Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Gradutation Freestyle (tonight - 2011)


Me and my old friend Slimer in the Mac home studio.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving (god i hate when they bust X-Mas advertising before the Turkey is carved) the charity, Turkey Bowl, Coach Farias, high school basketball doc, YG and rAP! I give you this, inspired from recent events, my favorite recent freestyle to a classic hym...

peep the link, give it a sec. and Chicago Bear with me, this is me, freestyle in the shower whenever possible. Peep the link to my garage band freestyle of sorts, god bless the graduation theme, rapping over it, god bless our troops, freedom and the United States Of America...

The SAT's

Perhaps the acme of all your study acne is the SAT’S Junior Year. Magic and I’d map out the course of our per-determined high school years and it went something like this, Freshmen year amazing, Sophomore a little less, Junior Year the worst, Senior year the best. And Junior year, you received open campus in Lexington, you were one inch closer to the throne of what everyone would always tell us was the best year of our life. And one reason stood alone for this JY degradation, the SAT’s. It brought down the entire expectation of that which was 25% of your overall high school career.
High school was the springboard into everything you’d chase and I hope you learned something. To us high school was a historical scorecard of who could cause the most shit, post the most victories and snatch getting away with everything you were never supposed to do.
And Junior Year, the SAT’S, ACTING LIKE A shadow OVER EVERYTHING you came up with. Of course academic accomplishments for Mike and I regarding high school were defined by attendance not grades. We liked to choose the classes in which the teachers would offer a C for simply showing up.

It was one of my dad’s hall of fame Junior High lines. He’d say this while eyeing that quarterly reminder of realistically where your children were headed. The report card was a life card, and it was a ¼ reminder as to if you were on or off track. Back then, now it’s much different, I would’ve run with the internet as a kid, using it as a tool for everything I wanted to learn about as a kid they never taught in high school namely accounting, sports history and capital markets. It also would’ve brought me down in about 1 hundred different instances. So I’m glad I slipped through before it changed the world, facilitating discovery and transparency holla Arab spring.

But the SAT’S, wow, it was to me fucked up but then again so was I. I could never understand the thinking that 1 test defined so much about your future. And in many ways they were right, many they weren’t. The fact remains when Mike picked me up, steamrolling into my driveway pumped up with orange juice and a gold attitude we were both colossally unprepared for the standardized American cornerstone test that defined our future. But we looked great, we shook hands and Mike took it from there. He was the narrator for so many of my childhood’s big events and we always regardless of something as vain as preparation remained overtly optimistic.

“SAT’s today guy!” Magic would say happy and confident, we cranked house of pain and drove fast to failure. I was optimistic looking at myself in the side mirror but nervous having not really learned the English language up until this point. I wasn’t an immigrant, my father grew up in Lexington, I just couldn’t you know speak very good English. I was pretty OK in math due to my dad’s Friendly Sunday morning math lessons back when he was at the crib in junior high and that was big parenting, big. If it weren’t for that I might’ve been the first non-autistic white kid in Lexington certainly Lexington basketball history to not net the requisite 700 for the right to play NCAA basketball. This was a policy born out of the hood and failing city schools with alarming rates of poverty. I grew up with everything I just couldn’t, you know, speak the language. When I would talk to people for the first time at 11,12, 13 rather than white kid living in Lexington the town my dad grew up in people more likely suspected I’d been adopted, recently from a Louisiana orphanage. My scores would reflect this.

And it got worse, as we entered the class, sat down silent as Mr. Gralla our senior math teacher to be went through the serious dead silent pre game speech. I burst with joy thinking Jesus had my back once again when an Asian girl promptly pulled up the seat 4th row, right next to me. I looked up hilarious at the heavens like out of all the kids in the world, you know they set her next to me. All until halfway through Mr. Gralla walked back suspiciously correct over my edison's and their deviance dropped in me a certain fact. He said in a drawn out, deep voice of way too many cigarette’s and coffee over a 40 year tenure, “Every row got separate tests Easton.” And he laughed, didn’t even bust me, after that I started playing DC Cab. You know just selecting, D, C, C, A, and B until I was done. I wanted to get to Hayden basketball was key not this fucking test. And I was protected, Lexington. I already knew I could cry Ritalin and take them again untimed. I also knew I could probably get this score wiped, and I didn’t care, I knew I’d get over 700 just spelling my name correctly in tandem with my fathers algebra lessons at Friendly’s. I knew I wouldn’t break a G. And my math did push me through; my English was in the nations bottom 5%. This bothered my mother and once again for a COUPLE OF DAYS SHE BELIEVED I might be autistic.

And Magic you know, I never did know what he got, to this day. In Lexington SAT’S scores were inevitably inflated, you always had to subtract the requisite 100 before the character check. And that’s just the facts. You couldn’t fail in Lexington, why, you had everything, and every family was perfect. How can you fail when you have everything? It sounds cool to ask. And the answer is, you can’t. And that’s the padding, the inflation, the rules like a proof in geometry existed carving out the discovery process of actual SAT scores in mint Lexington against that same mainstream. It was so funny. I didn’t care but my mother did, and my SAT score needed at least a hundred, prob 2 pad conversationally speaking.
I loved the 80’s because I lived in Lexington. Anyway we left, got a sandwich and headed to Hayden to work out playing hoops. And that’s why I love this caption, the perfect place, and not like the Old Colony residents in the 70’sw used to refer to as Heaven but real life heaven here in America. Waste your Potential, middle of the road is typically the best situation. But it’s funny, ignorance, bliss, I say drop them off in Dudly like me and B-Dawg (87 classic) in the Rox-

Berry for a weekend on Friday night, if they die, or are taken hostage and killed when the ramson is not delivered, it sucks. But if they make it, and see, and live, and breath, they will fly.

David Sears still cracking me up, “That’s my Gold Rav 5 right there.” Woe – it's really great to be from somewhere. Waste your potential only funny for shock, harness your life and believe enough to make a great 1 possible.

Turkey Today. Brian "Monster" Lavalle delivers the best play action fake of the Day!

Dear Gorrilladunkdaily:

We saw the former John Elway of Turkey's Past Brian "monster" Lavalle in full tour de France get up preparing to bike into Boston in his bridge School neighborhood. We thought you'd enjoy seeing as it was reported he was sidelined for the Turkey Bowl with chronic lower back pain.

PS: Once we tweeted, Magic Mike Prensky showed up and we caught this gem seen here, thought you'd enjoy

Yes, yes, yes and yes. OK, see, this is why I love the internet, a ton to hate about it, w / out a doubt, and I'd like to explore some of the sexual downsides pertaining to children and the internet, which is huge, but for now, let's bath in this gem. You wanna know why the internet is great? Because this guy mails in the football game, stands on the 50 yard line playing the standing on the sideline part to a tee, Oscar. And this is what we find a few hours into post game. Hey Brian you think C-Rat wanted to be out there covering Colby on crosses back peddling at 35? You think the kid that barfed three times once on his mother wanted to be covering fly routes on a Sat AM?

We're all hurting, we're all the same age, but we got to do it, it's a huge part of the family, this game, who wins, and where they are at come game day. Magic called in to only say he said, "just one minute earlier, and he would've been home free." And that right there is caught red handed.

And that ladies and gentlemen is why this is your Gorilla Dunk Daily photo of the month...

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Wed night, Draft Party and the Turkey Bowl., (2011) YG Foundation

And back in DC calming as ever returning my life which is markedly less interesting than the 1 I left behind in Boston. I mean this in the very best way though I'd love to return. And I know we all have much to be thankful for this holiday season, let's start this gorilla engine and hammer away.

Wed Night – Waxy’s.

OK, The lure of Waxy’s in Lex was in full effect the minute it’s doors to a proper bar in Lexington opened their it's OK to get drunk doors, a couple years back. The YG Foundation had space reserved, which was much bigger than I remembered. Pool tables, dartboards, juke box, food and dope sports memorabilia pulled it all together. We had a suggested donation of $30 but left it up to our guests as to what if anything they believed relevant. In the spirit of radio head pay what you want on-line.

We knew going in we were starting over, the cash cow of the Wed night miracles downtown Bean of past would take a $ hit. And starting over back where it all, all started our anchors came up early and stronger than ever. And for us, the YG Foundation, we all had a better time spending our time with guests that meant something to us. And we knew everyone, and we didn't have to break up any fight's and we didn't forget we let a Herion addict watch the drop for five minutes, I didn't endure any attempted assaults collecting, things operated much smoother. We calculated 65 guests at its peak, it was a nice number. The current allotted space can def hold us another couple of years, it looks like we’ve found a home at Waxy’s place is huge and we'll only trade up. An important point of note for any capitalist.

1 thing I didn’t know going in fairly blind was how packed the place was regularly. Throw in two other LHS class re-unions that night improtu; class of 86 and 92, there was a line and the place was mobbed. I'll never not miss the Hartwell House but Waxy's finally did the space justice. And it was live. My mother had to smuggle Coach Sullivan past the line, as we can’t have former state champions waiting outside in line to get to our event, fuck that. And after everything went down, our profit was their, and more than enough to keep it moving. Plus we got the golf outing too, two events now, we'll add a third when the location reveals itself like a franchising step. Anyway We’d throw the party just for the re-union but while we’re at it let’s be a reason to show a smidgen of why capitalism can work. We like to think of ourselves as the opposite of the bank bailout. We did it just because.

