Category: Me Myself&I

As it’s been said all over the online world, The Last Dance is really good.

There was this bit about how his mom, Deloris Jordan, pushed him to go see that struggling little shoe company called Nike instead of trying to sign with Michael’s favorite brand, Adidas.

It’s not a mom thing. It’s a woman thing. It’s something a majority of women absolutely excel and outperform men on a daily basis: doing what you’re supposed to do.

MJ was supposed to go see Nike. We men think we’re smart as hell trying to outplay the game. Trying to cheat the game. Trying to take a shortcut. It sounds smart, but it never really is. The problem is that it usually backfires. And then you have to clean up your mess and swallow Ls.

Imagine MJ doesn’t go see Nike, basically sending the message “I don’t deal with amateurs” (Nike at that time was often selling shoes from the back of cars). Then he thinks he’s in bed with Adidas, who didn’t care about Michael. He doesn’t get the contract with his favorite brand, goes back to see Nike, who now passes on him because he’s shifty.

Had MJ followed his cocky, man mind, the Air Jordan story would be so wildly different. It wouldn’t exist.

Basically men are loudly like “but I don’t like it, I can probably find a way to…” and women are softly like “nut the fuck up, go through the steps and smile, you bad, savage bitch”.  It often works for them because well, it’s a pretty good plan most of the time.

Including when you’re a young black man from Chicago meeting with older white dudes from Portland.

Thank you, women.

I wrote this post in May 2018. Got a great, informative and cute comment in November 2019. I just answered. It’s May 2020.

This is lovely to me. Being asynchronous, sharing things with strangers. And then moving on with your life.

Denise shared her story with the house I wrote about. She didn’t try to get attention. She simply shared. I learned something. We don’t need to have a conversation. I don’t need to try to make her my friend. I didn’t write that post to get attention, I only shared what I thought was interesting about my little research on architecture and house building.

One time I was writing about some heartache and was apologizing that yes, that might not be the most interesting thing to read. Except that someone commented that it was useful to them, giving them some perspective on their own things they’re going through. That stayed with me.

It’s what’s missing these days online, or at least what I miss the most. Real people (not “influencers”), sharing things just for sharing them and not for money, likes or RTs or none of that pointless, anxiety-inducing shit. Just honest information and go. Let folks absorb whatever they want without the tyranny of opening their mouth about it. Only when or if it’s burning your palate three days later. That’s good! You then probably have interesting things to say.

Okay,

If I had one house I’d love to visit and stay for a week at, it’s this one:

The Arango House, Acapulco, Mexico. Built in 1973. By John Lautner, duh.

I wouldn’t know how to act, honestly. Would I jump in the water, doing pull up on the bridge or would I be swimming around the open air living room as fast as I can, giggling like a hysterical sugar rushed kid, or would I just be quiet and take it all in my soul while making sure I don’t fall off anything? Someday, I’ll find out. So there’s this um, pool and then under and adjacent to the main structure:

There’s a real, deep pool. Would I change that for a lil skate park? Sure could. Guess what is under the El Camino pool?

Another pool. That’s just a tub I guess. All I can see is myself in a robe walking slowly around this, constantly smiling at my boo. Hey, boo. Let’s get in the tub, boo. I made you breakfast, boo. Let’s do nothing, boo.

During construction. Built under a year. The engineers and workers did a stellar job. Concrete was poured. A whole lot. I enjoy the casual 70s shit where the dude is just standing up there without protection. He falls, he probably dies. He didn’t fall and they finished that house that will look futuristic and incredible for absolutely forever.

Period. Also, goddamn.

I remember the headline in February and I remember telling myself “I don’t have time for this right now”. I’m sorry, Ahmaud Arbery. it’s been truly crazy. The way your life ended abruptly has been, too.

The video leaked yesterday and popped up in my feed, I didn’t have the time to read the description. The murder was already happening. Right under it, the story of a black woman doing more™.

I can’t think. I just want to hold my Black beloved ones against my chest and breathe them forever. You can never leave me. I gauge at how high I can charge up my anger. Too high. That’s self-destruction high and I can’t afford that. I’m building. I’m securing. I’m maintaining. I’m having flashbacks. They always happen. The previous dead black bodies that were not supposed to go cold anytime soon.

Rest is all there is.

But I read! So experts said:

– Fastest vaccine ever developed by humanity took five years; they’re trying to create the COVID vaccine in 18 months.

– 100+ vaccine candidates as of now, around 10 are promising.

– 60% effective is the threshold; under that number, it’s unlikely to change our lives.

– They’re testing new vaccine tech that seems great but requires very cold temperatures for storage; big challenge for transportation and distribution.

– Producing 7 billion doses or more is a gigantic problem, knowing that each vaccine requires its own, specific factory to be produced.

