Monday, January 30, 2012

Brunch. A Gorilla Dunk Family Tradition.

Brunch (New Spot + Old Story!) Side Note: We have discovered the new spot, Old Town, amazing facility, food, décor and did I say, Ms Pac man? The following is an old story about my own, that's right folks, Mr. Charlie Paradies's first brunch incidentally with my sister. The pictures are from a great brunch this past Sunday. The story is well, a rough start. Special thanks to Noelle and JW for the Chantilly Lace both on spot and hook. What a gem, all ours. This huge back room is perfect for cocktails post food. I'm INTENT on breaking the Ms. Pac man record.
The problem with Brunch. BY CP. Brunch is played out. Brunch is cliché, it’s late, it's happened and continues to bulge so far after the fact. And not only that but there are a dozen underlying reasons why brunch, especially over and over again is not a good idea. I should've known this from the jump ball on brunch. The stories that spawned the next year legally, after just 1 brunch should have sent me running for the hills. Clearly it was something out of the gates I couldn't handle. Older, wiser, married and sweating adult life, it's nice to enjoy them on special and even random occassions but to quote T-Bone I was forcen it. Champagne and OJ to start the morning? What a concept. Throw in my affection to get dressed up like the Kentucky Derby to these mutha fuckers all through my 20's it all = a big part of the script. A defining part, often where and I mean JQ and I put on rousing displayers of grandness, styles, beat boxes, frees styles and of course crazy stories about coming up Lex-Vegas, so many good 1's. So many dance moves so much happiness. Just think your favorite people dressed up. Your top Sat morning activate and drink Champagne and OJ to re cap the previous night's shows and after parties. And it spread, and the family went tilt. Much love to JK, one of the first things Summer Crush did in her regime was to ban myself from wearing a robe to any of my usual brunch spots namely Ragtime. Since my earliest memory I always wanted to be retired. Golf cart for a car, gated community, somewhere sunny, just want to drive a golf cart, not play golf and drive around for foodstuff's. I got to do a freestyle tribute to brunch, with a happy beat. For happy people. Hard working people, here we go, just playing I'm really going to do it, freestyle write Bendict bite on the crab tip champagne sip and a tight mix rocking some jazz, spitting words that hiss brunch is bliss, DC I see you, from 14th and U , sick loft we miss her never diss her, just deserve to be happy. OK. Yes So even though Sunday funday has been going for so many years since the turn of the century, and it’s old, I’m old, we still holla back on occasion minus the robe. Although I should’ve stopped brunch after my inaugural experience back in 1997. I remember telling the crowd this story, the family at that 14 person table this at my 100th brunch, Grape & Grain traded the rob for a shirt, tie and pink cufflinks which I'm pretty sure were "light salmon." E. Village. I'm glad I never gave up. Momentous occassion in my career. Anyway funny it was great because it sure didn't start out that that way. BTW Dana was killing me Sunday walking to brunch with some Lines from what About Bob I'd forgot about involving, if you fake it you don't have it. She'd already Black Hawk downed a brother on bended knee,son! Boyz II Men, Philly, Roots, Ritalin, what was I saying? Oh right , brunch, maybe should've pulled the plug after first based on survival guides. But then again I'd never have so many astonishing moments which magically coincided with my always happiest time of the week. The world had come back around and brunch became where I found new business, dynamic side hustles and often dealt with the best and the sometimes worse things the characters assembled at 1 table were functioning through. And they were strong foundations, for dreamers. From NYC, Boston, LA, Chi town DC these were are stomping grounds, it became where most of my best stuff occurred. And I loved what we had. No one was famous, for the most part, and once you activated JQ, Pete Nice, Magic and JK, it was over. I never worked another day outside of work again. I love Boston but couldn't go back over Pleasentville. If I don't make it to Summerland I hope to live out my golf cart days here in Fox Hole DC next 2 Virginia like Red fucking Aurchback. I suggest any wanna be players out there reading to che=ck his book on business management. 1st brunch story a few lines in which I lost: It’s as if God was sending me a personal message about drinking first thing in the morning and what typically kind of pattern this creates. The characters there were many but let’s boil them, down to me, my sister and an older gentlemen / zilla we’ll call for security reasons, “happy.” And this was a Lex-Vegas production, a table of 10, all zilla’s from the high flying, Adidas tying hamlet known as Lexington MA, aka Astori. The crowds my sister and I found ourselves apart of varied wildly and often included the kids with the most free time and least parental supervision for reason that typically weren't good. I was a Junior in college, Happy was 20’s something, barely completing high school and skipping out on college he was back home adrift. But loveable, the type of person people wanted to help but always let you town but you loved him so much you’d never stop trying, or laughing and eventually as always crying.
So as we blazed through bottles of Champagne and tore through our spending “limit” this was by no means startling. This was what dysfunctional kids did. We know we were good anyway for at least another hour. Happy slipped me a yellow one, he took a purple one, it was normal. The 80’s kids that came into our lives in the early 90’s loved the pills. I remember I couldn’t believe that brunch included Champagne, before Charlie Paradise, I was floored. I’d been playing basketball in college, and was trying to do the right thing. However a semester abroad in Hawaii with Monster (childhood friend) and a summer internship in Chicago at the Board of Trade had re-kindled the flames of my zilla youth, being back in Boston drinking with the crazy crew clawed back that which was imperative to escape. The thing is, once you start to drink, it’s hard to stop, inter-day and even further out on the graph sport. So then came the day drinking, skip dinner, followed by the Phoinex (thanks Mr. Doran). By midnight it’s hard to stand and Mr. Happy was a wreck. And despite having no job or income he had a new car, I knew his therapist. When he pulled a bottle of pills out of his pocket, I noticed they were not his! Federal offense I warned him, and gave them back, I knew. Regardless, he was a zilla, it was a long day, my sister and I were tired. An hour later. We’d both fellen asleep and Happy was lost not worried however now far from our drop off back in Boston. So a car with a squiggly antenna had called the state police on Route 128 (?) all the way out by the city of Framingham. And when the police pulled us over, my heart sank. I woke up my sister in the back and tried to rally Happy for his field sobriety test. He settled and seemed confident. I noticed it was a state trooper and they were angry. Anyway Happy took one step in front of the other, and on the 10th was supposed to do a full 180 and repeat back to the jeep, and then presumably we were free. I denied all questions, and my sister, well I’m sure she never wanted to wake up again after that rude 1.
As Happy spun on one foot to come back and crush the 2nd half of this very important field test, not however before throwing his arms up in the air with the flair of a game show host. Once he fell, we were forcibly thrust out of the Jeep, my sister became hysterical, and while consoling her noticed everyone was leaving. The Cop’s, Happy, and then the tow truck with the Jeep! We were stranded. Miraculously I took off for the Jeep, hopped it and climbed towards the truck as it merged on a busy MA highway. He did stop; I apologized for my 1st sentence realizing this was our last chance to get out of here / home I was unarame and angry from the police procedure. THE TOW Truck accepted my apology. He took us to a pay phone and we called a cab, I left a crazy message to my ACE 1, 2 the Mizzle back in Vegas. And then the can came, I made the loyal yet unscrupulous call to head to the state barracks to bail out happy. A tough decision, my sister came out crying, again. Being the closest thing in my life, this activated all defense censors, agitated state. The state cop yelled in response to my question regarding the practice of passengers for drivers that were under arrest for supposedly skunk driving. It was my tone, it was such a fair question but then again these guys, at this point and in this situation didn’t really give a fuck about fair. But we could’ve been stranded with not a ton of upside. I knew they done us wrong, again. And never thought about, well you know, being in that type of situation in the first place. When he ordered me out, and I refused to leave until my question was answered it got ugly quick. "Could speak with a Sergeant?" This guy walked out from behind the secured heavy door. And then on second my sister and the cab driver walked in and watched as I was arrested and assaulted by the state cop who turned around and charged me with assault. It was a chilling reality check after a great starting but bad ending first brunch day.
Jail: My 1st time. How quickly things can change, now I was locked and my sister was hysterical, more than before. I was cuffed to a bench for basic enrollment into the jail cell overnight program. THEN! I responded to the first question, "name?" “Rodney King” I sensed a tiny genius as I was hit over the head with his Billy club aka the Alabama Lie Detector, it hurt. I went down, saw stars and felt all wise ass however clever evaporate. From there on in, I wanted no violence, just a good boy. And when happy finally saw me enter the jail he was ecstatic to see a familiar face. The officer with the midnight complexion who had just thrashed me joked of our impending strip search and how the night might very well get a ton worse. I then remembered Happy shit face’s little bottle of pills from some house and some other name. True story, I railed him to plug them inside his doorbell, this was for his own good. He buckled and washed them down wholly with his remaining slavia he was able to muster to moisture. 8 or 10 who knows , four? All I do now is that he started going crazy, Rainman, hot water burn baby! After that. They took his laces, and moved him to a bigger I’d guess more mental portion of the facility. He screamed back at me, “Tell them about your arm! Get a bigger cell, tell them about your lawnmower accident!” I fought a chuckle before being aware of that which was my current 3AM reality. Finally a couple hours later, Happy’s much maligned father showed up, posted bail and let his much older son, head back into the city with us much younger children. I was still wearing suspenders, braces for the savvy and felt like I might’ve had an amazing mug shot despite the fact they were clip ons. The sunrise spotted felt good. All until I realized I had to appear in court tomorrow morning. The complete Plutonic reversal of Sat morning was now, tomorrow, Mon, manic. And worse of all, I had to inform my own much maligned father. I remember the next morning before I called my dad, we went for a bite to eat, my sister AND HAPPy, and happy in pure zillariffic fashion jumped right back on the wagon, ordering a wicked tall Bud Light from Chili’s in Brighton / Alston down the street from Harvard U. 12:15PM Sun. I was disgusted, and ended up leaving him. Happy would sit there until 8PM that night. As I looked forward to my court appearance the next morning, and getting back to college conceding already to miss my 8AM poly Sci class w / Doc K. Dr. Keaton. Happy had run out of funds by the time we got the call from the bar, it was a $60 something tab! We were broke. So his dad came again, bailed em out. The next day I was informed of the charge against me, yup A & B on a "Statey guy." We fought it, and won, the trial came a full year after. We hired the best attorney whom hired a Private Detective and found the cab driver who witnessed the whole thing. He became our star witness. It didn’t matter though,. The testing cop never showed up and my case was thrown out. It was quite a night, and turned out to be a expensive experience. It was a fight that had to be fought, it’s a miracle I ever did 1 again. These are happy pictures belie the horrendous or auspicious beg.
I love 80's arcades. Mr. Welch and I were "happy" all day long. Donkey Kong W John Welch, Ms. Pacman with Dana D looking on? So sick that girl get's it. Much love to JK, Haley Andy and the FRI NIGHT CREW. I once had a Frogger machine at the Meridian, sky bar, will come back. My sister's quote of the brunch, talking to summer, "Jesus there is nothing more stressful than watching my brother play Ms. Pac Man." Hey I'm going for records. I'm nasty. Posting the real next week, here's my phone filming John PLay Donkey Kong! I loved the spu8nds, infectious, back to my roots, had to press play, I mean record. And here's the hot shit, it's not worth it, Eminem's dir. debut. sooo tight. Bring the strings for the drama of all drama