It was a feel good night. My Wed night highlight was a strong Chris O’Connell making an appearance and soaking in some suds with us. Chris, as all of you from Lexington know is winning the fight against Leukemia. He has always been the greatest guy. And he has a ton to live for, it was like unicorns being able to shake his hand, have a beer and see things on the up and up with a talented former teammate on the up and up, much love CC.

And allot of the feel good came from his story over the last couple of years. Also the class of #95, his year continues to emerge, it’s great. And next year Carolyn and I will again activate our magic.

In any event at the golf I got to sit with Brek, Jamie and Scott Perry during our raffle, and Wed night saw Mike O’Brien and Katherine Scott roll through. We saw Mr. Andy Costello, his younger brother Greg and of course the aforementioned Chris O’C. Love all those guys. Tommy Layne fresh off his super cop story and also a long time stalwart of the Wed doctrine was there early along with fellow anchor Steven Cuzzierre, you steal my heart every year pal. I’m bias towards kids that were in the ace program with me.
• side highlight. Seeing Fran Ludwig fresh off her arrest in Washington DC.

In all seriousness big shouts to everyone that attended, it’s always for a great cause and a great excuse and platform to always re-unite. To all our family, YG, 94 and beyond thank you helping us keep this thing together. Strength in numbers, and we welcome Waxy O’Conner’s, the now 4th location in our 13th year (6 after Charity had been formed) of the Wed night back party. Next year I’m thinking of taking the upstairs and booking the Retar Crew out of Chicago. And as always quality raffles and next year getting back to our what made us famous principals, at least 1 celebrity guest.

The criteria for a YG celebrity = Any pro athlete, movie star (been in at least 3 major motion pictures) and or hip hop legend. Or Ethan Zohn, Amander Palmer or John Berg / Derek Evans (LA producers, Lex hoops guys from 80's, holla)

It was a great re- start. I believe next year our attendance will jump 20, and we’ll never go away, we'll always grow trying to make smart decisions that facilitate our followings participation.

It feels good to do the right thing, to this day I know if I’m doing or even saying something I shouldn’t, I get the pit in the stomach.

The Turkey Bowl.

The granddaddy of them all. OK, let me state the terse or for us ACE kids “wicked quick” version. Basically someone who will remain anonymous got caught in the end zone for a game ending safety then puked on his mother. And it wasn’t me. But we won, 7-5, played to seven and I thought we’d been out there for most of the afternoon, I was mentally preparing for sunset when I jumped shotgun (Scully) peeped the clocked and freaked out. It was only ¼ 2 1? What? How did this happen? We'd kicked off closer to noon. Dam, to quote Mick Jagger what a drag it is getting old. We also had two 7 year olds as captains; this was also new to our Turkey Bowl. Patrick Crogan and Pete Goldberg BOTH shunned their dad in the opening round but taking next tit for tat as it was hilarious to see the dads and their young boys give them that look which both picked up on despite my efforts to disrupt their intuition. And both made contributions. One player that will remain anonymous cloth lined the 7 year old Pete on the 2nd series forcing a brief play stoppage and a ton of Bart Eyes.

We’re all plating to win but……

After the game we went to Mario’s and ordered small cheese pizzas and drank wine from Limerick s basement. We were 2 tables plus 10, our normal set up against the Southern back window. Clearly, the highlight of our post game lunch was the owner coming out from behind the curtain and delivering a free order of garlic cheese bread personally. Why is this important? First off it’s the first time any of us had ever seen him. We’d been coming to Mario’s since the mid 80’s some of us longer many of us I should say. I was once permanently banned from Mario’s in between 90-92. I used to stand outside and wait for the guys to finish their dreamy lunch when I was relegated to the Maunders slice (no hate only love) and sat back with some “unique” fellows out on a day pass wandering unhinged. One of those chaps we ran into is revealed at the end of this update. "TR, is that your mini Cooper?"

Anyway I think it was four years ago when a waitress came up to a table of 16 of us and presented us with two on the house orders of cheese garlic bread following our Turkey Bowl tackle battle of the annual ages. Copped garlic bread? This was a first of firsts. We’d done the same routine for years @ Mario's and on the then 10th anniversary we were acknowledged in a way however subtly lacking substance brought me to tears. And a few years later the man himself came out. This past Saturday in fact. He looked younger than I thought, I mean the place has been there; thankfully unchanged forever, and we’d never laid our Edison’s on him. He was Claw from inspector gadget, the bad guy whose face you never would see just his hand or in this case a good guy and just his long black hair (i.e. lettuce). We had a very auxiliary sense of his appearance, and the long lettuce is what we’d most have to go on if forced to capture a composite.

And life is full circle, and Lexington is filled with microscopic metaphors whenever I set down and have a day. It’s the most interesting to me. 35 years old we finally met the Mario’s owner, he came out, heavy faced with a heavy heart, long black hair, looking every bit the part of a guy you’d want making your pizza since forever. He met the little guys, was gold and came bearing warm Garlic bread with melted cheese, food is love. And we were psyched. A reminder of the good that came out

After Mario’s most went home to bath or interview themselves in the shower (our favorite thing to do after the TB and for me every Tuesday) but not us. For myself, Magic TR Ludwig and Scully we needed more soak, clock was running out on our time their together. So we headed to Bridge school the jewel of juvenile education in Vegas on the L-EX tip.

And we walked around the res, together, and it takes me to now armed with the keenness of recollections lenses to fondly remember with a written hand one of the reasons I’ve always loved these guys. And perhaps an explanation to the longevity of the 15 of us stills all as 1 to this day. Fall walks around the Res is high up on the list. And it’s hard to explain, 1 Young Gun makes me crazy, but start throwing 2, 3 god forbid eight in the mix and I’m tilt. What’s funny is that magic kicking back old thoughts of a thousand memories of so many days spent growing flash back in a dazzling display of what a smile on occasion can mean, a thousand stories and a million words.

I’m glad we grew up without the Internet until college. I’m glad we had closer to an experience dating back hundreds of years than kids have experienced going forward a couple decades regardless of epic jumps in our technoliogical strides. Irony is king and ironically enough we're now the balance.

And walking back to our cars parked in the back of Bridge I hear the bombshell, the stomach dropping Tower of Terror style tone, Oh Doctor" nothing magic says in Lexington scares me more as panic quickly trapped my breath.

“What?” We’re forever nervous of who we might run into paling around Lexington, and Mike had just dropped one that might have come up in a few past discussions regarding this very topic, David Sears. The British speaking Lexington raised staple of our childhood center of town visits, and FOR MANY. We asked ourselves with a quick huddle if we were mature enough to handle this? After all these conversations historically could get pretty goofy. Touched with a slight case of autism we quickly concluded that he was a legend at our boys and would’ve been YG director, Matt Santo's wake. And before that even fully slipped out of my mouth TR was they’re saying hello and re-introducing ourselves. And it was great and what followed from there is the scandal you see pictured at the top. Actually I can't post pic's from my phone, need Stunner B (Summer C's hidden and aggressive alter ego) help on that modification. Anyway coming soon to GDD, the picture of Brian seconds before embarking on a 40 mile bike journey in full Tour De FRance after opting out of the Turkey Bowl on the grounds of serious injury. Just 1 more minute and we never would've known. Pic-2-Follow.

OK so it’s now almost 2PM, we ‘d played for a short period relatively early and decided to make our next stop after Bridge at Lavy’s house, his new house right up the street. Now I love this house, marriage and children for an abundance of reasoning. A) I love Brian the artist formally known as “monster” and B: I like Sara who was in the same fifth grade class as me, Magic, Terrence and Santo more! And they just moved back into the house Sara grew up in in my neighborhood seconds from Bridge. Naturally this was our next destination. And this is what we discovered. The full tour de France looking outfit, just leaving for a monster bike ride after declaring he WAS UNFIT TO PARTICVPIATE IN THE TURKEY BOWL.

This is why it’s smart to surprise people. The photo for this blog was a toss up between this and a picture of a tag on the refreshment stand at the Lexington high school football ticket booth that read only, “Waste Your Potential.” Gotta love it after all that’s 1 half of the town. Instead I opted from the games pre game footage.

And Magic would say, “just 1 more minute Brian.” Hahahaha he would’ve been home free. After working through his patient response and feeble explanation / excuse we embarked out back for a couple beers and hung out with the baby (Ki), Adeline the rock star, Sara, Scully, Tick, it was for a moment how I wish life would always be. Not a lot of things but that, just kicking it with the people you trust the most and have a history together that makes time stand still. I love the holidays and unfortunately for direct families these events can be some of the hardest times, for whatever reason, it happens all the time. But for the kids you grew up with lucky enough to do it one more time, remember when, nothing like it.
Happy Holidays, and thanks, thanks to all of you that give a fuck enough to peep and still stay down, word.


Charlie Paradise

Friday, November 25, 2011

Magic s Pick 6

Teaser for tomnorrow s Turkey Bowl XVI - Magic, pick 6, a perfect 15-0. Enjoy, especially for those of you pictured here that cannot be with us tomorrow (Jay Boy, dem Zim boys). YG / UNLV the game goes on......

Return from South America. Back in Boston, solo back in business 03/01/20101

Throw back GDD posting, just last year, I'd just returned from a 4 month hiatus kicking it down and out South Americastyle, waiting for my time on the bench, so to speak, expired. New posting, Wed night party, YG and TB 2012 to follow. Draft party tonight, rules lunch today @ 2:15 Mario's. Hopefully i can get some game footage up here for tomorrows contest, enjoy this 1, very reflective after a crazy year, some old shit.

