Monday, July 30, 2012

LH02132007A01 STONEHAM 1 2

Legendes - Excerpt, Red Paint Volume 1 of 3 - Patriot’s Day Monday April 19th, 1991 “Hold your ground men. Do not fire unless fired upon. But if they mean to have war let it begin here.” Captain John Parker. April 19th, 1775, 4:45AM.

THIS WAS INSPIRED FROM THE RE-TELLING TO T IN CHI COURTESY OF J W G AS A WITNESS, CRUSH ME SUMMER, LONG LIVE GRETTA WE SAY NICE FOR PETE'S SAKE, VODKA AND COLLINS PLEASE 4 LYNX. :) LOVE U'ALL Patriot’s Day

Monday April 19th, 1991 “Hold your ground men. Do not fire unless fired upon. But if they mean to have war let it begin here.” Captain John Parker. April 19th, 1775, 4:45AM.

<If there were two words that my mother dreaded throughout my high school career, they were April Vacation more specifically Patriots day. The incident this year would cement the paralysis these two words invoked annually. It was the biggest day of the year in Astori.

If I couldn’t believe that Hasan had Donnie Walhberg’s beeper number clipped facing inside his jean pocket three weeks ago, I could never believe my entire career almost ended, again, on this day, April 19th, 1991. Patriot’s Day. And this time the culprit wouldn’t be a riding lawnmower it would be DYS, the worst three letters a JD and aspiring hoops / rapper ever wanted to hear. I’d never see Astori again.

But I didn’t know any of that on the morning of April 19th, 1991. All I knew on that morning was we were 9-1 as Freshmen playing basketball and that was the affirmation. I figured we test running the table next year as JV, I’d get called up with a couple others for the state tournament. I had a set of friends, a widely known gang called UNLV and the best rap connection in Boston. I was happy outside of this story a full-blown, run away panic attack.

It was also spring our first April vacation together in high school. We kept taking more risks not feeling the full bite of consequence for our actions we took more risks. And for all of UNLV, freshmen year would serve as a low point for GPA. The rope of having a clean slate and the freedom attached to that revealed our true maturity level. We were no better than 6th graders. I’d already broke the c-note for detentions. And life was happening. This April vacation would birth another “incident” while giving an even greater feeling of invincibility. After this week we were resolve in our ability to keep everything self-contained. If we did this, magic some traumatic news ensued. After all you can’t get away forever.

Fact: April 19th is a big day in Astori, a big day for Boston.

A national landmark here in Astori one of only five places in America where an American flag could by law could endlessly fly ala Iwo Jima or Alamo. Even at first glance it was a double take. The man defined greatness in America. The statue of our captain was about a solid five feet tall. Perched on top of a circular brick wall that sat about four feet high his muscles showed a farmers tone. Holding his musket he bears the face of a farmer throw into war, yes Star Wars borrows from the American Revolution.

Sometimes if I was creased at Jesus for whatever reason I would ask Captain John to let him know I’m not ignoring him but I’m just not praying to the fraud again until something good happened In the front of the monument just under his feet lay a stone fountain baptized every spring by robins and bluebirds gave a peaceful air to the historic battleground. Scattered around and about the Green stood Churches, grand Victorians, picket fences, colorful flower gardens and a better living dotted the palaces that bore naturally if they even detected a scent of the sweet smell given off from Astori’s blessed centers circumference.

On the backside of the green in between two of the churches the first women’s college in the country stands. Restored as a national historic site it now houses a family and only a plaque outside would clue any outsider into its profound significance. As we continue to wrap ourselves around the Green (the grass is like Fenway Park) we come to Buckmans tavern. For this was the local tavern in town at the time of the revolution. This was the site where many of the townsmen were that very morning. It was Astorians that were hiding Adams and Hancock. They wanted our leaders and guns. It had been brewing, and this was their big red play, one if by land two if by see. It’s so ill. And Paul Revere went on the ride of his life in the middle of the night and the rebellion started in Astori just like that * (snap).

The original Minutemen the men the men that were ready for war in a minute.

And in the end, on this canvas, cultivated in the shadow of a British monarchy that raised a country, we, just by living, bathed in its origins. Loyalty had a genetic effect on me, just being there, loyalty to Star Wars, to the rebellion and us. Going to class with basketball over was not enticing, having a choice against a risk-reward system spread thin made it hard not to crank. In other news my gang UNLV kept a status quo within a number of generally understood gang practices. These routines help keep us viable, I felt. All my friends had serious mental problems that made me forget my own. The combined dysfunction had garnered all sorts of mostly negative attention and disgust. But we didn ‘t felt that together we were happy, Monster always reminded us of the cardinal #1 truth next to deny, deny, deny, we gotta stick together. This would be a Patriot’s day to forget to remember only to re call a lesson.

Patriot’s day represented the momentous and world famous reenactment of the first battle of the American Revolution on the town’s storied center Green. Ten Thousand people made it festive.

It was Patriot’s day! An utter delight of a day here in Astori and I want to ruin it.

The angle:

Since we were now free from the chains of having to go to such events with our parents we’d flex our freedom. We’d see them there. That is if they were still so bold to wake up at quarter of four in the morning to attend the famous re-enactment that apparently we were still interested in. This was unlikely but cover was everywhere. You had the ringing of the Belfrey Bell which started at 3:30AM. You had the pancake breakfast, the shot heard round the world and a town parade. I’d planned and received a dozen commitments from UNLV guys to meet up at Candy Castle @ 2AM. You were either able or unable.

1:45AM. Sneaking out of my 2nd floor window holding my breath, praying to Jesus dressed camouflage donning full body spandex, not to get caught. Deep breath, go easy, be still and move off of my back in the lonely black night dressed all in black this was to be UNLV’s most daring act of disrespect yet. Our target: Victorian mansions on Miriam hill, our weapons, rocks, escape pods, Adidas. It was so exciting just to see the fellas out together at this hour. We could do anything we wanted so in long as we never got caught and always denied.

When you’re coming up it’s always great to have your freedom, it’s what you treasure the most. It’s why the people will always come out to vote in a landmark Iraqi election freedom is an incredible thing.

“Scully!” One by one they all appeared 12 guys I’d shorted showed, 14 years old, 2 AM in then center of our beloved Astori. All-in it was a great escape a tremendous feeling of independence. And we had nothing, no license, no beer, no house just our unfailing feet when we parked our bikes. So we threw rocks the cheapest and most destructive thing we could do a reminder I thought to never become complacent. “Are you guys ready?” The amplification was bursting the seams of our teenage department in charge of checking such mania. “AHHHH!” In cadence.

We brought it in. “Let’s fucking do this now!!” Monster screamed and off we dashed into an early night that was as black as ALL strings @ the University of Miami’s football secondary.

There was a high premium on the zilla who went first. And as we trotted the houses rich with savings and American history we were all looking. I figured for once, I’d give into the temptation of the glory of the after story, the first rock on a holy day in Massachusetts, for Astori for America. I’d always talked kids into shit but the first was the 1st and mine to claim.