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Happy Saturday in America

Always. Even though my first Champagne brunch ended in a later arrest with Ritchie "Happy" in Framingham we stuck with it. But that's another story. As great as they are awful Saturday morning (sigh) favorite time slot. And what better way to celebrate my sisters arrival in town with Champagne and the Retar Crew! Listen to JQ's ode 1st verse to brunch. For us here at GDD brunch is an all day affair. Much love to global markets and warming, 60 degree's in the VA today. Dana gave a crack head $10 dollars, she sucked us in with the full blown aids

My sister and I walked to the Air Force Memorial this morning, what a view, what a country. Proud to be an America AND AS ALWAYS WE THANK THE ARMED FORCES FOR THEIR SERVICE.

Stay tuned Lex-Vegas big things coming with our Mario's tribute. Best pizza spot eva, guy. Here are some photo's and video from this mornings hike.

And my place in VA, everyone should have 1 of these. My sister on the front 9 @! Pebble Beach.

Friday, January 27, 2012

Brookline Legends (Volume I) Justin “The Jigga Man” Kaye.

Blood is thicker than water but water you can drink. And in that spirit I’d like to introduce my long lost brother, the Jigga man, from squirrel village USA. Outta of Boston, my mad hundred grand, my ACE 1-2 post everything Arlington VI. Pleasantville, I never left. And when it did it was 2 dip a toe on to Jazz central, U street, the easy village of DC. And we crushed a decade laying in many ways the foundation for gorilladunk daily itself. And it all started with the Red Sox, a Tuesday night and the Red Sox. Ten Years two guys walked into a bar, Tuesday Night, 12:30AM. It was extra innings, Red Sox. Bobby “pink cuff” links and a guy by the name of Charlie Paradise walk into a bar called Summers. Now Summers is great, for a # of reasons, and once you got past the idea that it might be an Al Qaeda sleeper cell, it can really be a fun spot. The place had satellites, extra innings, and a bar still opened to serving past last call. And then I saw it, Spike Owen Red Sox jersey. And Bobby pink lost it, and thus we met the Brookline legend, class of 1995, JK. The Spike Owen thing led to a litany of random Red Sox players from the 80’s, the lower the batting average, the better, great game, we all knew it. And ten years later we stayed on the hip, and grown the family by leaps and bounds. The merger of Brookline, Lexington, Georgetown and wait, did Chucky P attend college? In any event JK tends to overdue the Boston thing and this is what makes it special. Especially in Virginia. In our first six months being pals, The Patriots won the SB and Ethan Zohn crushed Survivor. JK COULDN’T BELIEVE it. Our first day we spoke about the Lexington kid on Survivor and JK countered that his best friend from Pre School was on the PGA Tour, James D., stand up! I asked if he played in college and he said, “yeah guy, Virginia, ACC player of the year.” Damn. Side Note> ran a notable people from Brookline recently and James Driscoll, our mutha fucken dawg came in just behind Conan O'Brian and JFK, holla And we watched 3 Patriot Super Bowls at that sleeper cell Summers, it’s always the weirdest spots that change your life. It was like a wife with a lot of heart that you created three children with. And absolutely fucking loved the process. Those children being Patriot Super Bowl Trophy’s and what a great facilitator of life they proved to be. SOME STRANGE PEOPLE 2 B FOUND AT SUMMER'S. BUT IT'S WHERE OUR STREAK EMBARKED! + THEY DO NOT FROWN ON ONE HITTERS OUT BACK. ILIED AND TOLD COACH SULLIVAN I PUNCHED THIS GUY IN THE FACE AMPED AFTER THE WIN. :)
The Beckett baseball card magazine was our Wall St Journal and baseball cards our introduction to trading.
Anyway, the snow game to our first Super Bowl 4 months after Sep 11th occurred and we thought of the snow globe as previously reported, we came up with that for the Patriot's! And never got paid. Happens, valuable lessons re; patents right there learned for us. Foxborough's last play. . And the run began, we watched the Red Sox break the curse, why not? At our once hallowed watering hole, Ragtime. A place we spent a majority of our life at, with me putting happy hours on a sky rocketed level of energy each and everyday. This led to a great alliance and sometimes office. Our welcoming letter to the neighborhood we wrote was framed on the wall. All until JK’s best friend and co-owner of Ragtime goes behind his back for the girl whom JK was with for the past year and a half, clouds forming, a little rain and boom, it all fell down, Kanye style. I think I decided to walk in and punch the man in the face after being asked by his partner if this meant we were out of the Ragtime fantasy football league. And it was a loss + I’m banned for life at Ragtime, my former front stage. Anyway given that venue has been out, last Sunday we returned to our roots, Summers. So awful it’s amazing, and our run there? We called Magic and Jakey up in NYC, strong threads and activations from the JK lineage. They were focused, it was game time, let’s do what we do when watching these bastards build and wreck our life. JK, became the jigga man, while never mind as that is inappropriate. He’s not an electric guitar man, his favorite track is Electric Relaxation, Tribe. And that’s strong, he graduated from Georgetown Magna Cum Laude. Made a decision to go for it, step it up when everyone went crazy, just say no to all the shit that was going around him. And he did it, and his G-Town crew and the court side seats, well, it’s the only time I ever really had any academic regret. Seeing that school on the hill, DC, G-town, that crew, it’s sick. In addition he packs a tight beat box, and dance moves that would make the fan fly out of your upstairs window. His favorite Nintendo game, Baseball Stars, Sega? NHL 94, OK, we got along, lived together forming the world famous Sky Bar at the Parker Meridian for almost eight years. During that time I didn’t get out too much, we traveled for events that came across our personal lives ticker, and other than that, just needed a close bar. A place to go and talk Boston sports, pro and high school and wax nostalgic all the while creating an entirely new myth. In a new state with many new faces. And now you can add another AFC Championship to our mantle. We met and broke every curse quickly on all, Boston teams. Quite a decade, and the first GDD of 2006, titled “Original Dunkage” which moonlighted really as a love letter to Amtrak, well, that was typed at the Meridian with lil Scotty (genius behind Activate) ripping me the entire time. But not JK, the man is a super hero, which means he’ll always be supportive. JK once told me, you know who your real friends are when you decide to stop drinking for a month. And damn was he right. When we ran out of Bean town sports, we quoted Beautiful Girls and Good Will Hunting. Anyway here are some picture of the man from Sunday, Tippet, got to love it. Kid has been breaking hearts’ including his own for decades. But we at GDD, want to salute to you. And may I say personally, we love when Brookline and it’s tentacles of allegiance show face in Lexington for the Turkey Bowl. Nice run fellas, big crew, and we get it done. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you, JK a guy’s guy who is not afraid of a little Lionel Richie, at all. Last Story. JK, Pink Cuff's and I r coming home from a Redskins / Patriot's pre-season contest @ Fedex field circa 2004. OK, we were prob overserved, this was evident by the fist fight Pink got in on the metro (Boston this is Dc's version of the T same in paris which influenced DC a ton) when a Skins fan told us our kicker sucked. "That's it!" Back then, insult my grandmother but say a bad word about Adam V and it's on as the day is long. After the subway scuffle we thought it was in our best interest to early night cap it at the oldest bar in Washington DC, The Old Ebbitt's Grill. Upon walking in, JK had a ho on his arm rocking a Troy brown new school old school 1nce in a lifetime jersey. And walking up the small stair set to the main floor a Boston gal stopped dead in her tracks, noticed the cajun / persausion of the Jersey and said, "Oh my god, I LOVE that jersey, I'm from Boston, that's tight." JK with his arm around said ho, glanced to the left slightly like a pitcher checking first, unfazed in a mili second made eye contact and replied, "Excuse me, this is my girlfriend!" he said this loudly to which she responded, "OK, I'm not like hitting on you." To which JK dropped the legendary reply, "Sure your not" as he continued to make his way towards the front mohagany old ass bar. It was the funniest reply I'd ever heard. I collapsed. And it spawned a track I wrote for JQ, another 1 which he never made called "SURE YOUR NOT." tHE cHORUS WENT.... (Girls voice) I'm not hitten on u Q, SURE YOUR NOT. Not Playing to pretend you. SURE YOUR NOT. Not fronting for the whole crew. SURE YOUR NOT. Yo Q this rtack ain't even hot. SURE IT'S NOT." WE DID IT AGAIN. YEAH DREW BLEDSOE And 1 last 1 to me. Charlie Paradise
More JK @ Home with the Grteen and the Grey : Celtics / Hoya's . And , and shaking the hand of el president in DC Court Seats Hoya's. Just another day, sure your not!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Retar Crew new album Koalas In The Struggle out now! FREE! Plus East Coast Tour!


Originality son.

Download this free album. They will bring you back to hip hop if you fell and intro if you could never get over the Humpty (Shock G)

They made Koalas In The Struggle touring Australia performing their award winning play they wrote and starred in. Turning the Barb into a hip hop show, please check these guys out! They act, sing and rap but are most famous for turning Shakespear plays into modern day hip hop performance classics! So smart , guy. 1st things first, I'm Chucky, lace all the honey, hold up ! The mutha fucking Retar Crew. handle it. Playwright's, Movies! TV, CD's, packed show's, world travel, originality, owned, yes, it's fair to say these guys are legends. !

Figure out what you love to do, figure out how to make money doing it, and you'll never work another day. And on my radar, JQ and GQ featured both in this promo w / trusty sidekick Jax never have. And for that I sweat the slave spirit forthright. The thing is these guys have talent, born that way, it just happened to break like that. But Jedi finds Jedi and that is why we bring that thing, that cajun colloquialism as capatalists dressed in a little red UNLV hood. So keep it down and holla at the many foundations secured to enable flight :) Wurd.

Check the cities, NYC, Providence, Boston, CT and my beloved DC. These guys are so large that despite being Retar's we have the White House Bowling alley reserved from 3-5PM. How crazy is that? Life boils down to who you know, and confidence defines what you bring to the table.

Check out below Vid's. And download the new album, track 1 is silly, the Vince Coleman of all LP tracks w/ a Ghostface nod nestled inside for the independants.

Bowling at the White House? Wow and dam not bad for a kid that was not allowed on the Junior high Trip to Washington DC for what they called, acute personality disorder, holla. Become a fan, these guys will bring you happiness, da nada.

This is a true 2 threw hip hop crew, Chi town stand up, the art is missing so like the economy soon, they bring it back. If your not a hip hop head and new to this site, watch the below first. But if your done with the rap game, peep the 1 below, Daddy issues. And shine for you glow, ho!


Beats, words, production in house, original, give yourself, you will be glad you did.

Promo for their Shakespeare magic. There latest Funk It Up about Nothen. (Smash hit) here's the Promo along with same live action for free ! If you saw this live you'd feel like you were straight from the Fridge Daddy'O. LIVE ACTION FROM THEIR PLAY. Also be warned they are writing othello into the Hip Hop format and debuting it was the only American representation at the Summer Olympic's in London. At an outdoor and scaled true model of the original Shakespear theatre. Wow, wow, wow, these are our friends LOVE JQ WITH THE RED VEST AND HAT IS MY HERO. SINCE 96 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! hit us up get involved. And check out the Retar Crew get at them for information regarding their crazy East Coast Tour coming to the mutha fucking East Coast. 1 more. Remix from the The Funk My Best Friends

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Wes Welker Engaged !! Now It Was Really Meant 2 B! Amen

The first thing you need to know is that there's an annual Hooters swimsuit pageant that's judged by C-list celebrities like Dan Cortese and Verne Troyer, and whose winner receives the title Miss Hooters International. The next thing you need to know is that New England Patriots wide receiver Wes Welker is now engaged to Anna Burns, Miss Hooters International 2005. [ Slideshow: Check out photos of Miss Hooters International 2005 ] Welker proposed sometime after Christmas, according to the Boston Herald. The newspaper reports Anna asked for a Cartier bracelet and received a diamond ring instead. The couple have been together for two years. The Herald goes on to write: Anna was by her boo's side for his surgery and rehab, and the two have been living together ever since. He makes her breakfast in bed. She made him flannel pajamas with cowboy boots on them for Christmas. He says she thinks his biggest flaw is, "I don't sleep enough." (Well, that's Wes' story and he's stickin' to it ...) Eggs in bed, flannel PJs with cowboy footies, a direct line to Dan Cortese and a pageant-winning swimsuit model who probably gets free 3 Mile Island buffalo wings for life? And you thought landing on the same roster as Tom Brady was the best thing that ever happened to Wes Welker! Now I really think we're destined to win this thing again. Wes, one of the all time coups , via Miami, well done Belly. You gotta love the SB coverage, we're alive NE, enjoy yahoo sports with Eddie George. Ohio State, Steve Mcnair, NHL rushing title , J. Wig blocked for him.... holla + POpcorn