January 8th, 2010.

Sigh, well, well, well, look what we have here. I've been in Boston currently the longest stretch since I left Nardone landscaping and headed to DC 11 years ago. My stint in Chicago, while rule wreaking, eye opening and wonderfully painful was not sustainable. "Just leave."
"where should I go?"
"Anywhere. it doesn't matter."

This was a typical exchange between myself and the big Guy during my senior year in ACE. “Anywhere” he said, “it doesn’t matter" it was something I'd give allot of thought to, I'd say, "how can every single place in America that's not here be better? Lexington is off the map!” I'm his boy, I'm mastering systems, etc, etc. It was well timed, and one day I understood he understood that I got it, I walked off a landscaping job in Lexington at $10 an hour and said like Paul Newman in the closing shot of the Color of Money (sequel to the Hustler) and said, I’m back.” And I meant it, I wasn’t put here to be that, and that’s all the respect in the world. It was just, on so many levels, not me. I was 22 years old, and I already had two books under my belt. These books were not written just a collection of everything I’d seen and been through. A tapestry of images that bled a familiar emotion in Lexington with some of the cats my sister and I liked to pounce with, “CALLED THROWING AWAY IT ALL a couple times a week.” And it hit me, I saw my life, peered around at Bo, the lawnmower, trucks, and dunkin doughnot coffee. And one Friday I left, Good Will Hunting style never to come back. I threw my Chicago board of trade, and mailed it out the window. I took a job in the operations department at a financial services co. in Washington DC. I was the first ever at Ruesch International, first to ever to re locate cities for a jobs in operations, I.e. order entry. And @ 22K a year, in August of 1999, I was staffed in operations, on top of being white, throw in the blue eyes and I was again one of a kind, the position I loved to play. No one knew me down there which meant I had a blank canvas and no thought ever was more empowering. I could be anyone I wanted to be, I was no longer exposed to historical trappings that define you as juvenile when bad decisions amount. I was going to get it right this time, I and thanked Coach Farias, he had made a huge point, unearthed the key to my success, and it was very simple thing.

So that being said it is of extraordinary coincidence that I happened to be far out of the country and would be unable to attend the Coach Farias retirement bash at the Lexington elks.

Here’s a true story that never happened. If I had been there, and say for argument I happened to be hyper, and happened to be there early, and happened to be fondly pushing as the golden comment in our ACE centric verbiage went, “yucken it” and lastly let’s say legend, after hoop legend from the 80’s and 70’s were rolling in and I got so hyper that I ordered two cocktails at once. Then say the big Guy is unrepentantly early, I spot him, heart drops, gently push the drinks over to magic’s side whom I’ve distracted by pointing out a girl that looked awfully like some other girl, blah, blah. The point is, I hide those drinks and I hide em quick. And if he makes a comment about magic going double heavy and early cast off as the big “booza” of the night, I’d agree and pile on. Of course we could say Summer c was there and then it never would’ve happened, this is a true story that never happened. So I missed his big night, because I was somewhere far away he’d ALWAYS TOLD ME TO GO, THE ONLY WAY IT COULD EVER WORK out AND THAT ‘ll a be a miracle anyway, he’d say, but anywhere but here step numero uno.”

And as much as I know the Big Guy as a tough and very winning basketball coach, those were the moments for me. “Act like you’ve been there before.” He’d suggest to save me the embarrassment OF dancing in the end zone for a winless team if I ever caught a touchdown, “act like you’ve been there before.” And it wasn’t every players or students experience but it’s hard to play for a tough coach. I’m glad I’ve been in fights, I’m glad I played when my coaches could smack me because I didn’t know shit and often crossed boundaries.

It’s like winter in Chicago JQ says, “weeds out the wimps.” After my lunch at Mario’s with the one and only Gayle zee! Where I murdered a small cheese and Pepsi, light on the ice, my mother had the never seen before stuffed mushrooms, didn’t even know they were on the menu. This has been our YG spot, ten strong for 20 plus years and we’ve only ever ordered small cheese, or chicken parm with shells, and for those occasions thank god Mario’s allows you to bring your own wine and beer. No kegs however because we tried that after the 2001 Turkey Bowl, false advertising on them or us forcen it? Depending on your attorney is usually the right answer.

And speaking of attorney’s my holiday return to Boston wouldn’t be complete without a family jail update. Hit the average, a few in, a couple getten out, a couple going in virgin , yikes. All friends, all people we grew up with, half white, half black, city / suburbs different but very same root issues those are the facts. All the kids that got in trouble, got through it and are still alive, are successful, grown up and happy. And the kids that were much more focused on their path and respectful somewhat of authority, that would never, ever, be included in the utter disgust column with the likes of say myself and Black Knight, lost control, got caught up in some dumb shit as awareness flew right out of the window to a Rick Ross beat. It makes sense, sure don’t.

When our kids now men going to realize that juvy is ill, and jail is prison which blows. And before your eighteen DYS makes hoody white girls love you for that’s credibility which has never retreated in it’s significance. DYS? I was praying to get sent to that shit as a teenager to overlook my comfortable Astori childhood neighborhood, I was forever spray painting UNLV 94 for a label that didn’t exist. But we spat lyrics, and my freestyle is back at a point we’re I’m going old school, walking into open mikes at coffee houses on that icy whim up on U street and spitting dysfunctional words that ryhme back and forth on spot, only white, guy, holla been doen it for years.

The first time summer saw it she hit up the Shad and I favorite “god dam.” she didn’t have to say it. And it was a beautiful thing, the only reason I took these courageous steps to walk into a bar on 12th and U street, only white person, put my name on a list, sit there and actually freestyle for a whole beat was to impress my wife. I thought it would help us through the tough times.

And you gotta love it, my favorite is the always immediate ensuing discussion, “was that shit just freestyle?” and in this instance the MC said no, and my big chocolate sisters in the front shut that down, they knew, and the awkward pound or handshake routine began as the crowd sweated the swagger which is what it takes to do that to this day. I had Terrence, Hasan, JD and the Black Knight to let me know my shit was on point at 12.
Only god, yes I said it, somehow allows that shit to happen. Anyway as far as the awkward fist or handshake end of the moment gesture, Just be unwavering with one or the other, WHITE AND BLACK both PEOPLE FUCK THIS UP.

My new and first and most adorable summer crush surprised us new years eve and we bolted to old Anthony’s Pier 4 on the south waterfront where we ate lobsters and watched fireworks. It was a great night, and with my sister dana and M icky in tow we really, as we used to say in ACE program, “yucked it up.”

And I missed coach Tighe’s final game, it was the first time T-Bone the mighty “spec” had been back to Astori in fifteen years, I told him we’d blaze and drive around before I leave as he listed off the many streets he had to drive down on his trip down memory lane. Speaking of Nostalgia I remember the zeal and happiness of which mediocre teams used to bring to my town and city, witnessing an NFL team which might go on to rest All discussions in a sports crazed real city is a reminder of very good life.

Shaq! Has announced he’s fighting for the minuteman in the annual April 19th re-enactment. Amanda Palmer gets married. Front page of the Boston Globe, that was a girl that started off not sellen out, and it paid off it’s crazy when something launches like that right from your high school’s smoking section, all over the world amazing things still can happen to you.

A teacher once told me you only get 3 exclamation points in your life,
I’m so gay

And the family is good, the hood, city, Southie and lex-vegas, Boston at large, better than it ever B, fellas. Anywhere but here
was the smartest advice I’d ever received, because I bought it and made it not happen.

I had to get out so I could come back and as the minutes ticked away on a Thanksgiving I had to miss I thought just that, over a steak and litre of Quilmes in Palermo, Hollywood, Buenos Aires. I’m glad, and I’
M glad to report Summer sunshine aka summersault is taking MORE AND MORE TO OUR BELOVED BEANTOWN. :Pizzeria Regina in the north End has been a catalyst. And cuz we all can’t be famous rock stars you gotta keep up connections in a crazy world that can get you in a variety of ways. And that’s why it’s so good to be back, this isn’t appointment I’m just dropping by. Because I left, thanks Boston, big up’s to old school Lexington and black Dorchester

Happy Holidays everyone.


Monday, November 21, 2011

The Candy Empire

Junior High. December 13th, 1988. 1st person

“This rule is so underrated keep your family and your business completely separated.” Notorious B.I.G. 10 Crack Commandments – DJ Premier production

I’m a zilla
. All my life I just wanted to be a businessman like my hero / Godfather Uncle Clayt. While I attended Junior High, I started a candy biz. I actually started it by default (all great ideas). See it all started one rainy afternoon with my man Neil Magerstin a.k.a. Junk Box. Henry is a good friend a rich friend and I only have a few friends you know? Anyway one afternoon Henry, who took all sorts of dares sat next to me in our Junior Highs grey and slightly futuristic cafeteria. On that day Henry opened my eyes.

I’d never been one for school lunch myself. My ma would make me a standard brown bag lunch everyday which I would like clockwork dump in the first grey trash can I came across yo. Faculty thought this to be deplorable. I’d warn them to stay out of family matters. Anyway I’d always bring in my pocket what I really wanted, what I viewed as my own birthright. Willy Wonka fool, just a little somethen I could munch and activate again my never ending spastic energy as the normal kids ate that hideous shit called school lunch that their stupid moms made for them.