I launched a rocket like Dewey Evans, we sprinted, window shattered and another 1 and another 1. We become high from the happiness that we received in destroying things as a unit. Monster was especially frisky this AM of course he’s also really high from the two joints I disgustingly watched him smoke with Scully. Drugs are for losers , I was still convinced.

“I love nature walks oooooh, oooh, ooooh!” Monster, he had a tone like Flounder (Animal House) saying oh boy. Monster was rubbing his two hands together quickly like he found the two last sticks within scarce acreage that were needed to light a survival flame. So the kids could stay warm on a cold night. That was the focused energy and power that his laser like eyes pontificated joyously. Wrapping his handle around how stupid his thoughts were and then going down the list without disclosing our secret “day breaking” voyages, Monster revved up the crew. His self-confidence was non-existent and Monster only found happiness bringing pain to others and destroying the town, god he his squirmy ass loved violence. Including Stevey Lee out of the fifteen of us there were now four more court documented juvenile delinquents. “I don’t give a fuck!” I screamed in havoc like a drunk coming home after being out all night having lost the deeds to the house on a greyhound. Bam bam bam we were crossing fine lines. We split and reconvened.

And once re-aligned and fully activated a rock was thrown, another, and another and another and we’d race to another neighborhood, repeat and fall back in, right around the time the shot heard round the world sparked to life the famous re-enactment 4 15am. And like Harrison Ford in the Fugitive on Saint Pattie’s day Chicago, we blended in LIKE NOTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY MIGHT’VE JUST HAPPENED.

There were thousands of people out, trucks, hardware and cameras all preparing for the parade after the pancake breakfast. There have been half-dozen fistfights between us internally button pushing stuff we were jacked. Since the whole town was out we linked up with “normals” who were also out and about loving the joy of being out and about so early without their parents. We were young and hadn’t yet realized there the Hells An gel’s were shooting Herion @ Grey nun’s which was a blessing be3cause it wasn’t us although I knew my sister was there.

I felt so gangster once integrating into the massive public eye. I felt so fast. I had my cursive UNLV leader hat on and was only 14. I felt like I was 28. I had twelve kids behind me willing to embrace retardation.

And we shook hands this was Astori. Talking to a few yearbook girls until our Italian friend, football and classmate Pos short for Pasquelli scored us an invitation to this one legged Jewish girls house. This was a mistake, rolling through fifteen deep word spread quick of our penetration onto her houses grounds and we were all asked to leave. We knew enough almost a year deep into high school that parties were the difference same for our parents social protection. I’d turn evil if someone was dumb enough to let me in their house. I’d already become entranced with my own reputation.

We “buffaloed” her. We started laughing one louder than the next. We raised the fridge for food and beer drinking made us feel like Frank Sinatra .

“Guys seriously like, just leave already! Oh my god! I’m calling the police.” Bitch you must be out your god dam mind, I walked into the kitchen and slapped a flower vase shattering as it fell from the mantle. “You like that?” Emphasizing who she was with no adults around as well a subtly warning against calling the local police with a gang leader on the premise. SMASH!

Monster fell apart laughing and started a chain reaction, the bitch was screaming and crying and I just thought it was funny. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Finally we run out and Pos cocked back his arm and gunned a rock through her living room picture window ear marking our escape. This was the first time we made homeowner eye contact and didn’t runWe didn’t even run. Feeding off Jay’s electricity inspired ten more rocks. By then we were running. And right outside the center of town, in the middle of the day high volume carnage, window after window unprecedented. We were ahead of our time at the time when it came to new acts of destruction and disrespect.

It felt like a gunshot.

It was still so early and the parade was happening. We were in the center of town in absolute denial. We fed each the and like a family kept throwing rocks at a blistering pace, while this synergy might bode well for a trained sales force it was not the energy meant to encompass 15 misdirected white kids that favored blacks. We grew up on Goonies and I was going to make sure we actually took it back wafting though the idle ado0lcenst tools America bid and by it’s very nature inspired to unhinge.

Bam, Smash, Boom!

What were we doing? Again?

After leaving the party and de constructing the neighborhood fifteen of us jetted down a little side path, slipped a steep woodsy hill, hopped a fence and wham! We strutted right back into the parade like atmosphere of Patriot’s day parade and that of Astori Center hours later. Our imminent shuffle back towards the public brought an unforeseen run into the Fornicate brothers. “What a treat guys look who it is!” Assailing towards these fools all jacked and being the leader of the gang I stepped up and spilled his Coke Classic on his shirt right in front of his defenseless younger brother. The older kid jabbed something verbally. The rush of a feeling when all your dawgs swarm on a kid at the first notice of disrespect was one life’s great emotions. I was a gang leader, this was my gang and this was the type of afternoon shit gangs like us participated in. Kicking his kidneys thinking of spray paint I was laughing uncontrollably with Monster, Hank, Paul and Steve until my sneaker got scratched.

“This is a brand new insert for my Sky Jackers dumb ass. Watch what your doen homo.”

The next day and I had a most coveted item, a schedule.

The next day and I had a most coveted item, a schedule, we all headed to Kevin and Kim’s afternoon barbeque. I felt like we finally arrived. “Freshmen year is way better than gay 8th grade.” I’d say to Scully so excited that afternoon having a beer in the afternoon with him at a barbeque. “We’re growing up fellas.” Magic would come over and state. It was better than Junior High and the party tonight was freshman exclusive and we had allot to celebrate. It turned out to be the event of the year. And we broke windows on the short walk from the BBQ to the party. Our first full, alcohol infused all night lock down party for all of us. That night the gig was stormed but not raided by police and even Santo’s dad (little league) crawled the roof searching for just one window that even one tiny peek of ADD could’ve leaked. Police, parents and pets alike circled but we applied a basic Astori party principle. If the Cops show up, lock all of the doors, shut off all the lights and pretend to call an attorney. Even though complaints have been received on several occasions from almost all of her neighbors they couldn’t break in the house. Not without just cause not in Astori not then. The party was a first for almost all of us very juvenile drunk. Hand molestation on any girl passed out with gongs sprung a hint of wood when receiving a nice dose of Tune in Tokyo.

“All night long, all night, all night long.” Lionel Ritchie.