What Happened 2 All The Fans? (LHS Basketball Decline Cont)

PICTURE TAKEN FROM MOST RECENT LEXINGTON HOME GAME 1/14/12. NO FANS - 1 MAN PICTURED UP TOP IN WHAT USED TO BE STUDENTS SECTIO When the music’s over, you know the rest. GDD Briefing: Many years ago we followed everyday, cameras in hand, the mighty Lexington varisy Minuteman who had been on a 5 year tear to compliment the legendary Coach Bob Farias in his already illustrious career. We captured a full season on the road with the Big Guy. And what we also captured was a school system changed by an enormous influx of wealth. We found a school system that lived in fear of the mothers who lived in fear of the kids who had nothing to fear. And after our cameras left they cleaned house athetically speaking. My beloved Big Guy was axed after posting 1 of the best 5 year runs the Middlesex league had / will ever see. They removed a tenured teacher without a good by party, without a farewell tour around a Middlesex league he dominated for 30 + years. They forced his resignation in the wake of his grandson's untimely and tragic passing. Without any tact or candor for a man that had done so much for property values, yes, property values. When one chooses a million dollar house, they check many towns and believe a solid sports backdrop facilitates huge decisions surrounding that epic question: Where to raise my children? The most sought after towns, Andover, Winchester, Lexington always married the 2, strong schools, strong sports * Bullet (Jay Campisi) Bob’s experience in Lexington mirrored his close friend head coach of his famous alma mater Durfee from Fall River Dreams aka Chris Herren. By the time Fall River Dreams was written in the mid 90’s, Skippy’s long reign including 6, yes count em 6 hundred wins was coming to end. And although no one can see it besides the writer Bill Reynolds at the time, it was all soon to be over like the light's when the music stops. Like dancing on the main floor at the end of of Dirty dancing and to quote Mr. Kellerman, it all seems to be slipping away. At the time of the book, Fall River Dreams, Durfee basketball was at it's APEX. And chronicling the career of phenom Chris Herran, the latest superhero to lead the hill toppers to the hill top, this book documented it. At Durfee high basketball, time stood still. Change was not reality. And that's never the case. Time changed irrevocably everywhere but not in Fall River, not at Durfee @ that Field House. But underneath the championship venner and pride it brought to a desolate city for what seemed like forever a movement had gained traction and eventually lead to Skip karem’s ouster albeit under more humane conditions than his old player Coach Farias recieved at LHS. And like Durfee and Fall River, times changed dramatically within Lexington, the world at large but never inside that tiny gym where Lexington basketball had been bubbled for decades. In front of standing room only crowds since the 60's. Home games in Lexington were a time warp, popular girls still were cheerleaders, the guys still went to the local pizza stop after victories wearing varsity jackets, players and personalities of the programs storied past crammed into home games giving each a feeling of a very special reunion that was constantly occurring. And for Skip at Durfee, the most decorated high school coach in the history of D1 MASS high school hoop, time also stood still. But there were forces around him chipping away like a staunch running attack in a stingy ball controlled contest. They said Skip had too much power. They said the basketball players got too much special attention. His detractors would point to the new car that was given the coach through private donors after his 1988 state championship with Chris's older brother Michael. And over at Lexington, at the time Fall River Dreams was published I was sitting in the ACE Program on an 16-0 team, ranked at the time #1 in the Boston globe. We were on top but the mutterings were growing with each victory. We just couldn't see it. Parents of JV players were complaining, the girls team cried foul. They demanded and succeeded in splitting prime time slots on game nights. It made me sick, it was unnatural, as sports were a form of entertainment. Once the gals started tomohawk drinking, I mean dunking I felt a proper split could be considered. The fact that varsity boys basketball just like in Fall River bankrolled the majority of other atheltic teams (see Field Hockey) never dawned on the eventual policy makers. This was post 80's, early 90's in the eye of the politically correct (burp) storm. And then to make matters worse, in the wake of our star power forward passing away in a car accident, teachers and non basketball parents cried a loud foul when the team was sent to Disney World. Again, a privately funded trip which came as a gift from boosters in the face of our devastating loss of our childhood close friend. Just like Skippy in FRD, the Minuteman, our town paper wrote a story of special treatment for basketball players. I was saddened to see my old history prof. Sam Kaffersan buttressing the printed attack. I always thought he carried a lingering anger from being turned away at the door for a #1, #2 home rematch against Belmont 93. He had brought an old friend and the atmosphere was as circus as it was electric. Something about the basketball team upset him, I saw it, it's the haters, and success will breed them. The way not me syndrome. I remember he told he playing basketball didn't make me unique, I remember replying, neither did dodging the draft 4 u. Coach Farias used to have a saying in the lockerroom and it went, "Why not us?" A fucking awesome question pertaining to champions. And the Big Guy, Coach Farias never read the Minuteman again, I know this because my man Courtney Haney had put me in position to write an article on his befalf in honor of his 500th win circa 2007. Coach Farias never saw it because he'd stopped reading the Minuteman all the way back in 1994 when such muck raking commenced. It's interesting as a soon to be filmmaker and recreational writer to study the parallel. In Durfee for years they said it wasn’t fair, they said that he wasn’t fair. And finally he "left" and the program and all it’s history fell apart.
And ditto that for Lexington. Here’s a picture of the last time I checked on the team, it’s from maxSports. it's blurry but the far column, 2nd to last, heading "PA" you can see the 578#. And it shows them in the middle of the pack (record), and if you see the PA #, that's points allowed you can see that Lexington boys basketball has given up more POINTS than any other team in the league, this is an injustice. What Happened To The Defense?
Many league coaches, including our dear GDD friend and former Lexington state champion Coach Sullivan said they had the best talent and certainly most height in the league. Coach Farias can be heard in our filming sessions back in 06-07 talking about the 8th grade class coming up and what a power house it would be. I don’t know much, but I can tell you 1 thing, Defense is coaching, it’s a mind set and it’s an inspiration thing. You see anyone can play solid defense. It’s a zero sum game a head to head heart check on who wants it more.