If they weren’t eating that moldy crap than they were eating the crapola excuses for lunch the school was offering up like hot dogs that bounced. Nothing in my mind can fuck with Willy Wonka as a lunch supplement for anyone in the sixth grade. Neil is like me, see, he only ever wants to eat candy and hates school lunch. He almost at, well, now thirteen, then twelve had been as much trouble as I had been.

And for those reason he would salivate as I sounded off for effect every time watching me succulently slush on my gobstopper. I would always make faces like the taste of the never ending Gobstopper was better than I blow job, which between us I hadn’t yet received but lie about all of the time. After about the third one, and forcing the theatre Neil started offering me change for some in my pack.

“How much?”

“A quarter, look I have it right here.”

“A quarter, I only has five left.”

“Yeah but that whole box only costs twenty five cents Carl!”
“Yeah on the outside, Neil, I’m on the nut case inside here smuggling these on school grounds like Han Solo dropping this shit directly on your mutha fucken lap yo. It's crazy.”

“Fuck that is pretty cool.”
“You know it is.”
Finally I had mercy and sold him my last five (their were really four) for a whole dollar, hich amounted to everything he had in his pocket. Worked for me so naturally what I started doing was stealing another pack in addition to the one I stole for myself. I even bought a couple packs as not to be obvious, even though the old store owner (Jake) of the old Stone store on Mass Ave was blind, I was in enough trouble and had to be careful and careless all in one yo. Soon I learned to sneak into the "back room" of CVS where I'd been caught stealing in third grade with Terrance and grab the X'd out mountains of candy that had been shelved off the shelf post expiration. Then I really thought I was doing nothing wrong.

And man did I have a inagural customer, Neil.

It was here where I was first introduced to the powerful paradigm of supply and demand. I mean I had read about it in the Lord of the Flies, you know when the kid sells the other kid a can of coke for like twenty bucks on that island?

I had in fact never seen that shit in action though. It was great. I would sucker Neil Magenstein in with the “ooh’s” and “ah’s” of magnificent taste. At this point he’d throw away his lunch just like me sit back and watch my better life until he broke. It was great. I’d sell him the same thing for way over market price. I would watch as he would now snatch a full box from me and guzzle all of them at once. I began selling him more stuff before and after lunch. He was just mad for it you know? It was funny to me and I found it cool I could always eat sugar for free providing such a simple service. That year’s Neil flourishing sugar addiction lead me to nicknaming him, Junk Box.

Two months before the end of school old Junk was fitted with braces. I reckon the ever-lasting Gobstopper had something to do with it. The next day he still ate a small piece of rock candy for a quarter on a dare. I laughed when he did it. Braces or no braces he was still my best client and I didn’t ant him to fall for all the dentist mumbo jumbo they throw at kids with crooked teeth that just get braces.

Junk Box came to me one day in a glow of inspiration. I watched him inhale junk food with zero regard to fruit, nutrition, nourishment or any of the four food groups the commercials on during after school cartoons were always encouraging as to eat. He’s my hero. Junk Box is a good friend.

Anyway what I started during the sixth grade as special item orders for that Junk of a Box over the years turned into quite a profitable business a twelve year old. Last year during the eighth grade around Christmas time at the height of my candy empire the school launched a study as to why school lunch sales had dropped nearly fifty percent during the month of January. It wasn’t the school that initiated the investigation either. The Massachusetts Health and Nutrition sub-committee each quarter receives I guess like this thing called a ledger of cafeteria sales as well suggestions from the staff at all public schools in the state.

This of course is really not a big deal it’s just when the line on the sales graph completely nose dives, well the administration just had a few questions, that was all. Most of the revenues I collected from 7 to 8am had become for the most part kids lunch money. It also helped fuel an explosion in the practice of pitching quarters high on sugar for students gambling pleasure. The candy was a business that I started in the sixth grade and watch balloon during what was my senior year of junior high, 8th grade.

I sold Jolly Ranchers, Lemon heads, Cherry Clans, mamba’s, Soda’s (at the very end), Fun Dip, Charms Blow Pops, Jaw breakers, Alexander the Grape, Bonkers, Ring Pops (which sold like Lobster) Sweet tarts and by the height of eight grade Christmas time, I even had three employees. I’d saved close to three hundred dollars and pitched away half of that. Like most of my antics it soon got way out of hand and for the first time in my life I had more money than I knew what to do with. My extra change machines were stacked and hidden at home. My ma would flip. I’d basically bring this inventory with me on the bus. I was lucky I could stash it in my neighbors clubhouse which in my mind was my hide out / nightclub, Sugar Ray’s.
I have a hard time handling success. With me it’s not defeat, oh no! I’m defeated thirty, forty times a second by these warped adults. It’s success that I officially can’t handle. This is because I’m so in tune with things sucking that when they don’t I have idea what to do. Therefore I believe I became sloppy basking in the success of my empire and the gambling life it had afforded me. For when the school finally called a super meeting, (they had jealous snitches) with my father not only did they charge me with contra band (Candy come on!) but they also charged me with contributing to the malnutrition of my entire eighth grade class! This was my first federal offense.

My dad at the time was yanked into this meeting having no idea what it was in reference to whispered in my ear, “what the hell are you up to Bunky?” Bunky is a cute name my dad his called me since the day back when. I like when he calls me this. It reminds me that I’m his son. Due to the fact that I hadn’t seen my dad in days this meeting provided an excellent opportunity for us to catch up. Anyway, in the end they had no evidence and my dad was at a loss as to how and respond to such wild allegations in the absence of anything empirical. When my arch enemy Principal Stiff finally asked me point blankly if I sold candy in school I replied coolly, “What are you people talking about?” Why do you always blame everything on me? It’s not fair, fucking cockroaches!” This last statement caused my dad to backslap me across the face. This made the faculty happy. Probably it was a look of envy because they couldn’t fucking do it. I puckered up my nose, regaining composure folded out my palms and said, “sorry dad I just watched Scarface.” This was true and with that the great meeting adjourned.

My father on the ride home genuinely asked me if I ran a business like the one they had just been describing. For some reason I was honest with him, this was rare indeed. However, when I told him of what I had built in just three short years he had become fascinated rather than angry. He is in fact a conservative capitalist that was probably just excited to hear about his off spring making markets at such a ripe young age! He told me that I was sharp and could someday be a savvy businessman if I learned to talk like the white boy I’am, he said. He dropped me off at the foot of the street as to go undetected by my ma. Of course the happiness that I conjured from a proud father and son moment inspired me to new heights. The next week, after walking scot-free I order the few kids on the payroll to begin stealing twice as many small boxes of candy, cartons if we could!

I raised prices quite simply because I could, I had a monopoly and that’s one of the perks. Or like they say in commodities I had cornered the market. I know this because Trading Places is a movie that I’ve seen often. Movies are indeed a constructive tool. Since I was the only act in town I could raise prices if I wanted to. This was after lowering them to wipe out the copycats that had sprang during my slight legal trouble towards the end of that last week. Throw in the fact pure Sugar is like crack cocaine to kids in Junior high and not only could I raise prices, but soon just like Junk the real spaz’s and kids that took Ritalin at lunch with me were soon all harshly addicted. Once on the tippitty top I fell Like Randy and Ty in the 84 Winter Olympics. It’s never defeat with me. So like any true Tony Montana story of pure excess I fell apart and brought business crashing down with me. In short I had erred on a point n.w.a. (Niggers with Attitudes) pointed out to me years ago. I began getting high off my own supply.

I was consuming over ten full packs of fun dip a day. I was lost. I began screaming at my teachers in a raging high dip high, “you can’t make no babies!” A look of concerned oddity would cross their faces as I skipped through space merrily. Throw in the little white super crack rock sticks that come with fun Dip, and I was like “Tiger” I lost control of my inventory, storage and employees. I got sloppy. I got faced. Because I didn’t follow that dam song by N.W.A. enough! I need to bite something. I can’t believe I didn’t sell Swedish Fish. That number five red ye is like heroin to me. I could’ve sold them a dime apiece or three for a quarter, step right up. It’s a dam good thing I happen to one of the few kids out there that can admit when he’s wrong. So in one titanic week of major sales and major abuse it all fell apart. I became very sick. This probably had something to do with my diet but I can’t be sure.

I got in major trouble and just skirted out of being held back, I was relieved and remorse. After the collapse of my candy empire I needed a break. I needed to chill which is impossibility for a kid like me. I asked my folks if Betty Ford had a section for Sugar addicts and my mom shot back, “Shut up stupid! What the hell kind of question is that?” I replied, “but seriously ma, I’m addicted over here! I can’t stop, I can’t stop, I can’t stop!” My father (who would leave the house shortly there after this incident) then walks in from the den like a baseball manager glancing over a young pitcher having control problems. Throwing ball after ball the manger like my father has seen enough. The King of the castle speaks, “You imbecile, don’t you know that humans can’t become addicted to candy?” I look up saddened and ask, “but what about me>“ He walked off and when I asked my ma why dad says mean things she told me I needed to see a psychiatrist. Knowingly defeated I walked out of the kitchen enduring the tough stitches of a tough loss. Anyway barring any parental help from my parents or these curtain adults with my own addictions I was forced to kick the smack cold Turkey locked up in suspension solitary.

It wasn’t easy though and it angered me deeply with all of these fucking school programs and guidance counselors no one had taken my addiction to sugar seriously. A month later I was clean of everything but the Pink Milk. I suspect that it was the pink milk that got me through.