I used to bargain with Jesus bartering infinite lawn mows for the one ability to freeze time like Zach in Saved by the Bell in the 7th grade. Just to touch the boobies. Santo ate cat food, the house was leveled, parents were on roofs, drugs took another quick step forward in the race to smoke crack and for us surviving UNLV members that stayed live and kicked the night away, it was even with great impending consequence very much worth it. We would never have to do something for an older kid just to hang out and have a life. That party was slamming and magic and I followed Scully upstairs and watched him merrily enter a private room with his girl Alley. As door closure became apparent we nestled our ears to the doors rear surface. With minutes Alley was screaming to “get it out of my hair! Losing it we fell through the door dying in the very worst way. From there we’re all called out to break up a Santo gorilla snap against a UNLV member. Santo was winning albeit bleeding and I wanted it to go on. Of course we broke it up and this pre cursed his cat food munch. It was high pussy, fight, beer action for six straight hours truly a Tiger magazine behind the music episode. Break ups, ego, depression, pills, pop music and self-pity. It was our first major score on the party scene. Stories were the benchmark as to how classic and parties undoubtedly I figured could take the legend into a movie. To take everything from Astori and live like Marlon Brando was my only ambition. Kim’s twin brother Kevin did the traditional white thing, ate acid with dared others and watched the Wall. I had a panic attack in five minutes just sitting in there sober, I’ll never ever take Acid

That next morning watching the sun come up with my Monster, Magic, Scully, TR and Santo it was finally time to head home and face the music. I was lucky in the fact that my mother was sick and my father hadn't been heard from in a week. The other guys would get it much worse. We’d all been caught in a lie and brought Goldy’s babysitter crashing down. The story of this party was already live on the Astori wire. In high consumption we returned all the beer cans and received about thirty in cash. We all head out for a Friendly’s breakfast before facing our mothers, relief, mine was always good about the big stuff. The little shit was worse and more Mclean’s (FN) and at my dojo it really wasn’t much ado. Leaving the door open while urinating would’ve caused a bigger explosion than this little cutey bahgudy, I was tired. I couldn’t sleep and for the first time in my life snaked one of my mothers Zanex for nothing more than to assist me in a solid sleep in my crashed X-Wing. I smiled twisted thinking how bad it was. After all I hate drugs. Sorry about that shit today Jesus just kids stuff, Amen yo

“It was a decade of a thousand parties.” F. Scott Fitzgerald. i Grew up younger than all of ya'll.... it does me credit and brings me down just the same, stay balanced fam!~

Saturday, July 28, 2012

The Other Dream, 2-$mooth + Ha$e - 9th grade Almost Famous . Spring of 91 before RED PAINT

The spring of 9th grade meant an official breaking with my former boy band, the $mooth Adolescents. I was shocked we hadn’t “hit” and knew as hard as it was to say good by, it was time like my idol Bobby Brown to go solo. I was now 2-$mooth. 2-$mooth, the rap moniker was an enormous weight lifted off of my boney chest. The daunting question of what my rap alias would be had dogged me for years, once day it clicked. No matter what I did how difficult I made things they always clicked like a freestyle rhyme - serendipitously filling within that split of the atom topical words strung together that somehow rhyme. No more in high school would I be singing about Keeping It Together or I’m just a lonely teenage boy who needs some love those days like the $mooth Adolescents themselves were behind me.

Yo, I write lyrics in the classes I attend just to tolerate, plus I write sixty minutes a day in detention. My spiral notebook is filled with rhymes. I wished I lived in the hood yo. I just need a DJ

The new stuff was quality and different. It became my therapy. B-Dawg (manager) and Milner (adopted Korean Jew financer) loved it.

>The Hook:

Hasan Yancy, a C house regular card player, Clarke kid and good friend had a big music connection I would just now learn of. Hasan or Hase was from the same neighborhood in Dorchester as Terrence and co. And he always had something up his sleeve. More con than correctional, we had already collaborated on at least one loop hole in language. Nothing got me up for the shady more than the good con and we always kept each other updated through our blatant disregard for school policy. He also had the very best connection a sixteen-year old young African American kid from Dorchester could have at that time – Donnie Wahlberg’s beeper #.

Further Hase explained his older brother and Donnie’s younger sib were starting a rap crew called the Funky Bunch. Hase’s older brother Terry, one quiet day while selling shoes somewhere in Boston a music manager, Mary, that was her name, anyway she had caught a buzz about his turntable prowess. She was representing Mark Wahlberg and he needed a black DJ and crew quick. And that was it - soon they were catching momentum locally and we would go to local TV sets like RTG and watch them perform tracks (Brick House) that never appeared on their first album Music for the People. In fact not one song out of the fifteen we had on that first demo appeared on the Music on the People which dropped six months later. I was close to something huge soon everyone would know. It wasn't until the fall of 10th grade when really strange things began happening we were able to exploit. That was fun.

And as luck would have it I bumped into Has in the hallway the same as any other. “Dam C you a crazy little fuck. I’ll squeeze ya! Who copped you yo first walkman?” “You, you’re the man Hase” “You know I flow, I just need beats.” The timeless problem back then for all aspiring rappers was access to original beats. And before the internet all’s we had were the flip side instrumentals on rap singles you copped for that purpose alone. “Oh Word i think i heard that?”

“Yo, ask Black Knight and them. I'm not afraid. I know that I got the dope lyrics I’ve just been searching for the non Casio SK-1 beats.” (Hit it Roofus) “OK, Cahl, look I know you got that ADD an all but listen. You know how big the New Kids on the Block are son?” “I know yo.”

“Yo that’s what I’m sayen, it doesn’t matter. There’s already three separate bidders for the rights to Mark’s first album. They’ve ain't neva even released nothen. I got Donnie’s beeper number right here son, you see this?” “dam.” Is all one hundred and twenty five pounds of me could muster, Has was making a tremendous amount of sense while at the same time making me Fun-Dip hyper. I was thinking that it’s a good thing that Hassan’s bro was down with a white rapper. “Can you rap something now? You gotta be able to drop on spot son!” I loved performing.

“yeah yo, yo check it,, OK< drop, yo, a 2-$mooth an adolescent so let me begin a smooth righteous style that will make you grin. A new young jack comen full in the industry, do what you gotta do that’s my philosophy. A controversial dialogue possessing some intellect 2-$mooth drops a masterpiece inserting my concept, that if you get shit done, word gets around they say a smooth young one can only come from the underground. Fully equipped while exercising the mind 2-Smooth is a drug that o can prescribe, keep relaxing with the man of the hour, I don’t learn lessons but I learned to fight the power maken an impact with my smooth young mob and now steps forth a boy to do a mans job - yo, yo, yo, yo, smooth and young those are qualities I posses you want something done never settle for less try to fade the smooth clan I’ll send u out like a sucker , you boys punk crew or any mutha fucka! clocken my own style a 2-$motth p[roduction let's get it started don't need an introduction a righteous style I posses and the crtics i impress on the mike I finesse all the issues I address, AND ! that's it, mish mash ” “Oh shit nigga, so what you callen yourself? “2-smooth, with a dollar sign you know.” “Yes!” Hasan proclaimed and I jumped into his arms we were hyper. “OK, relax, everyone calm down, stop by tomorrow and we’ll put something down. I’ve reserved the music Mac lab for an hour, this computer shit in here is crazy. I can’t believe nobody uses this shit. I ca lay 48 tracks digitally, sick.”

The next afternoon nervous, I walked into my appointment with Hasan with the utmost of pretension securely in my pocket. We shake hands upon my entrance and Hasan asks, “you ready?” “Yeah yo, yeah. I’m good to go, yo.” It was a verse I’d been working on for the last couple weeks during classes. “Drop that shit yo.” Hasan aka MC Porno throws a disk in and I begin to speak after I let the beat loop itself a few times.