What led me towards Lexington basketball in a town of entitlement that didn't trickle down to the basketball team? If you worked hard or should I say, if it's to be it's up to me. And that was the only thing. I’ll always be grateful for the inspiration and work ethic instilled in me via Coach Farias. I suffered a devastating accident to my right arm and shooting hand 2 days after my 7th birthday. The accident left me with very limited movements in my shooting hand, fingers and wrist. I was not on paper supposed to be able. But I never heard that, I only saw Bob, coach Farias, the banners, the success, it’s all I ever wanted. So what did I do? I worked and worked. I became the best defender I could. And it got me into college where I became the best defender on my college team. My freshmen year I was one of 3 players to appear in all 26 games. And it wasn't because of my offense. I'd become an animal. Defense is heart and toughness. It’s these reasons why this PA # struck me down so hard. Alternativly I should be happy, we captured lightning in a bottle. We filmed the end of it all, in HD. We've preserved his legacy. I’m excited about making something that stands on it’s own, I love the creative process, ditto for my friends and partners who have been side by side with me on this journey. But it’s sad, because the forces that unearthed Bob, really have no clue. And if I think there are politics in some of the companies I’ve worked for post college it pales in comparison to Lexington High school, school committee, tax dollars and who gets what and why. It's different getting money in the public sector. And for a town obsessed with transparency and due process, a place where the very revolution of America itself started, the process and subsequent hiring of Bob’s replacement ran opposite to these values. Where Are The Fans? Scars tell stories.
Points allowed? Our project is called, Where Defense Began not where it ended. Listen kids don’t want to play defense everyone knows that. Its not fun, kids practice scoring. No kid practices defense. No one wants to take a charge. But we did, it was the key to our success, control the things your capable of. You hear that a lot in sales or corporate meetings, and it’s so true. What can you control? Not the rattle of the rim that's for sure. I can make sure I dive on the floor for a loose ball in my dance space. Apperently not a fair process of hiring a new coach in pristine Lexington either. This was an inside job, picking the candidate actually the least qualified to take over the states celebrated program. How does that happen in a place like Lexington? I have no idea. Play the part, never! GDD ! In any event, we’re back here on the GDD, stay tuned for more clips of our 1st documentary. So much to espouse and kick it about beyond this ridiculous situation. 1 love to our forefathers and the 4 year election cycle. Critical time for us Americans. Much love, fam, putting us all on the map, again and again, next up. Brookline legends part 1: The story of the Jigga man. Head up – eyes open. PS: Below is a link of the former hall of fame coach at his best. And note the Freddy Krueger comment, a great shot / that kid is actually 1/3rd of the O'Keefe hoops brother dynasty AND he's featured in our title shot. How time fly's... Back then I'm sure young Chris always believed Bob, the celebrated Big Guy would always be his coach when he finally got his shot at varsity fame. And soon his senior year would come and he / LHS Hoops would be undefeated just like his older, slam dunking brothers were @ 1 time. Once upon a ryhme, the name of a rap LP i have yet to drop. Simon Says is IMPORATANT .: It's a huge hoops trait called AWARENESS, and this kid game instills it. PPS: here's the article I wrote (Stand by) gotta un earth this bitch. I also found some great articles and press from that year that I will need anyway to tell the story. Stay tuned.! And GDD Quote of the Day comes from
Bar rules: Boston: The general rule? “Just don’t be a d— bag,” and Less flare: Nobody wants to have a stare-off with you, bro. Stop flaring your nostrils and enjoy your beer. Hahaha our TAKE IT EASE GUY! Shout of the day. More Clips / short sequence from Where Defense Began (A year on the road with the Big Guy at the very end) Good shit. Rough dailys. IT USED TO LOOK LIKE THIS OK. Here's the transcript my article in the Minuteman honoring Coach farias's 500th win. Fortune 500. Fortune 500 Fortune 500 By Carl Easton Thursday, February 01, 2007 - Updated: 11:33 AM EST ..BYLINE END-->..MEDIUM RECTANGLE--> .. language=JavaScript> .. OAS_AD('Button26'); //--> ..> .. ..MEDIUM RECTANGLE END--> Lexington High School boys varsity basketball coach, Robert Farias, won his 500th victory Tuesday Jan. 9 on the road against the Reading Rockets. Farias, a Fall River native and former Durfee sports standout, is only one of five head basketball coaches over the past 50 years to hold the reigns of the consistently strong Lexington boys varsity basketball squad. Farias purposely kept the milestone to himself, not wanting to distract the team. And, as always, downplayed the success he has had against the greater purpose of recognition of the annual athletes that propel his teams year in and year out. To Farias, it's all about wins and education without sacrificing anything along the way. Education for his players to do the right thing and make the right decisions both on and off the basketball court is the bedrock of his successful program. Farias, once again, finds himself in the midst of what he himself calls the deepest and most talented team he has ever coached. Led by senior captains Sean Sullivan and Thomas Henneberry, this year's edition of the Minutemen bagged the prestigious Chelsea Holiday tournament which included wins against traditional powerhouses Cambridge Rindge and Latin and perennial power Wilbur Cross (Conn.). The key to Farias's success on the court through the years has always been predicated on a couple of basic principles. 1) Superior mental and physical conditioning. Always out lasting their opposition in a realm of the game that is always in your control. 2) A favorite saying of Farias' is "to bust a gut". In other words, he demands that his players give a hundred percent. Nothing less is acceptable. Former LHS legend, and 10th overall pick by the Phoenix Suns in the 1976 NBA draft Ronnie Lee, was documented as having hit the 230 times in one season, and that only took into account home games. A teammate said he once heard Lee say that he'd "Run through my mother for a loose ball." Now that's Lexington basketball. Lexington has been blessed with a unique basketball legacy of tremendous success and pure entertainment. For the last 30 years, his teams much like this years powerhouse have served as a great source of pride for many Lexingtonians. A career teacher, husband, father, grandfather, coach and educator I'd like to say congratulations to coach Farias for leading a great tradition at Lexington High School basketball.. Check out the boys (14-0, 12-0 in Middlesex league) next game on the road Friday night at Winchester and tune in for free anytime on the worldwide web at Carl Easton is a former Lexington High School varsity basketball player where he played the point guard position for Farias from 1992-1994. Currently, Easton is heading up a documentary that is chronicling the current (and past success) of the LHS boys varsity basketball team.
And lastly lasty last last - hahahah, an excerpt from Fall River Dreams For Fall River boys, making it to the state title, you know, in Boston, is making it in the world. Since the days they played in the town’s fabled kiddie league, Chris Herren and his pals dreamed of becoming Durfee High Crusaders, a perennial state basketball power that brought home at least one state championship in every decade since the 40s. But championship basketball requires discipline and ego-suppression, things that just don’t come easily to teenage boys. Still, it is pushed cruelly on the court, and they do their best to endure it. Because playing basketball is one of three things they’ll do no matter what. The others are party and fight. Oh, yeah, they also dress rebelliously, and don’t like to be yelled at.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Making Lemonade with Just 1 Line On The Saprono's + JetPacks !