– Hydroxychloroquine: it might help, we’re still not sure. What we know for sure though, is that that stuff is virulent and damaging to the human body. In France, they recommend people to not try to have kids for at least 18 months after a hydroxychloroquine treatment against the ‘rona.

It looks like there are 14 COVID mutations as of now. We might need to change the vaccine every year.

Because the virus is often asymptomatic and that tests procedures are not exactly rightly done, I wouldn’t trust any of them. I would also avoid trying to get tested and to be around people who might have the virus.

We’re in for a long, long time. You already know that your non-wealthy ass isn’t going to be a priority.

Stay safe, don’t roll the dice too often.

When I looked at my unemployment stuff and they said I got paid but I haven’t:

When I started watching Black AF (I’ll post more about that, if I can):

When I’m basically the tiny cleaning robot in Wall-E, that I’m living with not very clean people and that I’m entering the kitchen area:

When mfs started walking closer and closer to me at the park at 8:30am:

When Crenshaw Blvd is changing lane availability every 3 hours:

When I saw that kid wearing Jordan 6s Infrared pushing on a skateboard:

When I

I quite often think about Katt Williams. These days, I do a little bit more than usual.

Do you know that this dude has 6 adopted children? S I X. When people think that he’s a crazy lunatic, I wonder how does he still have his eight children with him. The answer is that he’s probably not a crazy lunatic at all. You have to be immaculate to be a single black man raising six adopted children.

I wonder how he teaches his kids. What does he teach them? I guess they’re all black. How does it feel to have a dad like him? Is cursing OK when it feels like it is? What about women who come over? What does he tell his kids when answering their questions about his dates, and women in general? Any connection with the biological families left for those kids?

I have so many questions.

The other angle is his life on the road. This man has probably driven a million miles across this giant country called the US or America. Katt Williams has been touring a hundred nights a year—every year—for the past 15 years, give or take. I feel like he knows the temperature of that country better than anyone else, by far.

But also, can you imagine the number of stories this man has? I can’t imagine the craziest shit he’s been through from most hilarious to straight up macabre. It could be ten seasons of a show and I wouldn’t be surprised.

So between his adoptive experience, his knowledge of the country and his touring stories, I feel like I would talk and listen to him for weeks. We all have time right now. Hit me up sir.

In the past week I’ve had a few calls with my French friends. I hadn’t seen or heard them in six years.

I’m trying to analyze. How casual and absolutely overwhelming that is. I call, the camera shows that I’m in some decent light, I wait for them. They show up, exactly as I remember them. Same voice. Same living room. Same body language. Same shit going on there. Exciting and disappointing altogether.

It’s not soothing. It feels harsh, like walking through a parking lot in a heat wave. For 45 minutes I have this window into which we dive in, where time doesn’t exist, and then we close it. And now emptiness takes over.

I don’t think the human psyche was prepared for that kind of thing. You’re not supposed to see someone you know by heart on video chat, after a long hiatus before closing the window like it’s just another window. Of course it feels like something wrong happened. Was that real? Do we really know each other? Am I fucking dreaming?

This morning it went from life on Crenshaw to finishing some music to video call with coworkers to news about Crenshaw to texting my dude who’s sending me his latest music (but rarely answers when I ask him how he’s doing, yeah I’m snitching bruh idc) to video call with my cousin who lives in “our” little village in France. She’s telling me about my foster family there and how where she works, a nursing home, they recently lost more than half of their patients. Nothing special, right?

I hang up, take all the news in. The human cost. What are families? Communities? The never-ending intricacies of *it all*. And now I’m exhausted. It’s a lot of emotions.

Let’s just say that I looked and sounded like that cat today.

Last week was a turn of events or it feels like it.

The sun has been strong and high. People are out. Masks on or off, I can sense that people are completely fed up. By the ‘rona, by the media. We can’t stand nor trust those news, those press conferences. Sometimes those doctors. People need their money or at least some freedom in this country. It’s tense.

I heard sirens the entirety of Sunday. Arson is happening. DJ sets are blasting through the hood. A smoky mix of Luniz and BBQ was floating around my block on Saturday. Then Go-Go with 9th Wonder. It was nice.

I learned that my grandma is in a COVID-infected nursing home. She’s okay for now. I don’t know for how long. My brain is starting to gather memories and souvenirs and I’m not fucking ready for that at all. My mom is losing it a bit and being more and more careless with her behavior. I can tell with the way she’s agitated on video calls. One of my bff is in a mental health hospital, after some horrible heartbreak. I try to lift them all up by looking good, smiling and being positively full of energy. It’s not easy.

Music heals me so much. I don’t think I would be able to do what I’m doing without it. Take Heatwave’s Always and Forever that just came out of my speakers. It’s like aural cuddles and kisses on the cheeks.