‘Trapped in isolation, scalen walls that I created far away from a society that I manipulated, lies in seclusion to you it’s an illusion to me it’s a young mind full of bull and confusion. Can’t gaze upon that cat cause I’ll start to cry. I drink myself dizzy tryen to figure out why? Why this boy, yo he did the things he did. And why is he labeled a lost cause when this cat is just a kid. Had a good mom, a good imagination on his shoulders had an imagination that could’ve moved boulders.”

And just like that the Don King smile out of Hasan thinking we might have something. “The GREAT WHITE HYPE!” He shouted. The truth was that my lyrics jumped off since I came up with moniker 2-$mooth. I had finally conceded the obvious fact that I couldn’t sing, like Willard in Footloose couldn’t dance, at all. I loved the name, the gang, the flow, it was all coming fast, I leaked the Hasan / DJ T, Markey Mark thing via B-Dawg to everyone and soon I received my first solo gigs which was a great reason to rock a bandana. I was back on with Jesus maybe I’d be famous young. After all after confidence life is all about who you know. Just ask Young Buck and Tony Ya Yo, Junior mafia and the Outlaw's, LOL.

Notes: I never was famous as a teenager - I'd soon believe with the Markey Mark explosions and DJ T beats being filtered down to us, we had a shot. I knew Has would be the perfect famous kid, put a whole new spin on it. In fact I thought if we hit, Has would be arguably the coolest handed teenager of all time. But it was right there on the cusp and that's a good place to be.

But rap and dance has stayed with me forever and opened doors and friendships. I'd never blow or blip on the map as the dysfunctional renegade 2-$mooth but I still got to bowl in the white house. Got to see my boy win a Superbowl, who'd we'd followed with a camera for three years. I got to hang out with DJ Premier for a decade, froze with him at Pittsburgh for the AFC championship game against Baltimore. The Q's are my brothers. I got to rap in Austin Texas with them at SWXSW - Ziggy Marley was right behind us on the stage smiling. I got to rap in New York multiple occasions and continue freestyle the world and back on the regular. It seems it's one of my few talents people will have me, never say no to a stage. Maybe it all stems from that mysterious disorder I inherited that made it hard to pay attention too. Been 1 fantastic carpet ride for sure. It's funny when I look back the freestyle as c-rat not Charlie Paradise is the gift that keeps giving. Big Shout's to Spec for bringing me up on the ghetto boys.

OH and I married the women of my dreams. Keepen it fairy tale.

And I still rap, write, therapy, idle time you know mannn! Esp. in Lex Vegas, buy a T-shirt, rest assured it's straight from the Fridge, Daddy-o. I like open mikes and street performances. Enjoy the Olympics and oh join me and say , everyone, now, GO OTHELLO, THE REMIX IN SCOTLAND - Our boys the house band @ GDD, THE RETAR CREW are at it again in bigger better WAYS...

Excerpt is from Legendes. Part of an on going series about years spent coming up in Lex Vegas meant to help promote METCO and the YG Foundation. We hope to publish it on-line in it's entirety under Charlie Paradise.

Friday, July 27, 2012

Michael Marin Commits Suicide In The Courtroom After Being Convicted of Arson + Presidential Motorcade, JAST NOW - Happy Friday in America !

They'll probbably take this down soon.  Watch up, yup, the stealing white man can't do a 16 year bid!  He probably could get that down to a decade but can't even do that.  He lit his house on fire and emerged from the ash in Scuba eqipment - crazy to watch this unfold in real time.  Let DODD/FRANK PASS THROUGH, more regulation, sorry guys, if hal;f the street wasn't in jail or suicdal, this is nuts I 'd be on the other side.  Deregulate let us fly, not the case, 80's, 90's 2000 and still, 12, long overdue.  Re Distrubion of wealth overdue, but with the way we're set up.... Lobbying money, Super Pac;'s, Tea Party, brothers in the hood still barely got a shot.



OK, not the best attitude I'm sorry, but we're in the same shit going backwards on social moblization and basic race realtions.  I thought that @ least always get better with time...


And in brighter news we witness Obama going to lunch (2nd limo at very beg.) as we're coming back from PJ Clark's.  And the entourage to end all entourages, the presidential motorcade!!  DC baby DC, this was on 16th walking up towards the back of the WH.  A 1 mile drive costs taxpayers 20K - the very least of our worries. 

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

02-12 2007 - Practice. Manic Monday, 16-0 before Stoneham @ Home, Bangles Mash Up!

First Family, how it always was for 30 some odd years. Yes, we got Mr. Thompson, Nicky No-No's (he takes no no's for answers) Big Guy, Harry laye, Philly, Tina and the little guys, more Matty footage, he would've been a player funny how focused the chap was even @ 2 ????

People often say the best ideas, products or businesses stem from something the creator desired for himself. and so it is with this, prosterity, Coach even mentions that towards the end. He evokes the importance of what we did.

Anyho - Cold calling for my life, married, bills, family and crazy world w / zero film assistants perhaps drags this out longer than it should. I've enjoyed this process in spite, the ACE kid comes home after 13 years post graduation (barely) to honor a prgram and coach that was everything to me. I love this sequence and remain confident that someday on the horizon Magic and I will live in Cali couting ends and take on a gutter high school hoops team whom success had turned a blind eye on for far too long. Why, how? When this is complete, the veil will be lifted and anyone who cares to understand the secrets of success can have it here.

When I got to college, I knew right away from my first practice we would not be successful, it was just the way practice was run. We were .500 coming off a 2-23 campaign so we did improve with our first ever recruiting class @ Curry College, Sean Grey stand up! We could've been better. You need things timed in practice, u must manufacture competition, serious cardio and a unchanging regimant doused in wisdom over endless scrimmages. You have to keep kids enganged, and there is no room for banana heads.

This team was special in the sense that they had no off the court issues which paralyzed my own team as well as the glorious squads of late 80's. No, there was none of this and people say times got worse. In the end their toughness cost them but not before they delivered 20 in a row, 40 staright in the middlesex league, wow, we got it all.

Excuse the Bangles over boys high school basketball, A) I love this group and B) I'm running out of tunes and unable to access my i tunes pruchases last night for some new stuff.

Soon, the mash up of all 300 hours will be complete. Soon, I'll have binned and "marked" anything worry. Soojn the script will be written and integration with Jimmy the kid will commence. Soon we'll take it all back and in tjhe process have accomplished something worth cheering about

Happy Wed, hump day if we're talking hayden camp Gorilla dunkers...

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." - Henry David Thoreau

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Last Chaper cont. Racism + Lamont and the Dream + $mooth Adolescents, early seeds, the fight goes on.

Rap was born in the South Bronx New York City, which came from the blues down south from the slave chants from that same south from ancient African tribal stories. Those were the dots on the candy tip I used to slang, that was the derivation.

There was a clear inequity amongst us Americans that my young friendship with Lamont cleansed my vision infinite. I was just ten years old and heard my calling. And rap became a Bridge, which was precisely the name of our elementary school. An encyclopedia and updated report on the voices no one had ever wanted to hear. And times were changing. I believed our friendship and my own someday rap fame would eradicate this ugly parasite of our national birth defect once and for all. It was so unnecessary. It’s always the simplest things that are the hardest to change.