Life boils down to what you make of it. This is a clear case of lemonade from our old friend Dragon whom you should remember from his Board Empire JZ parody last month on GDD. As original bombitty, we love this dude , a tentacle from our favorite retar's, the Retar Crew.

I remember talking with Wig about following him around with cameras, why? Fist question always. What's interesting about this? Well, catching lightning in a bottle is one thing, but the other thing is your in the NFL. You our a potential business for allot of things based solely off that. And he understood that, every kid lucky enough to play game in the show realizes that. it's what you make of it. One Line on the Saprono's, who cares? I'm going to go Snoop on em, and go get another couple thousand fans for this! I'll have to drop a Scratch and Burn, those throwbacks with these guys make me giddy.

Retar Crew: East Coast Tour Update: I'll I know is that I've been invited to the White House with them to bowl! That's why I posted allo of those Obama bowling pic's It's a Chicago white house, actually J. Wig is coming down from Pitt for the show with cameras, hahaha! It takes 1 to know one.

They are doing a radio gig and will prob be in DC that Thursday, Feb 18th, i think, stay glued. GDD will be following them to Annapolis the next day Friday, and flying back to the film studio for 4 day edit session on Hoops doc. Yes. ! Anyway, Dragon is when of JK's favorites ever, how good is this guy, great video !

Pat's tomorrow, the no drinking in January is in serious jeopardy,. it feels like Christmas, again, thanks Bob Kraft, Bilkl, TB and every soul on that 53 MAN Roster.

This cracks me up, coming from Matty Doran of Strike It Rich fame (MASS scratch tickets from back in the day) and our friends at Revved Up! This action figure ala Super Troop (James Driscoll's favotire all time mobie. Fam, PGA card 2012, holla!) is a great series. Thanks mr. Doran for the pull. Jet Packs Mutha Fucka's :)!!! we're ready, since the 50's :)

Here's Gem from Dragon's first show, MTV back in the day with the boys. I saw them from the very ground up, they wrote and starred in all these different sketches. JQ on the beats, shocked it was canceled actually take that back, it was so good I'm surprised it was ever green lighted.