I battled horribly trying to get clean for months that when I finally did get the monkey off my back I tell only my right hand man B-Dawg, “B-Dawg, I wouldn’t wish that on you.” That shit was rough. He looks at me confused in a funny I don’t get it type of way and said giving me the weird look, “thanks.” Addictions B-Dawg, let us always keep our eyes on addictions.”

“I heard they almost kept you back?”

“Yup, they can’t hold me.” I loved mocking my own luck at its most sensitive occasions. Tired and sluggish I’m ready to begin my ascent back up the eighth grade social ladder. When I finally did look up, I noticed everyone had turned thirteen and lunchrooms were packed again. Cafeterias were enjoying there re birth. Full and vibrant one could see four food groups activated back to action. Children guzzling milk as fruit and smiles pasted a lively and orderly scene. This was a far cry to when I was on top. Nestled in an illegal corner we were kids that were tired. All sat one skittle away from Sleep. And on that day of my awakened slumber back among the masses I couldn’t help but feel people were giving me bad looks. These kids looked like they were enjoying school lunch or something! Well my friend if that was the case the school should award me and N.W.A purple hearts of battle! I mean what an unfathomable mission that is. I sat alone that day asking B-Dawg to even just let me be. I wanted people to see me suffering. After lunch I was again paged to principal Stiff’s office as the hits kept coming. These adults will definitely kick you wide eyes when you’re down in the face. That’s when they like to get you most.

Anyway it was here that I learned as a consequence for my actions I would not be allowed to go with the other students on the annual trip to Washington DC a birth rate for all eighth graders in town. Just to hit me low when everyone was starting to get excited. Once seated in Stiff’s office he informed through his large Oakland raider silver goatee that they never take kids like me on trips like that because their educated people. He swiped a couple final low bows about the disgrace that I was, I took deep focused exhaling breaths as not to cry. He said I still had to keep my nose clean for the spring if I wanted to go to high school.

I thought to myself leaving that A) I was going to tone it done, and B) I’d never forget that cockroach and C) next year in high school maybe I’d become a bookie.


Today's March (November) in DC

Well it wouldn't be a weekday in the United States w / out an organized march protesting something. They seem to lose their luster but an organized peoples still a gorgeous thing. Today's march apperently was due the an Ethiopian ban on head scarves in schools, wierd. I mean seperation of church and state baby, can u actually protest that, here?

I guess so - this was walking down to luch with the Turkish Tom Cruise to Old Ebbit's grill. A place I'm pretty sure (Uncle) Ted Kennedy fall on his face drunk at least twice. Anyway slow news day @ GDD. Great lunch, and slogan of the day for my right leaning audience, remember where u heard this first as it blows.


Of course I support the movement and hope as noted yes here, they can hone their scope and issue a few changes aimed at Wall St and speculative devives. So I say, march on through Nov - Dec and into 2012. Also, Congress sucks, the teap party would rather let the country burn on a black mans watxch that come up with bio-partisan legislation that will protect our credit rating, bull shit.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

The House Of Bespoke, BIGGIE, Tu-Pac and Occupy Wall St.

The House Of Bespoke.

Tailored, affordable suits from the comforts of your own Den!

The House of Bespoke aims to bring reasonably priced custom tailored suits on-line, made easy!

OK, what makes this especially exciting for me, outside of the fact I’m about to suit up, get slick and cosmopolitan for the impending winter, (which should showcase clothing for males seasonally speaking) is that my FX business partner Omer Esiner is behind this one. And here at GDD we report on everything under our never setting sun, and always keep you informed on the greater family. These stories are almost always better than Charlie Paradise and our love of high school basketball and NFL offensive linemen.

This is on-line suit ordering made easy, I watched this hatch from the ground up. And I’m a firm believer in the quality and process these guys have drilled into. I guarantee you buy one and this will be your preferred suit “guy” for the life of your heart rate. The low end starts at around $300. For a custom made suit that’s you. I love house of bespoke for the same reason I love and want to be a pitchman for Pandora, here’s my slogan. I love Pandora, cause Pandora is me. Anyway I’ve seen the “O” also known as the Turkish Tom Cruise in these parts, rocking these joints lately and I must say, I’m inspired. I want to get my slick back, enough with the fart jokes.

And lastly I witnessed the search of the connect like anything it’s all about the connect, or in this case the manufacturer. And they came through clutch, and they’ve been beating down the doors of the corporate offices of AOL, Yahoo, Mircostrategies to name a few, setting up a table and spreading the gospel. Buy early, get a deal, enjoy the lavish conquest of confidence one activates when stepping into a custom suit made just for you brought to you by house of Bespoke. Shipping is easy, if it doesn’t fit you send it back, they will tweak and deliver right back free of charge. A portion of the proceeds goes towards an organization that helps funds suits for job seekers. So sick, it’s a service, world economy boys, I love the internet, get involved. Raise your suit game guy, go custom, go House Of Bespoke or go home player, not yet ready for the major leagues.

Please check out the website and below link, and build your own suit on the build a bear tip, it’s exciting, and they got everything a wanna be Gordon Gecko, Jay Gatsby or Mafia could ever be looking for. The suits and some of the lining options have tickled me gigantic. She shines; I need to watch the Cotton Club. I might announce a Harry’s brunch right now just so I can wear cuff links. Of course it’s NFL Sunday, week something, and wing sauce never rides so well against pink cuff links. And god bless the side hustle, if you don’t have some legitimate prospects at 1, your not trying, your occupying. Side thought: Having duck dinner (Peking Duck, Falls Church, wow, yum) Friday with Omer Esiner, the man himself and other dear friends of ours the occupy argument came up in conversation like it has a knack for doing as of late. Anyway it’s so funny how quickly the inner hippie if it was even ever there leaves once you hit mid 30’s. And that’s the thing, thirty-five? I mean it’s not that old. But one after the other, I gotta stop bringing it up.

Apparently they are lazy, disgusting, at the same level with homeless lunatics, and above all else pathetic. Now granted I can’t condone people say that are 5 and have had more days off than they actually worked over the past forty years, this is cannot and will not tolerate. But the bank bailout truly was bullshit, the last remaining boys club, thought they’d all succumbed, not this 1, the most sacred is always the last to fall. But you wake up every morning, god forbid you make a little scratch, and bam it happens. I guess this is why I love 2 Pac ever so slightly more than BIG probably more but they are undoubtedly my, #1 and #2. But Pac could make $100 million and still wouldn’t really give a fuck about it at all. He’d have been akin to Bill Gates his maturity and survival and own children would’ve further inspired a true revolutionary. If he lived to tell. Biggie would’ve hit 100 million, gone Republican next to JZ, and fallen head first into high chambers of capitalism confidence, the New York in him would’ve made it more about the money a bigger hustle than any greater cause. And that’s fine, you’re not hurting anyone, this is America it’s just not me.
Pac would’ve given it all back, he would’ve put Africa on his radar, and he’d of see through the supposed rising black middle class knowing it was not demonstrative of the true communities he came up in, that he raised his voice so loudly for on their behalf. The game is the game unless you don’t look at it like 1.

And wars become part of “the game.” By the way the Game got his name the Game because that’s what his grandmother used to call him, as he was always “game” for anything. A WAR HAS ALWAYS BEEN TUMBLE TOWN FOR THE SHAKERS, DECION MAKERS, AND EVERYTHING IS INTERTIWINED. HAVE YOU SEEN THE RECENTLY BROUGHT TO LIGHT INSIDER TRADING INFORMATION SCANDAL ERUPTING in CONGRESS? OF COURSE IT WOULDN’T ERUPT it won’t erupt, I have a feeling that story will go away. The problem is these days after 10 years of Bush what’s not to protest? Barack walking into that shit show never got a fair shake, I do think he’ll win this next election, narrowly. And Pac would see these headlines, he’d have watched the bail out for the banks that rammed unqualified mortgages to unsuspecting and ignorant American public, and that was the first step. Then the magic, and this is what are best minds our of the Ivy league schools are doing, on wall street, finding genius new ways to gamble, creating nothing. Most all futures and derivatives are speculative.

And I don’t know what to do; it makes me think if I’m the Chinese PM I’m in no fucking rush to float the currency. But the money thing, the if your not a conservative thing by 40 the old cliché went, you had no brain. It’s so funny, as soon as you have something to lose, make enough scratch doing little, i.e. good fully legal job on lock, (they are everywhere out there if you scheme right) then you become one with the system, one with order, too much to lose, get a life / job.
And I get that, but I also say there has to be a response to this bank bail out! It's not enough, that's it, the root causes of the great recession, not one person in jail, still trading away mortgage back securities like baseball cards. In any event, the Arab spring, the riot’s in London, the fall of the white man’s dominance cause a guy in Norway to mass murder children that was his statement. Volatility is up in the 2nd decade of the internet connected world. The inter connected world brings power to the people; these were the moments I was waiting for when the Internet hit. It’s always forever been about the information when playing the “game.” And we’re the USA,. Protest, its bullshit, you should, especially if your young, now focus your scope; vow to fight on until the trading of mortgage-backed securities is suspended. Don’t stop until you curb speculation dramatically more than were revised in the Dodd act. 2-Pac once said, “Money went as quick as it came.” And it’s funny how that works.