But rap was born in the city and therefore Lamont was Hermes. Lamont ferried along so much information I wanted down that old red line from the hood and into our white paradise. A paradise which back then was already becoming majority Chinese boy did the white man get complacent. Two worlds, two brothers, same age same country, grew up together, shared everything including the worst because, well they loved each other. I often heard a similar question and it always happened inside a really big or really small house never the middle and that’s why independents decide elections. And the question was always on the heels of my confusing language and southern black drawl broadcasting the skeletons of our country tis of thee. And the question came from an older sibling an uncle or even a mother or father, yes, and this was the question.

“That’s great Carl, I applaud your courage but really you’d never marry a black women would you?” It was a question stroked in seriousness and marry was emphasized like a mutha fucka. “If I loved her, yes?” How fucking dumb are these idiots? It was all I could think for like clockwork the reply was always the same, “huh, your right, that’s a good answer.” It was the right answer. And these were the people with the money houses and pedigree. I was the disabled, the delinquent.

And in a system and world that I felt against the glamorous veneer of Astori MA, wasn’t fair, Lamont inspired my first look at a whole picture. And there in lies the beauty of the METCO program. It sparked questions between integrated children the walls of segregation stood tall and in stone to prevent. And by the time I hit 6th grade, I coined my mantra fuck white people.

It sparked questions. What happened to black people in this country and since I knew the Irish were from Ireland, where do Lamont’s family all come from? How did they get here? And last, why did they live like that, and all white people, as far as I could see lived with everything I ever stole. And this was all before the fourth grade. And one story crystallizes the walls of segregation and it’s little cousin stereotype. And yes, it occurred during our third grade year. Lamont had been staying with us after school on Thursdays for a couple months and I began inviting for sleepover on Friday nights. And that last part caused my parents to become uneasy. I’d hear their conversations, and confront them about their fear. “I’m just not comfortable with a black kid staying the night at our house” The familiar chant, godbless METCO. And so it went I had an idea and one Saturday morning I stole $20 from my mother’s pocketbook. I’d never stole money from my mothers pocketbook, yet. And sure enough there was a black, I mean a backlash against Lamont, accusations assumed.

And when I came forward something clicked in both of them. And we never had that conversation again. It empowered me. I changed the hardest thing. It wasn’t simple, I had to be crafty like a Wall Street accountant. But once it clicked it clicked and you just kept it moving.

Yo when hoops said peace out is when I start ripping mikes again. I gotta break from the smooth adolescents my stage and go solo. Incidentally the $mooth Adolescents is where I finally understood deep-rooted racism. That hardest question was really so simple. I knew there was racism but exactly know how to explain it outside of the obvious. My old boy band the $mooth Adolescents broke the tide unleashed the simple clarity of our nations darkest truth.

Arguing in my old junior high brothel Sugar Rays during one of our final recording sessions slash practices we fell into the all too familiar racism argument in America. Bryant aka “Kool Aid.” Whose father was a civil rights attorney for the air force looked just like Dresser from the 5 Heartbeat’s, and one day after a unusually long winded brawl on a finite sticking point, I snapped back the words, “Bryant, it’s not like OK, Bryant so your saying, this shane whitey thing, it’s all about color.” “Yes it is, like you wouldn’t believe.” Again he’s laughing like he’s my long lost grandfather smoking a pipe exhaling wisdom. It annoyed me, I became louder and stood up from the ragged couch against walls I spray painted, screamed inside my true sanctuary, “Bryant, what the hell you talken about yo?” Emotion had clouded my gut instinct. I continued. “Look it’s not like a kids in Kindergarten and looks up at a color chart on the fucking wall, and he sees white, yellow and red and says oh shit, there I’m, I’m black!”

And Bryant finished the afternoon by saying, “Carl” He smiled broadly. “I didn’t even have to say anything, you just nailed it. Your smarter than you think son.” He patted me on the back and it clicked right as their ride to the base arrived at my cul-de-sac.

Anyway after breaking with the $mooth Adolescents and going solo the rap moniker was an enormous weight lifted off of my chest. The daunting question of what my rap alias would be had dogged me for years, and by the grace of god one day at fourteen it just came to me. B-Dawg (manager) and Milner (adopted Korean Jew financer) loved it.

Yo, I write lyrics in the classes I attend just to tolerate, plus I write sixty minutes a day in detention. My spiral notebook is filled with rhymes. I wished I lived in the hood yo. I just need a DJ

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

02 27 2007 PRACTICE BEFORE 1ST STATE TOURNEY GAME + PRE PRACTICE COMEDY, BIG GUY HOLDS COURT

A New Sith, or Revenge of the Hope? R2 / CHEWY THEORY -4- Star Wars Freaks

Reconsidering Star Wars IV in the light of I-III

If we accept all the Star Wars films as the same canon (as it seems we must) then a lot that happens in the original films has to be reinterpreted in the light of the prequels. As we now know, the rebel Alliance was founded by Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Bail Organa. What can readily be deduced is that their first recruit, who soon became their top field agent, was R2-D2.

Consider: at the end of Revenge of the Sith, Bail Organa orders 3PO's memory wiped but not R2's. He would not make the distinction casually. Both droids know that Yoda and Obi-Wan are alive and are plotting sedition with the Senator from Alderaan. They know that Amidala survived long enough to have twins and could easily deduce where they went. However, it can be assumed that R2 makes an impassioned speech to the effect that he is far more use to them with his mind intact: he has observed Palpatine and Anakin at close quarters for many years, knows much that is useful and is one of the galaxy's top experts at hacking into other people's systems. Also he can lie through his teeth with a straight face. Organa, in immediate need of espionage resources, agrees.

For the next 20 years, as far as C3PO knows, he is the property of Captain Antilles, doing protocol duties on a diplomatic transport. He is vaguely aware of the existence of Princess Leia but he doesn't know much about her. Wherever 3PO goes, being as loud and obvious as he always is, his unobtrusive little counterpart goes with him. 3PO is R2's front man. Wherever they land, R2 is passing messages between rebel sympathisers and sizing up governments as potential rebel recruits - both by personal contact and by hacking into their networks. He passes his recommendations on to Organa.

Yoda is out of the picture by this stage, using the Force-infused swamps of Dagobah to hide himself from Vader and the Emperor. Or something. He is meditating on the future and keeping in touch with Obi-Wan via the ghost of Qui-Gon Jin, which as comm systems go has the virtue of being untappable. Obi-Wan, on Tattoine, keeps in touch with Bail Organa and the other Rebel leaders by courier, of which more later.

As Star Wars opens, R2 is rushing the Death Star plans to the Rebellion. That’s R2, not Leia. The plans are always in R2. What Leia puts into him in the early scene is only her own holographic message to Kenobi. Leia's own mission, as she says in that holographic message, is to pick up Obi-Wan and take him to Alderaan. Or so she thinks. Actually, her father just wants her to meet Kenobi, which up to this point she never has. There's a reason for that.

