn’t really like touring, he’s a studio rat. He’d spend all day there if he could. I’m just now understanding that.

JG: What was your relationship like with Violator Management?
Phife: It was cool. They did a lot for us. Towards the end, it was just time to move on. Like, when it came to marketing, they’d call Tip and Ali before me, which I thought was bullshit.

JG: Did you ever feel restricted within the group in terms of things you could say by the label, management, or the group members themselves?
Phife: I always felt like that. Now that I’m older, I did my own album. I saw what that was like. Phife is 1/3 of Tribe, period. Mutty Ranks (Phife's alter ego) is Phife himself, just don’t give a damn. When it really affected me was an interview with Chris X, for a London hip-hop magazine. He made it like I was the black sheep of the group, like I was the lost child. Because I didn’t share the same [religious beliefs]. I said, if [Tip and Ali] aren’t knocking me, who are you to do that? That’s when I didn’t want to be in the group anymore. “Phife’s the weak link. Is it too late for Phife?” I thought it was unfair. [But] I’m not a crybaby dude.

Internally, there were some issues. We’re not gonna agree all the time. I have a hard time being phony. There were a lot of times like, if I’d have just shut up, I coulda benefited. But I have no regrets. It was a lot of whisperings going on behind my back when I moved to Atlanta. My reasons were that I was tired of New York. I’m 22 years old, living in my grandmother’s basement. My mom lived in Brooklyn. I’m a rap artist on BET, with rotation, you’re getting paid to do what you love but you have to sneak girls in the house. Neighbors ratting on you. My grandma’s a nurse, so she worked nights.

I didn’t have to move to Atlanta. But I was dating someone serious at the time who was there. I don’t know why I thought that would work. I was hoeing. I should’ve known that wouldn’t work. They were whispering, like, he don’t care about the group. That caused a little separation. The chemistry on Beats, Rhymes and Life wasn’t there. It just wasn’t a good time for us. The last album, I didn’t want to be involved. I agree I was wrong for that. I have no regrets. You learn from your mistakes.

Home for Christmas -- December 2004

In light of Easter, I wanted to take a trip back in time to celebrate family. This was my first trip home six months after my father died.


My nephew and niece. This was one of the first photographs I took with my Canon EOS.


My sister Sherry. If you know her, you know this picture fits her like a glove. The hand in the background belongs to this corny four feet tall talking Santa that my Mom bought.


Three of my lovely nieces. All you dudes can back up a few steps.


My best friend Reshard and my goddaughter.
 

LA Clippers .vs Memphis Grizzlies -- Feb. 10, 2006

I'm not in love with the composition of this picture but the groom & bride's son makes this shot interesting.


I get very critical of blurriness in my sports photos, but it seems to actually work here.


Lean back...lean back...lean back...


Shot, as always, with my trusty Canon EOS A2. That's right: film. I'm old school like Will Ferrell and 'dem.


The wedding was dark, but I tried to capture the small moments.
 

The King of Marvin Gardens

I'm butter like Parkay, far out like Stargate
Get bored and walk on niggas like Park Place
-- me, circa 1995

So I'm at Walgreens the other day with wifey, and we decide on the spur of the moment (as is often the case in a home with two artists) to buy some board games. She buys a four in one set that features tic tac toe, backgammon (which I now have to reteach myself how to play), chess and checkers. I decided to buy Monopoly, which I had talked about buying for months, yet -- like many noble tasks that I talk about -- never got past the blabbering stage. It doesn't take much to get me excited: man we own MONOPOLY! Opening up the box reminded me of so many memories of past games.

• October 2, 2002: Down to my last $20, but owning Park Place and Boardwalk with a hotel on each, your boy swiftly manuevers his way through the minefield and comes back to win the whole frickin' game.

• January 19, 1991: Lost, but watched in amazement as an unnamed friend of mine patents the practice of buying all the cheap properties on the first side of the board, swiftly putting hotels on each of them, then failing to buy anything else the rest of the game. When teased about his pride in redeveloping such crime-ridden, poverty-laced slums such as Baltic Ave., my friend replies, "But y'all some soft suburban niggas. I got the 'hood on lock." Unfortunately, his $100 rent doesn't add up quickly enough to pay the debt when he lands on Marvin Gardens (with three houses), and then -- on the next roll -- Pennsylvania Avenue (with a hotel). He went bankrupt and the projects on Connecticut Avenue haven't been the same since.

Okay, I don't really have many more memorable games than that. (I'm really more of an Uno and Scrabble dude, and I'll smash anybody in Connect Four.) But it's time to get started. My wife and I are both nice people, but hopelessly competitive. It should be fun. If I wind up at your doorstep at three a.m., though, just let me in. When she loses, Wifey be on some old, won't talk to you for two days type madness. But I can't talk, I be on some old won't talk to you ever again type madness. Monopoly. Fun for the whole family.

Haven't done much in the way of scouting locations for my movie, since, due to prior commitments that I was recently reminded of, the earliest I can hope to shoot is the first weekend in June. One of the locations is walking distance from my house. Have I gone inside? Called the people there to ask permission? No, I drive past it every night and come home and watch basketball. But I did buy my DV camcorder online as well as order some new business cards. And I'm placing in ad in Back Stage West looking for all my actors.

The short is called "How Shawn Parker Fell in Love." It's a 25-page, loosely autobiographical script about a playboy who falls for a girl after rescuing her from a suicide attempt. No, I am not a playboy (regardless of what lies my high school or college friends might tell you) and no, my wife never tried to kill herself. But it's still loosely autobiographical. I originally wrote the script about three or four years ago, but due to the fact that I was in the beginning of my burnout from Hollywood politics (I am just now returning), it just sat and collected dust. But it's time now. I'm going really low budget, as I'm coming off my own credit card. It's a risk, of course, but so is wasting my life waiting on an infrastructure that doesn't care about me to come knocking on my door.

American Idol calls me a like a sexy ex-girlfriend. I think it's the devil's ploy to make me less productive than I already am. Paris is at the point where I'm questioning why she's even on the show. I'm like, "You're 17 and cute and have a once in a lifetime talent. In addition, you're the granddaughter of the lady from Sounds of Blackness. You coulda just went out and sang in the middle of Times Square and got a deal." She's too good for them. I like Mandisa. And Katharine MacPhee is who I'd be rooting for if Paris wasn't the second coming of Billie Holiday. Chris and Ace are holding it down for the fellas.

As for my musical tastes, someone asked me why I'm always shouting out old music. There are some younger cats doing it today, but mostly here's why. I've really been on Stevie's Talking Book lately, especially "Lookin' For Another Pure Love" (Jeff Beck's guitar solo kills it) and "Tuesday Heartbreak."

Otherwise, just chillin'. Enjoying my Pistons' dismantling of our so-called biggest threat, the Miami Heat. And why have I been mesmerized by Adam Morrison all year?

Dude is bony, has an ugly J, plays no defense, but why is he my favorite college player since Penny Hardaway? And why is he still not the most revolutionary player in college right now? Back to Morrison, it looks like the NBA owners and suburban white fans will finally get their wish. Meanwhile, March Madness is getting ready to rumble, so we can watch the further deterioration of my bracket.

Not my greatest work, but nobody beats the Biz. (Or Elgin Baylor.)

Later.

My neck, my back, myneckandmyback © Ezell from Friday

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.