So listen, I’m not going to Occupy DC, I was a young Republican for Christ Sakes. But I support their pulse, Pac would too. And don’t forget the US margin call, I’m out of the gym on the fact that I believe these bakers, and famous Greenwich shorter have become a national security risk. We’ll lose the ability to properly protect ourselves if we lose our credit ratings, owe everything to everybody and become underwater like so many US homeowners these days. And that’s it, the 2nd part of their now refined scope would vow to fight on until Mortgages are forgiven on the faulty premises, the banks got bailed out that should be extended to the homeowners that got caught up in it. Got some finance guys right the fairest rule possible many morons out there can’t forgive everyone there has to be some kind of profile, and that’s it.

I’m looking forward to the Euro falling forward and ordering my custom suit from House of Bespoke, with the sick lining, just in time for for the holidays. What an activity from my own home before kick off Sunday. The House of Bespoke just it out now while just opened prices and deals are out there. Ordering custom tailored suits, now that’s something both Pac and Big could agree on. Click on the below link, build a bear for adults, enjoy, and Happy Thanksgiving.


Charlie Paradise

Friday, November 18, 2011

Commander and Chief

Gorilla Dunk Daily sports 1 house band, the Retar Crew, kept on retainer for some used pin ball part and plutonium. This their new joint, god bless them god bless us all. Enjoy and download their album free @ www.theretarcrew.com


Thursday, November 17, 2011

The Hayden Tournament

The Hayden Tournament –

In addition to the regional recognition that playing varsity for Lexington shined, there was one other defining basketball trait the town held that any superstar that ever came out of the city of Boston would forever, fondly remember. The Hayden Tournament. The Hayden Tournament had brought together the best talent in Boston for decades.
My hoop dreams extended from the top of Hayden Hill on Lincoln Street, where I looked down and across old Worthen road and at night could see the faint light of what would one day be our home hoops gym. And inside of that conquest was Hayden. My sister practiced figure skating six hours a day at lower Hayden all the while cramming in school.

And every night I played basketball from 6-9PM. On weekends, 12:5PM, everyday, Magic and I our whole childhood @ Hayden. It was before AAU exploded + we rarely left our neighborhood

And one of the fixtures we’d marvel at time and again like others might pine over a prized piece of art inside a notable institution was this 1 MVP plague. And that was the Hayden Tournaments plague across from Grace Burn’s desk on the boy’s side commemorating past MVP’s of its annual basketball showcase.

And Hayden was our home, this tournament was like a big brother, the one that was 20 years older you loved and barely knew. He lived far away, you heard the stories, he was the brother that served in the war, he had a family of his own. You saw him once a year at best, but you loved him, you shared one thing in common, blood. And as dramatic as it might sound Hayden had become our blood. There were two old jokes Mike and I would forever hear, 1) Where’s your room?” Older kids loved to drop this 1 on us nightly, we generally kept the rank and file of our own age group in line. Bottom line was we didn’t like the joke. It A) gave people a chance to laugh at us, and B) the lack of material compounded daily on an annual basis drags on you. Forgot the 2nd.

But we did go to Hayden every-single day. Once we hit 11, and the 6th grade, we could go weeknights, a game changer. And part of this nightly ritual inevitably would contain on water breaks, (at the greatest water bubbler in even Alsakan history) we’d take note of this plaque. It was dark oak and its scratched indentures were green with gold lettering. And it was one of many treasures neatly organized over many years time, care and concentration to honor thiks facilty. And that plaque was a right of passage to the big time. If you wanted to be major, the road to the NBA out of Boston went through Hayden. And you had to be an MVP. Patrick Ewing, Rumeal Robinson, Dana Barros, Chris Herren, Mike Herren and dozens of big time college players. I remember when Cincinati Bound Curtis Bostic ripped the rim down. I was fucking shocked like I’d never been before in my life. It was the only time that ever happened at Hayden. And the man was built in high school for the WWF, shredded like Rike Rude.

The Hayden tournament brought us right up front to the stage of the entire city way before high school. Magic and I had worked it for years as little kids then teenagers. On my key chain today is a basketball charm from Hayden of a basketball court and on the back it says, “Thanks Carl.” Hayden 1989. (That’s Carl w / a C bee-atch!)

I remember the Tailismen the south shore boys. They included the Curley brothers, Tailsmen recruited in Duxbury and played annually at the Hayden T. Billy, the oldest of the 3, went to Boston College and made the Final 4! He also played like Ronnie Lee of Lexington pro for the Detriot Pistons. I hung out with Billy Curley up in Chestnut hill with my dear friend brian Ferris who starred on the Curry College team I played on, he was out of taunton and had pal'd around with Billy for years. I remember it was the night the Boston Pop's had comer to the Boston College Campus, John William,s in the house. And I loved those BC teams.

Bill Curley also was a Hayden tournament MVP. The road to the NBA in eastern Mass went through Hayden. The Tailsmen were typically regionally recruited, they had their own uniforms, and traveled all over to play in tournaments during the off season.
It was like a series of minor league pro teams, I was obsessed. Traveling teams back then were much, much more select. Anyway the Talismen’s coach, I think his name really was Jack, Jack something or other maybe O'Brian after all it's Boston. He wore horn rimmed glasses and with a child fondlers gut. I remember and he always seemed, quite frankly a little “weird.” I should know, I was often the ball or water boy and or time / scorekeeper. I even worked the horn one game after Des pushed it early in a prank on a hometown kid that released the ball fifty feet away, way ahead of the clock running out. It was a classic Hayden tournament story we’d often re call.

Anyway this coach was weird, and years later, you guessed it, Sanduskied (now a legit term). The man was charged with child molestation. And I only bring this up because my gang chomping at the bits to play for a showcase team by the time we hit 11, 12 played for a newer AAU (AAU as a term is like hedge fund so generic means nothing) team called the Lincoln Hawks. And all my boys in my class, the chosen ones, all of them played for this god forsaken franchise. And why not? They were bankrolled. Chuck Cheese all day. This like everything ever listed on GDD outside of my opinion is concrete.

Basically Lexington outside of the Hayden tournament was known as a hotbed for a handful of top players year in and year out. Back in 88 where the Minutemen had won 8 league and even a state title over a ten year period. The then varsity was nationally ranked and we had kids in our crew that were attracting a lot of attention already for their basketball prowess. Anyway one day there was a notice that an upstart AAU team was holding regional tryouts at the center courts in the heart of Lexington..

I remember because I got my picture in the paper. And this dating back to Wareham Mass was a common occurrence for both me and my sister. The paper was there making note of a hoops try out for a start up traveling team. I was shirtless leading the pack coming down the court, lefty, head up on the power dribble. And I wore that smirk on my face. The kind of smirk that said I’m anxious to kill and enjoy getting dirty. A cocky smirk that said I hate you, respect my game, you don’t want me covering you. A smirk that said this is 1 sharp looking kid you don’t want to piss off. This is a kid that even if you get him, he’ll come back on you, time and again. And then your family, even if he’s locked up, he’ll get out. And he’ll fuck with my friends, siblings, aunts, uncles and parents. In short the kind of smirk that says, I hate playing this guy. That was my smirk on a sunny day with my six pack, in the paper, basket of blonde hair on full display. And I got it, the swagger from Lexington High basketball , I mimicked it from my hero, the great Sean Matthews. There was allot I mimicked about Sean Matthews. Sean, in 1988 was the starting 2 guard in Lexington being recruited D1 all over the country. The point guard, Magic’s idol, Lloyd Mumford, a Sophomore in 88, went on to play for former Lexington High coach Rollie Massimino at Villanova, you can’t make this shit up. The back court was coined the M & M boys, fans held up wrappers in homage and USA today recognized them as one of the top five best back courts in the country. And the team was nasty. And we were blessed.
They fueled our hoop dreams, I was a Sean guy Magic was a Lloyd guy. Sean was gritty, blue collar, tough. Lloyd dunked for the cameras, was a showman and flashed that all American million dollar smile. If Sean fell he got up, if Lloyd got knocked down even his getting off the floor was a highlight. Lloyd never took a hand rfom a teammate to regain his fiooting. Rather he's pull from many of his Footloose like aerial moves to spring back to his feet. The crowrd loved everything he did, and Sean, they complimented each other perfectly.

If Sean wore the terry cloth Kangol Lloyd def rocked the furry joint. And that’s what it was. We knew 1 thing at 11, they both got tons of ass. And their games had set them up in a way we adorned to be.

And that was my smirk, and during the course of the two day try out’s for the Lincoln Hawks, my imaginary kongol was on sideways and terry cloth. Game gave you that option to were your lid any direction you liked. Anyway, John Gondolfo was the coach / owner’s name of this Lincoln Hawks circus. And he wanted in on unsupervised, unregulated “AAU” boys basketball. They announced the winners, Mike and I declined, but every other player in our grade of note walked. 70% of the team was Lexington. And the only reason I didn’t do it, and convinced Mike who Lloyd nicknamed Magic, (because the 80’s were and Mike was nice with the rock as a short on hoop court), was the Hayden tournament. We’d always said in the 5th grade in Mr. Popp’s class (see 5th grade camping trip vid below) when we were older that no matter what offers were out there we’d stay and play for the home team which had never won it’s own Tournament. We intended to correct what was a tall order.

We'd come close, the last Lexiongton team to lose in the finals lost in large part because the famous lloyd Mumford didn't show. That night the blow job, a theme that would come back to haunt him at Villanova got in the way. I remember Tony Davis smashing the pay phone outside of the gym in anger after catching lloyd on the phone and knowing he was out for real, real. Just minutes before tap, I was crushed, but not as bad as the phone. Tony Davis you see had his own commercial in high school, was a bruisging half back that eventually went D1 , and played football at Eastern Carolina.