Obi-Wan has spent the last 20 years in the Tattoine desert, keeping watch over Luke Skywalker and trying to decide on one of the three available options: A) If Luke shows no significant access to the Force, then leave him alone in obscurity B) If Luke shows real Force ability, then consider recruiting him as a Jedi. The rebellion needs Jedi and it needs them now.But, if Luke shows any signs of turning out like his father, then: C) sneak into his house one fine night and chop his head off. With great regret but it'll save a lot of trouble later on.

Knowing this to be the case, Bail Organa (perhaps at the insistence of his wife) has found excuses not to send Leia to Ben for assessment of Jedi potential, largely for fear of option C. To be fair to all concerned, Leia has shown no overt signs of a link to the Force. Luke on the other hand has. In his home-built hotrod aircraft, with no formal fighter pilot training and no decent instrumentation, Luke can regularly score centre-hits on two-metre targets in complex zero-altitude maneouvres. Until he attends the briefing on Yavin, Luke has no way of knowing that hardened combat pilots would consider that nearly impossible. To him it's easy. Obi-Wan, who saw Anakin's performance in the Pod Race, is nervous.

Much of Obi-Wan's behaviour in this film, and Yoda's in the next, can best be understood if they are frankly scared to death of what Luke might become. (Ben is also scared that he himself will make all the same mistakes he made with Anakin.) Now, with the existence of the rebellion at stake, Bail Organa has finally told Leia to go see Obi-Wan and has sent her along with R2. The original plan would then be for Obi-Wan (with optional Luke and/or Leia in tow) to leave his exile and take the Death Star plans to Yavin, where they can be put to use. R2 (with Leia if Ben doesn't want to take her) would then carry on to Alderaan to maintain the cover story. The original plan does not survive contact with a large Imperial Star Destroyer.

R2 and 3PO bail out in an escape pod. Landing in vaguely the right area of Tattoine, R2's first priority is transport. He arranges to be captured by a group of Jawas and, once on board their vehicle, he makes a deal with them (possibly using emergency funds stored elsewhere on the planet) to take him where he wants to go. The Jawas refuse to go directly to Kenobi for fear of marauding Sandpeople but they agree to R2's second request : transport to the farm of Owen Lars. They even get to keep the purchase price if they can sell R2 and 3PO there. R2 and the Jawas shake on it and they go through with the plan.

Seeing 3PO fail to recognise the farm where he worked for 10 miserable years gives R2 a moment's amusement but, as soon as opportunity presents itself, he makes a break for it and heads for Obi-Wan. Luke and 3PO follow, which may or may not have been part of the plan.

On first seeing R2, Obi-Wan has a twinkle in his eye and calls him "my little friend". Well, he is. However, when Luke wakes up and says that R2 claimed to be owned by an Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ben blandly says "I don't seem to remember ever owning a droid." Ben has in fact owned several but the remark is aimed at R2 and translates as "You keep quiet. I'm not about to tell him everything just yet." Obi-Wan thinks fast and tells Luke a version of his past that does not involve a father who became a dark lord of the Sith. Ben wants to examine Luke a lot more closely before he risks telling him the real truth.

Although the Death Star plans need to get to Yavin as soon as possible, Obi-Wan has one more diversion to make first. If the Empire knows that Leia is a Rebel leader, then they also know about her father, so the whole Organa family may need immediate evacuation. Fortunately, before coming to Tattoine, R2 had already arranged transport, which is waiting at Mos Eisley under the command of the Rebellion's other chief field agent and espionage asset. Chewbacca.

Twenty years earlier, Chewbacca was second in command of the defence of his planet. He was there in the tactical conferences and there on the front lines and was a personal friend of Yoda's. So when he needed reliable people to join the embryonic Alliance, who else would Yoda turn to but his old friend from Kashykk? Given his background, it makes no sense that Chewbacca would spend the crucial years of the rebellion as the second-in-command to (sorry Han) a low-level smuggler. Unless it was his cover. In fact, Chewie is a top-line spy and flies what is in many ways the Rebellion's best ship.

The Millenium Falcon may look like a beat-up old freighter but it can outrun any Imperial ship in normal space or hyperspace, hang in a firefight with a Star Destroyer or outmaneouvre a dozen top-of-the-line TIE fighters. It's a remarkable feat of engineering and must have cost a colossal fortune to build. How does Han come to own a ship like that? Actually, he only thinks he does – the real owner is Chewie. Half-way through Revenge of the Sith, we see the Falcon landing at the Senate building on Coruscant. If it's the same ship (which of course it is) then it was the personal transport of one of the senatorial delegations - a much more likely source to commission its design. That delegation must have later joined the Rebellion and given it the use of the Falcon. In fact, if the delegation was the one from Kashykk, then the ship may have belonged to Chewbacca as early as Revenge of the Sith.

Han is Chewbacca's front man. It's much better, and safer for him, if he doesn't know what's really going on. Chewie used to work with Lando Calrissian in a similar way but Lando wanted to settle down, so Chewie arranged for him to lose the Falcon in a card game to Han Solo, an even better choice as a partner. Han and Chewie's working method is pretty much what we see in the cantina scene: Chewie make the contacts and sets up the deals, then turns them over to Han, who haggles over the price and gives the final yea or nay. This lets Chewbacca wander the seamy underside of the galaxy pretty much at will, making contacts, gathering and passing information with no-one was the wiser, especially not Han.

It was Chewie who persuaded Han to do business with Jabba the Hutt, so that they could make regular runs to Tattoine, where Chewie could pass messages between Kenobi and Organa. When R2's urgent message came through only days before, the only way for Chewie to get back to Tattoine in time was to make the "mistake" that forced Han to dump his cargo to avoid capture. As a down side, this led to Solo's getting a death mark out on him from Jabba the Hutt. Chewie was a bit upset about that but figured they weren't going to be dealing with Tattoine for much longer.

En route to Alderaan, R2 and Chewie play stop-motion chess. This is the latest in a series of games that they've played over the years in the back rooms of space stations and cantinas across the galaxy, but this is the first time they've done it in front of their respective straight men, so they put on a big show.

Then it all goes wrong again. Alderaan has been destroyed and the Falcon is captured and brought aboard the Death Star. Han, Luke and 3PO don't know just how much trouble they're in but Obi-Wan, R2 and Chewbacca know only too well. However, Obi-Wan has a plan and seems confident of pulling it off (but then Jedi always do). Soon afterwards, while Obi-Wan is away, R2 discovers that Leia is in the detention cells and shouts out that they have to rescue her, to which Chewie can only agree. If Vader learns that he has a daughter, then they're all in very deep trouble, so Chewie does his bit to persuade Han to go along with Luke's impromptu rescue plan.

The escape nearly works but then Vader himself turns up only yards away from both of his children, one of whom is leaking Force in all directions. Obi-Wan sees what is happening and stages a distraction by letting himself die and go into the Force while the others escape.