And lastly, I bring you, THE BEST SCENE IN BRONX TALE. I ran into this from beg. on treadmill this afternoon, it mitigated a very long time for me to be on that thing. Anyway this scene got me sprinting. And have a night, rest early, heads up, eyes open for kickoff, tomorrow @ 3PM, wow, the New EnglaND PATRIOT'S @ HOME, for the AFC Championship, again. Sleeper call of the day, #85 gets a chance to make a big play, and delivers, for his pop.

Friday, January 20, 2012

The Long Game – President Obama plays chess while Republicans play Checkers. Why He Wins.

Republicans carry this notion that you don’t have to be that smart to hold the office of President Of The United States. You just need the name or come from Hollywood intelligence is not what counts. You have to be able to sell our agenda which sitting at the top is cutting taxes. Do it yourself is big, limited government huge and above all protect the people. With the rapid acceleration and changing face in dire times in the US this important becomes even more important than his first. If John McCain wins which remarkably after the shit show of Bush II, the ruining of our economy, and blowing of the massive surplus he inherited, McCain and Palin almost did! What do you ascertain from that? My dad in hindsight now refers to Bill Clinton as the greatest Republican president there ever was! He says this even though he voted for both Bush and Dole. I voted for Dole, I was young and uneducated. I was spoon fed 80’s finance books, and felt if you wanted to play the part to one-day become rich, you voted Republican. Even though the books when truly evaluated were tragedies, I didn’t see them like that. Wall St. the movie was about seduction, greed and doing the wrong thing. I do what I do today because of that film, so doesn’t my Turkish partner Omer Esiner. And much like us many kids today manning the phones in NYC at say the Royal Bank Of Canada were inspired the same way from the flick, Boiler Room. These are movies about theft and crime, and through a young mans lenses can be taken completely out of context.
Politics is too personal, and not empirical enough by any measure. The single most important thing they can do in the heavy weight 4 or 5 presidential debates is fact check. Each and every time they make a claim or cite a statistic the moderator pauses and they conduct official government statistics rather than say, private independent studies taken by a lobbying group on behalf of a specific candidate / issue. I remember being on a huge back yard in Annapolis with a wonderful family feasting on summer blue crab from their own traps. And the grandmother said to me, that’s what my father said to me, no matter what, you always, always vote Republican. Back to my dad a warm hearted and brilliant man by any educational standards, he doesn’t believe in guns, is not a Christian zealot, doesn’t care for pro life, his biggest thing was Obamacare. Because after all, as he explained it to me, “he’ll look out for his own people.” It’s a funny comment that echoed into minds recollection earlier today on the bus to downtown Washington DC. Not only is that not the case, it’s beyond partisan. And it got me thinking; maybe that’s what the Republicans do. They are elected in office to look after their own. And you thought we were all Americans. I’ve said for months that the Republican Party is outdated, its time has passed, and slowly as a country we’ll recognize this truth. And follow in prevailing ideologies will they. 1 of the best moves Barack did recently was move to shrink the size of government he himself believes it is too big. I just have a hard time with a fact checker present and all to see how any right wing candidate can attack the man.
Think about this: Bush chose to ignore Osama Bin Laden, his eyes swelled on Iraq and I believe to a lesser degree, Iran, the mother load as Cheney famously referred to it’s oil reserves. Fuck oil. Green initiatives are w / out a doubt all about national security. Barack made good on his campaign promise to end the Iraq war in the timeframe he first identified. He hunted Osama rather than ignore the true man responsible for the loss of American lives that fateful day. And when presented with 3 scenarios he, as commander in chief chose the riskiest play. And not only that he did this against the advice of his sec. of defense and his vice president which in the latter administration made all the calls. And, and, in addition he ordered two extra helicopters that Seals said were essential to the capture and killing of public enemy #1. Barack cut off the head and diffused the situation. Bush missed the mark, killed Americans, thousands and swelled the ranks of Al-Queda. Obama mowed down the ranks, and decimated their spirit and ranks. If Bush had done that that he’d be on Mount Rushmore. Double standards exist and I still believe with the birth defect of slavery in this nation, and segregation a generation ago and the civil war just two before that, well, the hate, raw hate he receives is a race thing. People see what they want to see, and if they don’t believe it they’ve probably never been told they can’t eat in a restaurant because the color of his skin. Never have a father in law not believe in you, can’t co sign because of the color of your skin and in spirit of MLK day, not , “the content of your character!” I mean really who wants to see the black man come to the rescue and save the whole country on his back, against all odd’s in America! All the while inheriting the biggest shit show this side of the #2 canal. There’s millions of elderly people that still use the term colored, those were the times. But the truth is, Barack didn’t want to help his people with health care. It was business, costs were skyrocketing enough that a long term trend was firmly in place. It was unsustainable so he took a risk where Carter, Clinton, Roosevelt had failed. And he got it done. Mr. Cool, we picked him to be cool under pressure. After all these are the times that we live. Bush got emotional with Iraq, it’s hard not to. Dick Chaney was probably egging him on the whole time after 9/11, walking past him and whispering, “let’s fucking start bombing people. What’s wrong with you, faster!” So it’s a big election. For him to not have the opportunity to finish what he started would be worse than having never been elected in the first place. So tune in, head up eyes open, here we go. He’s a good horse to back, and these Republicans are so all over the place it hardly builds any faith of playing their hand well, overall, if elected. Did Newt Gingrich really just b get a boost in South Carolina after the Palin endorsement? And a guarantee of a job in the administration. She was probably like, sit this one out, let these guys melt down and lose. I’ll take on old ass Joe Biden by then. But it’s not cast in stone. The funny thing is, and republicans I’m speaking to you as a recovering 1, Barack actual held Bush tax cuts and place, and then lowered even more, the middle class receiving the bulk of these cuts. Wall St, the culprit in this which makes you want to occupy something has been reformed. But it’ll happen again, it always does. And they are doing fine, stock market close to an all time high. Economy is growing again, can’t go backwards. Much love to independents, the heart and soul and new DM’s of American presidential campaigns. CP Chicago, cool. Yeah these guys know what they are doing. PS: Retar Crew, JQ, in DC Feb 17th for a show, they'll be making a radio appearance in DC as well and GDD will be accompanying to bowl at the white house. After all it's a Chicago white house and that's our sister city.