We had to make Hayden. It was on the list. And being a legend to us was making a list early. And us, staying home our best 12 all from the class of 94, winning Hayden would be legendary. It’s what everyone and every player at that tournament, every April, wanted to be, a legend or nothing. And since I had my own “room” at Hayden this treachery of truth was best left abandoned. We talked about this often. We wore strength shoes to junior high for Christ Sakes. I slept in ankle weights. We were going to win the Hayden tournament finally, for Hayden. And we’d been to camps, we knew oyr games were tight. We grew up in this culture, and I believed, Magic believed.

But when the Lincoln Hawks started doling out offers to pre pubescent boys everybody else jetted. And soon they were fitted with brand new sneakers, warm up’s, home and away uniforms to grace their 60 game season, fuck! It sucked a dry heave because back then all’s I wanted to do was travel and play against the best from all over. And that wasn’t happening in Lexington although due to the Hoosier like atmosphere and success legend ratio of the basketball program, the town managed to manufacture fans that were all pretty good players too. Just not good enough for varsity, hey even the back up’s were starters at almost any other high school around right down to the 12th man, a coveted honor. And it’s the way it had always been. It was like the coaches ala mater Durfee of Fall River Dreams, it was better to play for Lexington and never see the floor than to start on any other team. And that was respect, but in this case this was free-sneakers and expensive uniforms.

And as the Lincoln Hawks became regional celebrities Lloyd’s younger brother and 8th grade, soon to be high school legend Rashad even jumped into the gig. It was for the clothes and probably fun to drop 60 on some idiots in a farmland community with a crowd and paid officials. Soon they were taking limo’s to games! True story, ice cream Sunday’s every Tuesday and Thursday and look, more new sneakers. Hey look, we have even newer uniforms again. This fueled my hate for all of them but especially the team itself and most poignantly the coach and mastermind, John Gondolfo. He’d remember me to this day, I never played for him and I think he’s in jail. He hated me and my own friends would tell me how invigorated he’d get when he’d instruct them to hurt me when in game conditions. Sweep the leg, and that was great because I hated him.

He looked at me as prohibiting his task to obatin the right's to my best friend Magic. The only non criminal to stay with me at Hayden, rrepresent. And finally one Feb day in Junior High Magic and I scraped together a team of outcasts and through our coach and gym director Jeff Barry issued a formal challenge to the coach and his mighty bank rolled Lincoln Hawks. It was a matinee, Saturday contest and it was to be home at Hayden. They accepted. The paper was there again and it truly was the rebellion vs. the empire.

The bleachers were pulled out, the electronic score board turned on. Real ref’s and packed local audience came to see exactly why we held out. Jeff was the coach, Bart our childhood hero who was a football rather than a hoops guy was our assistant. Bart played D1 Boston College, went for free, the other ten guys we pulled together that day were straight out of Buckman tavern, Minutemen. It was rag tag but everything, the against all odd’s, (they had all stars from neighboring towns and cities including the now GM for Oklahoma City NBA) the recruiting, financaing and sell outs as I called them and above all else, that fucking asshole coach I saw and hated me because of it had finally arrived.

And the game was played. There was a fight, we stayed close, it went to OT. I fouled out, everyone did, an OT we were down to 3 against 5, our roster had run out with fouls and ejections. And we lost at the buzzer. Magic got his picture in the paper guarding our good friend Goldy who was six inches taller than him even though they’d eventually be the same height.) And they celebrated like the civil war had been won. If they lost that 1 they’d never heard the end of it. I relished the underdog, but more than that, I wanted that win. It still kills me and their in lies the craziness, the competitiveness and to some the sickness of sports.
But years later John Gondolfi who in reality lived on the Burlington / Woburn line on the highway across from the movie theatre in a small condo right on route 128 was weird. And he was on the NBC nightly news one evening years later charged with, you guessed it, this child molestation shit.

The first thing I thought of was jack what’s his name from the Talismen, and then I thought about my boys.

I remember magic and I one summer, after he refused the invitation to play for the Lincoln Hawks spotted him at an away night game of ours while playing traveling summer baseball. The sole face in an empty bleacher set, top row, far left, at Burlington under the lights, clear as day, we both instantly recognized this as insane. A week later walking home from the center courts and Hayden his car was parked outside of his house. And he’d do it often until his mother demanded he drive away. Wow, and these guys claim nothing of that nature ever occurred with them but Jesus Christ. Youth Groups, churches and charitites beware, feeding ground for predators. And next to Neverland, Jerry Sandusky had the 2nd most powerful platform to exercise this twisted doctrine of where you spend your mental time. And sports, and kids, it’s so bad, young boys, don’t know enough, prob not dating yet just have hero’s that play sports. They play sports. it breaks my heart.

The Hayden tournament breaks me so many ways, it wasn’t supposed to go that route, tonight’s blog. I was going to write more about the Hayden tournament! I guess a chapter II, tomorrow. But that Hayden tournament, dam when we finally got there, memories of it’s past, and the origins of how it came to life. Magic and I painted the 3 point stripe in 88 when it was first introduced into college and the high school game. We were so excited to shoot three's. And Hayden allowed us to paint the striped ager they'd been etched in the poly arthine. That was a big deal, the three point line was closer than the pro and before that time had never ever been part of the college and or high school game. We were so fucking pumped.

I love you Hayden Tournament, thanks for the memories, and that Hayden team, the rebels, Mike, Stevey Lee, B-Dawg, Mr. Driscoll, and all the rest, Hayden rec. center, that’s me. Fuck you John Gondolfi, I saw you across the street, day 1 sicko. It ain't me.

PS: I signed the boycott Kardashian petition today, sig # 101,979 reporting for duty, sir!

PPS: Here's a picture of my boys, and to me at the time sell out's playing in their hundred dollar uniforms, in 1988! For the child mmolester - The Lincoln Hawk's, I had strong virtues way back then which ironic because I always seemed to be in so much trouble.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Clearing out the mind attic.

A few things, one Penn State might go for a historic, all-time, Watergate type of ceiling busting corruption unfathomable to all. I remember studying Watergate in college unlike Max Fisher in Rushmore he wrote a 1 act in the 3rd grade about it. Anyway for me, 1 thing always jumps to mind. My professor, the illustrious, Dr. Keaton had written on the chalkboard a simple phrase to introduce the subject of Nixon and Watergate to our class.

“Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely”

And it was sad, the only reason I portended to like the guy was because I loved Alex P. Keaton, and his move on China in the face of Russian cold war escalations was money. Kissinger was a young star out of harvard perhaps given too much clout for his age and the times, but Nixon was a very insecure man. And much of his unravleing had to do with that fact at it's core. Pap Joe is not an insecure man, it's what he represented, the Mount Rushmore of American college football, the perception, the class, the respect = cover up. It's completly akin to the catholic church in Boston, cover up, it can never come out, we are the catholic Church for Christ sakes. We are Penn state in this instance, it could never be us.

But how true it rings and what an ugly case of high politics against the lowest level of crime targetying socecties most vulnerable. This helps explain how something like this which I believe has gone on since the 70's to some degree explains how this could go on unchecked for so, so long. I loved the Nitnany Lions as a kid. The first market I ever made in Junior High involved the Nitnany Lions on a New Years day. My Godfather and most important Grandfather were Johnstown PA guys. All the right moves, football, America. If Texas and Florida kids grow up playing year round in sunshine, Western PA kids grow up playing in the mountains, the elements. It’s a Quaker state and Penn State, a source of enormous state pride. The Nitnany Lions, what simplistic uniforms, the solid blue & white appeared almost regal. All American - all the way through, a tradition of excellence and class. And this is why my godfther Clay years ago put me on to them. If you see the 5th grade camping trip (below vid) and observe how I weave in between three outfits, the 2nd was a Penn state football jersey. My godfather was my hero, went to Wall Street and dated Cybil Shepard. If he told me the Penn State Nitnany Lions were the West Point of college football’s A class programs teams, they were. And they won, and they were tough, and everyone respected the widely adored Brooklyn kid, Joe Paterno. The author of tough love and marine like disipline.

If anything, this may be a case of, "um in hindsight maybe I should’ve called it quits when I was 75." That’s a big ten years, BTW Sandusky throws him under the boss in the Costas breaking the ice speak out tip interview Sunday night on rock city. What an awful, what a creepy interview, if you are not sexually attracted to young boys you answer and emphatic unequivicol, no. An immediate no, he repeats the question, ponders before jumbling a response that screamed , why!

“Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely”

Only this type of pain could have caused this type of melt down and there in lyes the fascination. Summer would ask me two days into it, “yeah what is this penn State thing?” And it’s tough to swallow, difficult to explain to non sports heads why it's eating up so much google news. And the sad part, we know it’s true. I respect the innocent to proven guilty thing but also respect the right to my opinion. Which in this case is a slam dunk. If you think he’s innocent and you don’t know him, you hold on to god too tightly. And the mighty Joe, at the height of his unfettered rule, passed it up, the bare minimum, and it went away. Like everyone involved at the state college level hoped it would. And it did, it became that thing, you never spoke about , ever. Like a mob wife a complete denial that becomes real the longer you don’t acknowledge it. Months, to years, victories pile on, 80 million a year, can’t fuck that up. This brings me to my always seems the same 2nd point, people do crazy shit for money. Granted it’s a tough conversation, and granted I do believe people tend to overestimate themselves, but I’d like to think I’d report him to the hospital via jail perhaps stick the dogs on him along the way.