At this point, Chewbacca suddenly realises that he's been left in charge, not only of the Death Star Plans and the survival of the Rebellion (which would be responsibility enough) but of the secret son and daughter of Darth Vader. With the Organas and Kenobi all dead, only Chewie, R2 and Yoda know who Luke and Leia really are and only Obi-Wan had any idea where to find Yoda. Chewbacca is stressed out by his new responsibilities and R2 (who keeps making crude jokes about the whole affair) is being no help at all. Chewie's first problem is what is happening between Luke and Leia. With a psychic link they can feel but not understand, thrown together in a life-or-death escape, they are looking at each other with a sparky intensity that Chewie gradually recognises as Romantic Tension. He is no expert on human relationships but Chewie is fairly sure that that's Wrong, so he does the only thing he can think of under the circumstances - he throws Han at her. Han is not interested at first, but after a while he starts to warm to the idea with an intensity that gives Chewie new worries.

When they reach Yavin, Han opts to take the money and run and Chewie decides to go with him. Looked at in a cold light, it's for the good of the Rebellion. Even if Yavin is destroyed, there will be one agent who knows what's going on who can try to put something back together. Still, Chewie doesn't feel good about it and when Han decides to turn around and join the attack, the wookiee is all for it. With the Death Star destroyed, Han and Luke get medals but Chewie doesn't. Actually, Leia offers him one but the wookiee turns it down. He got one of those things from Yoda about twenty years ago, but there's no way he can tell her that.

As the film ends, the three founders of the Rebellion are all gone. Bail Organa is dead, Yoda is out of contact and the ghost of Obi-Wan Kenobi can only talk to other Jedi. (So that would be Yoda then.) Thus, the field leadership of the rebellion has just been turned over to the daughter of Darth Vader. Chewie is hoping that someone with an official rank greater than hers will reach Yavin soon, before he has to think really seriously about option C.

Monday, July 09, 2012

General Hospital ADDICTION - #1 Song In the Country - One More Try March 27th, 1991 “Get back cause he wax the tracks, Terminator!” Chuck D.

One More Try - Timmy T March 27th, 1991 “Get back cause he wax the tracks, Terminator!” Chuck D.

It was spring again which meant the basketball season was now over which meant I could officially fall apart. The basketball season ended a success although we lost one game. A nail biter at home by one, TR the hippy ironically cost us the game on a flashy pass.

“Thanks for blowing our perfect season dick.” I had said to TR seconds after the loss, a painful game we should have won on our home floor. A apologized a day later after sleeping on it a night and hearing he might be suicidal. One loss was still good enough for sole possession of the league title.

It was my first spring in high school and I hadn’t yet gotten “laid.” To make matters worse the furthest I’d danced in this most vital life march was with an exchange student one could argue I’d taken advantage of. And I didn’t want to think of myself like that. I showed off for attention that scared me once I got it. And that meant girls, what I wanted like all the fellas more than anything. And that was validation much more than the cherry coke shady shit I conjured for kicks + loose ends. And I knew it. I was unable to check my insanity, at all, so I wondered how it was all going to end up.

I knew I could work a couple hoodie girls here and there. But that was just regret, I wanted my Felecia. It’s what I dreamed about going back to my unnatural attachment to the long running ABC daytime show, General Hospital. I didn’t just watch the episodes I taped them. I called the 900 # from our neighbors Friday's, Porsche and Mercedes. I couldn't wait until Monday. My mother sent away for Polaroid’s of her and Frisco, candid LA shit you’d mail away for calling promotional #’s ripped right out of Soap Opera digest which I read more than Sports Illustrated during Junior High. My hormones had kicked in full time and General Hospital melted my brain. I prayed deeply for the characters I cherished. I taped the episodes on VHS especially when Frisco disappeared only to come back and see Felecia marry Coltan who was being brain washed by the gangster Domino. I'd watch them on weekends. OH Frisco and Felecia why so hard did I fall? Well, Felecia was an Aztec princess blonde, caring, slinky and savvy. And Frisco, well he was an agent in the WSB but most importantly he would sing to her with this smile. The man had that thing. He could dance and was loved widely throughout Port Charles. And that’s who I wanted to be. The music box he sent to her when he was presumed dead impacted my life emotionally worse than any of my domestic dysfunctional slight. I’d watched it a hundred times. I thought if I could act like him I could get my Felecia.

I had General Hospital Trivia Pursuit. I had GH coffee mugs and trading cards. Mercedes and I would sprint off bus 6 into her living room and race to the TV and ABC channel 5. I was truly obsessed. I knew I was good at basketball but not great. I believed my class was great. I knew we’d be state champions as seniors but I didn’t think my Felecia would come from basketball. I wasn’t the best. I wanted to sing and act like Jack Wagner aka Frisco Jones. And I tried desperately. I’d open myself up to a lifetime of holiday ribbing for recording on blank tapes and distributing my first song, “Keeping it Together.” My voice was cracking for this rap / power teenage love ballad. B-Dawg was and still remains my music manager. And we had learned a valuable lesson in Junior High, I should probably rap. I couldn’t sing after my voice changed. And it was brutal. But I didn’t want to hear it, and B-Dawg was that great manager that always told you what you wanted to hear.

But we had seen, we were in high-school, there were new faces even in our same grade. And he had learned early when answering inquires from these new faces into rumors of my reputation, he’d change topic, say I was the next New Kid On The Block. And they were right down the street. And local hit maker Maurice Starr had done it again. New Edition were my hero’s and when he ran it back with white kids it went galactic. Little boy bands were everywhere. We had learned to leverage this along with my penchant for cheesiness, dancing and my love for General Hospital and Frisco. Over the winter we had released a single called, “Carl E is back” which jacked the beat and style of Heavy D’s, We Got Our Own Thang.

We copied and distributed ten singles which made small enough rounds that B-Dawg would begin coming up to me in between class with the oddest updates. “Carl, OK are you fucking ready for this?” I was. Part of our friendship was the constant stream of outrageous good / bad news we’d been delivering to each other for the past couple years.

“What now?” “OK, are you fucking ready?” He loved to do this. “Yes B-Dawg fucking spit it out.” “OK, OK, OK, Jesus, this is insane, OK Debbie Reynolds” Racing through words and convulsions he say the girls name slow, methodically. And I replied like routine in an equal drawn out, “O - K.” “Dude, she loves the Carl E is back, she said.” And he’d begin cracking up, “She said you’re really good looking guy dude!” And he’d scream jump up in the corner like we both made it. I’d turn bright red. “I mean can you believe that, did she see your ears! Braces, your in resource rooms our a fucking nightmare take loads of medication our fucking reta -! “

“OK! Jesus” He would never stop if I hadn’t - my old resource room buddy from the Warner Zone. A ¼ of the trouble I got into in Junior High was simply to make him laugh. “What else?” “She wants us to go over her house after school with Coleen and Amy, and she wants to have sex with you.” “What?” I asked floored as my heart dropped their. “She said you ready for this She said and I quote, you have to break it in at some point. Why not this afternoon?” “You gotta break it in at some point?” I was shocked and scared. But we learned. We could market me to a whole new audience. I knew since my Junior High Band the $mooth Adolescents with my air force base buddies audiences responded to seeing the dance moves of the day broken out by a few kids in cadence. We were white, black and mixed, prefect marketing combo I'd muse.

Throw in the fact we were writing our own shit, hey you never knew? You just had to be cute and dance was the way I saw it.