Sons Of Liberty Book I "Legendes." Chapter 1. (my Boo) 11/24/2004

Chapter 1. My Boo (#1 Song in The Country At The Time) Astori, MA. 11/24/2004 That morning I awoke with visions of being home, the YG Foundation and our mothers. The consumption of life that we had always, well consumed, blacked out most of the memories you’d think I’d prefer to remember. Especially first thing in the morning, opening crusty coma eyes, smelling my beer soaked ash tray of attire, I can’t remember a god dam thing. A launch pad for panic. My old favorite phrase behind “deny, deny, deny" was "stop, your giving me panic." Which was true, anyway these “memory lapses” triggered what Matty Doran once coined the Black Out Blues. I’ve never been convicted of a felony I’d repeat this three-times quick, cut up with deep, calmning breaths. My first thought looking around was not in jail, the beg. of this process is always worst case. I definitely wasn’t in jail and breathed the standard sigh of relief. This realization sparked my favorite thing to do, smile which turned absolutely jolly when I realize, I was still wearing, however stank, a black tuxedo. And then I see it, the white silk scarf and became downright delightful. I smirked to myself with that great feeling getting away free in a tux. But what did I do? Bad things didn’t happen to people in tuxedos, right? I felt great joy with myself until the question begged, why am I in a tux? My head flopped back down on the ground as the effort to hold my neck two inches off the ground adjourned. I was still drunk my cranking headache hadn’t had the hours to stabilize. What a zilla. I needed to figure out some details. In mobility that can only be described as Children’s Hospital I lifted my toes (just checking) taking a deep painful breath I shook my fingers and stretched my hand into my pockets. Key’s, wallet, cell phone baby every time I had them all, thank fucking god, happy morning! This was instantly replaced by shortness of breath when I remembered I had flown home back to Boston. Was I in the hood or Astori? Big difference. Why the fuck am I in a tuxedo? These are the black out blues. Reaching my hand into my second pocket and lifting my, what seamed to be bruised thigh, I hit a shuffle of something stuffed in my pant pocket. It’s a picture of a child, and to my hearts warm affiliation, a black child, I hate white people. I laughed unicorns. He must’ve been no older than five, a school photo, shining a smile as big as his future. I’m again calm. Plucking another of my left pockets items, I pull out another shining black school child, a little girl dressed up finely in the good pressed nature of a 1st day. I feel in my pocket and grab what now seems to be a series, looking at the ceiling (ADD) for some amount of time I went blank. Until the questions finally muscled, Where the fuck was I last night? Suddenlly it dawned on me, my tenth year high school re-union. Hell yeah Oh yes, I brought my sister as my date and wore a tuxedo thus fulfilling a solemn promise I had made with my old house master Mr. Larry Robinson after my senior prom. I’d won the bet, we were both out in four years, and his career did what he said it would when we made the bet, but I didn't know that then and I never thought my senior prom when he told Scully to "take care of this 1" would be the last time I'd ever see him. The last time I'd ever seen a man that tied so prominently until my own story. Last night was the final settle of our bet. The white silk scarf that ordained my upper torso was my own special flair. I was the only white kid on earth wrongfully colored. ADD, I then remembered where the night had ended. I remembered the the "Alps" that prolonged greatly the evening, kicking it at Skeeta's, FUCK It hit me, I knew now where I was at.
I was in Amory Blaine's basement my favorite villain, and the worst part? Today was the Turkey Bowl. Dam, dam! My favorite thing to do every year since we first started playing all those years ago, it's signal somehow fell far off my antenna. And it felt unnatural. FUCK. I looked up at the clock and it began to panic! whoa, the night was such an endeavor I knew I’d have trouble convincing Amory to drive me there. Amory Blaine, my partner in excess crystallized a sour moment that spoke volumes to how far I’d fallen as a playmaker in the Turkey Bowl. Judging by this scene we were worse than ever. I was later than ever. FUCK I needed a ride. I got up with the jolt a belief in salvaging something monumental packs. I woke Blaine. He was disgruntled. He couldn’t believe we were actually still playing and I couldn’t believe we were late. Didn’t want to accept the fact that I would probably have to throw up before taking the field, late. “Relax, OK, I know, I know, the fucking Turkey bowl, let me just find the keys to my fathers Jag. You love this shit beaver, this is you!” “Guy, I can’t believe I’m late, Magic’s going to be pissed.” “He’s not even going to care.” “yes he will.” I assuredly whisper “Jesus! My head, beaver I was drop dead faded out of my skull last night, classic, classic night.” Amory just about sets the bar on party extremes, all for the second, that one shallow moment that dissipates in value as age rewards itself to the lucky few. And on the way to the high school football field coasting through Astori, it all came back, innocently just as it always would. It didn’t seem that crazy at the time but then again nor was I. And I was at peace, driving through our most glorious of all American towns, Astori MA far away from my life’s show. And what a story the town itself had, our passing through was just a class in a forever thickening life education. The only constant is change, yes but there was always something about this place I could never come to terms with. And ten years later, I was still shook, the best of the worst. Something that built me up to the greatest height of Utmost Pretention (poem) and at the same time housed me underneath the rats, forever breathed inside me. And it was this mysterious / manic town that was my childhood. A little bit of everything, learn the entire game from the ground up and see where we stack up, be a legend, roll a blunt, tell a story. My whole childhood I just wanted to be what older kids sometimes referred to others in Astori as legend. On our way to the Turkey Bowl a quick drive played thousands of stories that raced memories across my brains digital screen. And then I had panic. The remembrances that were kernel popping in my head from last night's childish heriocs began to clarify quickly like an old Polaroid picture at the height of its era. I bugged, changed the subject and busted some chap with Blaine. There in lies the beauty of ADD. Topic changing. “Last night was fucking great.” I said confidently without memory. “Fucking irately Classic.” Amory Blaine says with the arrogance of someone that once made a kid eat a light bulb on a dare. His tone sent shivers down my spine. The cold air didn’t bother us though. The windows were down on a freezing yet sparkling Boston Thanksgiving cooling out a heavy hangover. “ Classic, I don’t give a fuck!” Amory triumphantly extolled. It was our favorite thing to scream randomly and it was getting old. However short-lived, I needed the energy, Amory couldn’t believe we were awake and filled in the gaps of last nights heroics or maybe Serengeti faults. “Was I the only one in a tuxedo?” I ask urgently “Is that a trick question? Of course! What other retarded person on earth would even attempt that? Jesus! You’re an idiot!” Amory begins slamming the steering wheel raising his boner at my expense.
I was the only one in a tuxedo thus fulfilling a solemn promise I had made with our recently deceased vice principal, Mr. Robinson. Pushing the envelope young carries merit in the long run if you were lucky. Due to my extraordinary disciplinarian issues Mr. Robinson and I had become good friends by the end of this story. And at the very end he gave me a unique confidence. Anyway one day in morning detention, during hoops season freshmen year Mr. Robinson bet me I wouldn’t make it out of Astori high school in four years and I bet him he wouldn’t either. I spoke of tenure and how so many get stuck, why was he different? He laughed and spoke of the miracle that would have to occur to get me out of there on-time. And we made a bet. Anyway I wore the tuxedo in his memory and Mr. Robinson extolled a concentrated posthumanous affection that sponged itself inside my tuxedo. Everyone loved that guy. It was an amazing segway amongst former peers and homage to him. I felt he could see us although after my performance last night I hoped maybe he wasn’t. Mr. Robinson a few years back, primed and on top of his career as a difference maker amongst children joined the list. He wasn’t even fifty. He was a real legend. I could’ve never seen that in the ninth grade. A legend in Astori was my definitive dream. And what a poor dream it was. It meant different things to different people. It was as magnificent as it was diluted. Anyway the tuxedo ten years later was a celebration of that story, and a chance to speak in his memory often. The vintage white silk scarf was of course my only special touch providing a quiet yet enthusiastic nod to Harlem Nights (Eddie Murphy’s directorial debut). And then there were my friends. It was very much like the last scene of Sleepers in the sense that everything had changed except nothing. The entire crew minus the lives we lost together again, one last time. And it happened as a memory. “OK, speed up, there they are!” Turkey Bowl. I pointed to Amory “the fellas!” us as friends, eight on eight, guest invitations and now a record thirty-one fans. Twenty-eight years old, and just looking at the undying competitiveness of us kids grown up made me wish I stopped smoking. I was supposed to be an athlete. Sprinting as fast as my legs could jettison as if somehow our governing counsel of best friends would look past this most severe of all holy offenses and see I still had heart. Therefore I chugged it. The Turkey Bowl was a hollowed and sacred institution that we all bowed before and accepted its importance. And in a crew of egomaniacs particularly as it related to sports, the Turkey Bowl was our last defining barometer of who was on top athletically. And that title