And so again it occur’s, America loves the rise and fall which explains the always popular mafia films. I’ll finish with this on Penn State. I believe that this was Watergate. I believe this was a calculated cover up that runs up to the highest level of supreme court and political office in PA over the last decade. I think there is the case of the missing District attorney from the 1st Grand Jury prosecution years ago that's disappeared, disappeared? What the fuck is that all about? It’s 2012, my Snickers bar has a GPS attached, no one disappears, there are man hunts! It's the information age. Disappeared? The janitor that saw the most horrid detail to emerge is senile at a mental joint. Joe paterno sells his house, which might be a coincidence. But Penn State getting the Supreme Court to pass a protection law stating it would never be obliged to share certain documents in certain cases, which this is 1. ! Yikes. This was passed a few years back a defensive posture meant to mitigate the fall out should these allegations ever come to light. Years ago? Raises an awful eyebrow, and it’s believable.

And it’ll all coming out, there’s a holy element here in play big time, which makes it harder on the victims. That’s the mind fuck of it all. That’s how fucked up this situation is. The church once again, how many times do we have to see this? The people holier than though who about anything are actively the loudest are self sinners in that which they saw demonstrably exhibit against - everytime.

I’m glad my Uncle Clayt and CC baby are not around to see this fall from grace of a disgrace. I’m sorry fellas.
Boycott Kim Kardashian – she’s needed to take it down a level and concentrate on something realer than expanding the Paris Hilton mold that it seems the public is going the other way on now. "Kris" the mom’s self titled uncencorsed book which hit shelves last week as she ferreted around the country to promote it’s filth makes me vomit. In it she dishes about her own infidelity to her first husband, Kim's dad, great, and something about OJ, enough. OK, in the North End they’d say or used to say, take it ease. Kris Jenner is this weeks GDD winner for “need’s a break.” Time for a time out Kardashian, your forcing it. This transition from fame to fade from the spotlight will be hardest on big Khloe. Thank god Lamar has got her back, NYC, keepen it real brother. You read the sarcasm, right?

If my GDD readers remember my flute about the Riot’s in London earlier this year, and how we at GDD suspected it was more than just a few disgruntled teens it was more, well look what we have now. The arab spring came first, god bless it, Syria fall! The occupy movement in the US came after. And look what those kids started, and dam, Momar went out, the knife in the booty keeps a couple dictators armed and restless.

The Patriot’s crushed the Jet’s cementing my weekly happiness, I’ve come roaring back shorting the Redskins each of the last three weeks, bet your ass I’m short Skins Sunday against those surging Cowboys, although grain of salt Dallas fans, news flash, the Bills are not that good. I took Dallas and Miami last week at 1. I’ve loyally shorted the Skins since I got here ten years ago, simple dimple.

Lot’s of love, and sadly for many tea partiers and Republicans Mitt is like OB 1 Kenobi to the rebellion, you’re my only hope. Newt? I think the white house would welcome that challenge. Next campaign is going to get ugly and very threatening, fright tactics. Hoid your ground - long live our current US President! He's the man, Republican debates are the best on the so bad it's classic and funny tip. I don't think that equates into a winner come November, rule of thumb of course is that lot's can change between then and now - holla not a holy holla just a holla for you


Senior Night, 19-0, undefeated, Jan 07. (1973, Ronnie Lee) "With a knife."

OK, Happy hump day Gorilla's! This is drawn from Keeb camera 1, and 1 thing we've learned is the standard def stuff is not compressing like it should on the pixel tip equating to a quality viewing experience. But no bother, last night's work, rummaging through, and swiss cheesing the hundrds of hours we have, and what a compelling story in light of how it all unfolded.

I do believe our supporters are begininng to grow, and i think there is a real appetite i.e. market for people against every child win, sports are not important, and gold medals for every child generation. Remember your brain is programmed to understand success only through failure.

"If winning is not important, then why do we keep score?" Vince Lombardi.

If your a capatalist, then this should be important, a micro-cosm if you will regarding a national issue. So many kids now from the trophy generation of no one fails, it really kills me. This has been in effect for quite sometime now. And due to the metoric rise of the elite in Lexington and a vanquishing of the last fibers of working middle class in my beloved hometown over the past decade, Lexington, has in the past few years, for all intensive purposes become ground zero for this type of hand holding. And it does kids a grave injustice. Catch a man a fish, ah forget it.

Young adults all over our heard throughout the major citites in therapy, complaining to therapists that they have nothing to complain about! Strange, this 1%, these were after all the paren ts that Ran the Big Guy out of town. Life is hard, do not shelter your kids, protect and allow them to fail so they can appreciate success.....

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Super Bowl XXLIII. w / fam Wig + Preem (Snoop call) Jan 31st. 2007

Happy Sunday in America boys + girls, enjoy!

so many classic things happen and our said in these clips, I'm gone, can extrapolate later. "Yeah Ben you promised." Juicy (Chris K, right Guard)

Friday, November 11, 2011

Bridge School 5th Grade Camping Trips, May 1987. (Poor Quality)

I'm hoping to do a couple things here, as this is very old footage and didn't translate on-line at all at first, so hoping to up the quality of the streaming down the road. Also for anyone that comes to YG Foundations Wed party at Waxy O'Conner's will receive a free DVD of above sequence on which the quality of pixel is astronomically improved.

I'd like to thank whoever filmed this, thank you very much. There's so much to say about this footage, I don't know where to begin. I'll gorilla dunk daily it (Blog) one day here soon. Bridge School in 1987 had to be the most diverse class in the country. And it's easy to figure out who the Ritalin kids were.

Anyway I wanted to post just to show anyone that was there, to be made of the footage's existence. YG Foundation has put some production into it, and it's reasonable to think we 'll have it re mastered into HD, sick.

What a classic group of kids, anyone that was there will remember everyone. The last year before Junior High, the waning days of the throne although we were always kings. And of course, the 80's.

I love that I broke up the fight. I loved Abby in the 5th grade as evident as my thunderous ovation after her Lolipop skit at the talent show. And even though we never even kissed it's nice to love another person. She was my Winnie minus the make out (pilot episode) for the whole 5th grade.

And I love the B reel, the wetlands, the mighty Atlantic, you know your older looking back through VHS lenses at a world that was.

I'd also like to mention Billy Dalwin and Matt Santosusso, both who died at 12 and 16 years respectively. And to a third Eton Chrichlow whose time here would fail to permit his own entry in the talent show (where Terrence and I bring down the house). Magic whose mom was a chaperon barred him from particapating in the last # after our first performance. Eton would've rode with us, made his banner and become a legend at the high school like his brother Eric before him. Eton was hit by a bus in the 4th grade, crossed the street and went back for his winter hat that he had dropped. And this is what the traffic cops would always tell us kids never to do when they visited our schools annually to review general safety.

Billy was also hit by a car, both drivers were devastated, and Billy was struck in our neighborhood, myself, Magic and Mackey among others. Billy was going over David's to trade baseball cards, getting out of his mothers whip on a blind side, bam, the nicest kid. He loved Penn State and gave me his Penn state sweatshirt on this very trip. OK, let's be realistic I probably took it, I loved Penn St (back then) via my Uncle Clayt. I thought they were America's team. But Billy, bright and soft spoken was the nicest kid.

Tragedy never could escape this group, year of graduation and town itself. And in that Penn State vein I was rocking a Steelers sweatshirt in my first performance of the talent show, forshawdowing via Justin Hartwig (!!!) glory to come.

Matt Santa, as we called him then and you can hear people call him that, in this sequence died of course when we were in high school at the sweet age of 16. This almost made it worse, we got a taste, dam, we would've been a great team. By high school at Coach Farias's re-naming everyone started calling him Santo which means "saint" in Spanish, coach w / his Portuguese roots was aware of this. It was a great audible. And three kids, and so many more after, Santo is all over this footage and is our loyal saint. And again too much to say here.

And finally thanks to Alex Popp, simply the greatest 5th grade teacher ever, inspiring really. What the hell am I doing? The last thing Heavy D tweeted, "be inspired" let's.


PLEASE REMEMBER. YG Foundation annual Wed night, night of the year party, we'll be giving a free DVD to anyone that was there, free of charge, much clearer viewing. A must for any family treasure vault. Waxy O'Conner's, the site of the old Hartwell House. Lexington, MA. And for my brothers in the city or living out of state, I got you.

** I'll only ever say Epic when referring to Hatty's air guitar around the 19 min mark. Wow tough to see but you can, pink shirt, no Ritalin, sick air guitar. And lastly lastly lastly no one had more fun then brian Lavalle's wife, Sara Saufield our homegirl from back when. She goes air guitar on the trombone during Mr. Lee and it's wonderful.

Last last last thing,I love when I drop the dime on Mike for jetting early for the bus, false start, five yard penalty repeat first down.

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

WTDB "Finding Bergy"

Here's the latest mash up - please forward to John Berg and Derek Evans if at all possible, LHS Hoops, 1989. Just click on the WTDB link and go, for the Lexington Basketball. Polishing this up to push + market.

I'm back baby

Lexington basketball + ill scratch hooks from DJ Premier = fantastic. I also want to get some footage of the new coach and the baby O'Keefe + Chris Lee (Ronnie Lee's nephew) both seniors this year 11-12.