Now that I was a rapper I was happier. I'd almost come to terms with the fact that sung like Willard from Footloose danced, not at all. No longer would I be opened to the type of damage a high school career might not be able to withstand singing R & B in a cracked awful voice still believing no pride. Now I was on the right side of the tracks, I loved rap it’s just that people rarely saw the General Hospital side. I was still 80% façade but I could dance. I once spent an entire Saturday morning trying to spring to my feet off my back like Ren did in the warehouse during his one of a kind dance sequence in Footloose. When the town of Beumont finally caused him to snap! And I got it and used it for the next two decades. It’s how I’d get off the floor down the road when I made varsity basketball during home games. All for show.

But just like my gang before one thing remained, a name I needed a handle. And it was bigger than the gang. I wasn’t writing my knock off love songs of teenage retarded syndrome, I was incorporating myself my dysfunction and worries. And it rapped well B-Dawg applauded the new stuff.

Rap was a scary thing for white America back then. Young black teenagers running around with guns in big gold chains screaming “fuck the Police” on a polite day fueled white fright. The yuppie fright of rap always cracked me up and kept me coming back for more. An angry black man could walk past a white women in Astori and whisper “whoo” on the quick and the women might faint. Racial profiling was in full swing in Astori even back then, this included white kids that thought they were black. They had the Hubble telescope on me. Anyway I could see it in a teacher’s eyes and neck veins when I told them sternly (strong eye) and with great confidence that I was indeed black. Old White teacher, wrinkly, pulled down glasses with the strings on the sides says in an old English countryside I read a few books in my lifetime type of tone, “and how can you be so sure your black again Carl?” “How can I be so sure?” I’d smile and say back cockily “Well you do realize young man that your skin is white.” “Yeah but Mrs. Coleman have you seen me dance.” “Well “ “:Have you heard me rap” “I don’t believe I” “OK, and last one” Before she can even slip a syllable out, “Have you ever seen me play basketball?”

Grabbing my book bag keeping my cover as a student, “good night Ms. Pagan I mean Ms. Coleman have a good day, but I am black, real black.” I opened my eyes like I WANTED THEM TO POP OUT verbally stamping added proof to that of my continued color confusion. And since I still had the metal tracks on my “choppers” I grinned. Rap was stereotyped with such a knee jerk institutionalized reaction rooted in fear it was hard as a kid not to become obsessive about being intensely apart of it.

hahahahaha another 1.... Wedding day, F+F

Saturday, July 07, 2012

Sequence 54 -LH01302007B01-02 , ALL-IN Wakefield @ Home 15-0. Where The Defense Began

Latest sequence after another brief colony of external HD collapse. Coach Farias had a great line during this season, he said, "Jimmy's the only guy that knows what he's doing." Referring to the then 18 year old whiz kid that was an instrumental force on the ground that good year of 2006-07. He is in large part why I know if we put the effort in now it can get done because like the Big Guy used to say, "Jimmy's the only guy that knows what he's doing!" So thanks Jimmy for being apart of this, look forward to bringing you everything we'll need this fall.

This sequence, gggggreat! More Matty Langone footage surfaces, I had not yet seen this material some of the cutest stuff yet. Also this was a very good team. There were no individuals and a bevy of talent, competition. It's too bad Bob never got to coach the talented class that left this last year. Please prepare for a titanic fall for LHS now, like we've said it takes a couple of years to run a good thing in the ground just like in corporate America. But make no mistake about it, a couple years is all it takes to shake down a factory of success for fifty years prior under weak direction and new management. I say below .500 this year, u heard it here first, wow, that's unthinkable.

Anyway to the sequence, Wakefield had given them quite a game in their first match up of the year, Lexington @ home smoked them which at the time ran their Middlesex consecutive streak to 32 straight. Quite an accomplishment. Also I love that TH, the MVP and my homy puts Brinklow as his favorite athlete in the program ala Magic and me, Hobbies: Hayden. h-h-holla.

PS: I love coach Brinklow ordering the chicken cutlet to the Fifty beat towards the end. Also new mystical matty footage discovered here. I always put the music of Yoda's theme from Empire to matty stuff. it feels healthy, reflective and as if a mystical force is still in play. I love it, kid would've been a scholarship player. Watching him dive on the ground for loose balls puts me in the happiest place.

Some great shots of my hoops first family at the end. Also i LOVE when Matty brings the mike to Shirley, and she bugs when Bob reveals it's the mike and as always she just need to turn her neck to see our alweays present cameras. Shirl like Bob would always ask, what's it about? And 2 B fair, I didn't really know.

It was going to be a lex hoops movie, past and present and then we disvovered 20 years of footage had been thrown out as comcast became verizon, and we had to go all in that season and scrape the scraps of remaining old footage out there that we could get our hands on. Of course as you follow GDD, you know we got right into an NFL agreement / doc. Followed a Super Bowl career, and wound up talking to attorney's when old friends killed a work in progress over tapes, right's and payout sadly when there was no money on the table.Years went by, I left the country and eventually all roads lead home. We all wanted to finish what we started. And when I came back to it, Coach was dismissed , Matty had crossed over, Lexington school systems continue to baffle me incidentally not that great managed and not so great of a school system as you might think for middle of the road, majority of kids.

Too many principles over the last ten years, if it was a publicly traded co. and we saw three CEO'S over five, six years and shake up's everywhere this would be unsettling to investors. Toss in the fact that I know METCO mothers that have pulled their kids from lexington back into Boston public schools because to quote Shalonda "They are doing no favors for our kids" and you have a problem. What no one got was that METCO helped the rich kids more the city brothers, oh how we love our "charity" in lex. And it starts at the top w / the school comittee, zero idea what they are doing. Scared of the parents that are scared of the kids, wow, the 60's legacy reveberates! Kids make the rules in the most endowed of all towns.

In conclusion, this will be a tool for coaches, a testement to a prgram that spawned dozen coaches and a million memories. A blueprint on how to run a practice, a program and how to get everything you can from a kid on the effort tip, that's coaching

It also will be a repudiation of the current administration for coursive and untenable actions to remove what amounted to 1 of the best aspects of the Lex community.

That much I know, and I don't have to really say anything, show the movie, explain what happened and reveal the mighty tradition we captured an eras end of. I for 1 lost big in this as a fan, as a legacy varsity guy. It kills me because lex vows to be so transperent unless it's uber convienent and the money is against them.

So that's what it's about now, the trophy generation and the JV parents that won a long war on shaky logic. This is what happened and here we present a year on the road with him team and real lex tradition all-in. After the facts are put down and you see truly behind the scenes what no one ever has seen or granted an audience to, you'll be free to draw your own conclusions.

enjoy CP

LH01262007 CE C C . Coach Sullivan's Double Header 1 Jan in 07, Concord, Lexington and the Coaching TREE

And how funny is it that just 1 year later Coach Sullivan would be coaching at Woburn. He'd take over the Tanner team seen her at end of sequence, and 2 years later lose at the Garden, at the buzzer to Milton. So, so close to a state title, dammit