made you the man amongst us for an entire year. And it was a great crew to be apart of, UNLV, the firm, the Young Guns, the class of 94. We were still together after all of these years. Twelve very recognizable kids stood together ten years later just as we always said we would. Doing my best impression of Deion Sanders sprinting 40 yards at his personal college combine, heads turn and I pulled a groin. I saw some smiles, a couple frowns, some obligatory kisses and fawning to our 31 fans, and finally Magic shaking his head disgusted giving me two big thumbs down like our old English teacher mr. Meecham. “Sorry Mizz?” “Gay” was his only response before Posquelli pulled my coattails to the pertinent information. Even though I was late there was still a half to play. Skeetah my favorite delinquent, the only person possibly in as bad condition as me came over purple faced, “Dude I’m gonna hurl, pronto!” It was poetry, two years ago, and in the spirit of his annual “boot” I called a famous play. A deshoveled Skeetah walked out of the huddle playing the part. the part being his annual puke. And walking just to the sideline he bluffed the barf, ran free, Magic missed him just long, wide open fly route, great play calling nevertheless. Game over. I sucked in the second half, and if this barometer was bona fide I placed my head in between my arms as I sat on the cold Thanksgiving morning grass. “How the mighty have fallen.” Coach Farias I could hear my old high school basketball coach Roberto Bob Farias, the Big Guy, inside my head. He had said that to me a few years back when I returned to the high school to play with the current team during some fall ball inside the field house. CJ, the teams “Rashad” of the era had put it on me something fierce. Walking off the court a tattered shadow of former glory, CJ (LHS Top #20 all time) turned to me as I was gasping for breath walking towards the water bubbler, “You may a used ta been good.” And shaking his head with the assurance of knowing “but you suck now.”
I had no comment or even response. That never happens. Sitting cold and muddied on my old high school football field swimming in Nike wristbands I was disappointed in myself, again. I instantly had to remind the primary rule for both my sister and self, repsression is underrated dude. “Dude” Monster walks over so happy it’s Thanksgiving and the re cap can began now that the burden of the actual game had passed. He made it out and nothing in his body broke. Every year these days it seemed someone broke something. “what Monster?” “your not good anymore” Laughing and enjoying my non existent stat line. “I know.” On the rarefied tip, I again had no comment. I was baffled and prayed for coping skills. Ten years ago that would’ve been enough to trigger a search for his softest spot and drive away. “your awful.” “Whatever” “I’ve fucked so many more chicks than you dude.” Monster ripped the absolute cliché, Bart eyes. I thought about the positive, my friends. Ten years in the making, this mornings tenth annual Turkey Bowl, our first as a charity was designed around our TB and a Wed night welcome home party I’d cultivated in the Bean over the past few. In some ways the charity was a nod to my Godfather Uncle Clayt whom I missed and many years ago in Johnstown PA had come up with the idea. Like Clayt before me, the TB had become his most prized annual affair. The tragedy of his then early passing was the final push to get my family of friends on board. We’d all gone in wildly different directions, and the transformation from game and party to charitable sacrifice further anchored that sacred and hard to keep together crew of guys you grew up with. Keeping it Together, the first song I ever penned in a 6th grade detetntion. it still incites roaring laughs amonsgt the family to this day. I'll always contend, my vocal chords were changing + I was a very sensitive kid. “Come on Boys group photo.” I knuckled my Gold Newman receiving gloves into the cold and hardened mud rising hesitantly for the photo ops. Stinging loss but dressed in all this Nike amonsgt the Young Guns, I‘ll always smile for the camera. This was going to be the photo of the week in our glorious town paper, The Tricon. Of course my stiff groins, flabby belly line, tired knees, ankles and back made it in my mind more pro – bono work than actual excitement but I still get a softy. I had a life to return to in Washington DC making OK money in one of those “great places to get experience at.” Tomorrow was Sunday. The boys traveling back to their respective new homes far away and some guys traveling up the street, back to homes they never left. All in all survivors would soon be leaving once again the infallibility of what happened here and returning to the banal serenity of an everyday good American life. But none of that mattered. As soon as we were all on that field we were back in the 5th grade and those were the rules that applied. It was brilliance. It’s still America and in our minds, this is what your supposed to do on Thanksgiving. Play a game of football (optional tackle) and then drink beers. Everything had changed on the exterior from Yale to Jail but in the interior everything remained lined tightly as it were. We had a record thrity-one people attend the Turkey Bowl that year. Cameras flashed as smiles naturally appeared across tired faces. “Nice game guy, pretty gay for being late but who cares?” This actually made me feel a hundred times better. My best friend Magic, a childhood nickname stuck. The eternal politician now working eighty hours week on Wall Street said. “I just wanted to make it through.” I responded to Magic who’d just won his 10th straight Turkey Bowl. Magic as local hoop god Lloyd Mumford nicknamed him when we were in the 5th grade. Magic my once archenemy in Junior High turned best friend since Dr. Friedman pointed out the narrow scope of our differences in the 8th grade during a therapy session after anther lunchroom brawl regarding federal taxes. “Thanks Mizz.” I was the biggest punk in the world to him out of habit and I meant it. I always appreciated a compliment from Magic. The perfect best friend, he was right, I was wrong, I was retarded, he was not, he gave the Bart eyes, I got em. “True friends stab you in the front.” Oscar Wilde “You had a pretty OK game too.” I say this begrudgingly because Magic has never lost and every year we draft the teams randomly from names in a hat. It angers me deeply, still, when I lose to Magic, we were once 7-0, the Hayden kids that people joked had their own rooms upstairs at Hayden simply played this exact type of game much more than most, and thus we were always triumphant. The draft was random and fortunes strong wind had connected Magic and I together once seven straight times. But as I slipped away from athletics, and lost speed / SPED status, the draft gods were not going to allow me to be rewarded. Not for the uptown year I’d had, and not on the football field for this bestowed contest amongst my most esteemed and special life long group of friends.
As parents and long ago admirers flock post game snippets can be heard from mock interviews that are conducted amongst the games participants. One of our favorite things to do is interview each other about anything most importantly the Turkey Bowl, pre-post, half, it doesn’t matter we’ll always talk to a fake reporter and someone will almost always pretend to be one. After formalities have been fulfilled the legions file off closing out another chapter in our nascent tradition of Turkey Bowl. Coupled with a tenth year high school reunion and I, like the one and only Skeetah was beat. The keg of beer, which always fortified the field’s north entrance was accosted after formalities were dispensed. This was always our favorite time, the next probably one or two hours, @ most, would be the unquestioned highlight of the holiday, Miller time before Mario's. Usual suspects with a few tweaks dominate the roster of who brings down the keg, Monster, Magic, myself, Scully, Posquelli and Limerick. Calming is the only word to describe this. In a post September 11th world, our country currently at war in Iraq, the fucked forecast of earth’s climate, precarious economy, duel deficits, population growth, oil, lack of alternative energy and terror! All is lost on us here and now. After many beers apiece we have definitely contributed to the lighter density of the keg. This was heaven. Let it all flow and crash back naturally against the barnacles of history’s concrete formed inside your own overworked brain. “Let go Luke and act on instinct.” OB-1 “Let’s carry it, walk around the high school.” Perfect Seeing our breath with no one on the premise was a nice place to afternoon-cap. The field adjacent to the high school has not changed as drastically as its neighboring infrastructure. Our high schools latest make over renders its “get up” entirely different from when we were there.
Maybe the town itself had changed, maybe it was just the town that made it so special. The time of being back there, together in the now living in the past, everyone sponging the thousands of thoughts, images, and of course court cases that came plunging down from the sky. They tumbled over the field house into our parking lot and school. Something about that riding lawnmower accident made me feel invincible. Something about this place didn’t. Walking past our darling C House cafeteria dialogue was flowing like Notorious B.I.G. free styling to a crack beat. Humorously profound and at times utterly cheap we all without saying it content. Just roll with it and spark to life every kernel of synergistic delight that is waiting to pop behind every step. Being aware of my own happiness I was constantly watching the clock. I wanted to it to last forever just like you once believed childhood would. “Got it!” Magic was chuckling while paying a great homage to our fifth grade teacher, Alex Popp who incidentally was the college roommate and basketball teammate of the center of our universe Coach Farias in college. I could see that Magic might get blotchy. Living eternally as if he were ten Magic sometimes gets retard and laughs so hard he explodes in full break out hives. Actual tears flood down his face and his entire frontal mug becomes what we’ve come to define as “blotchy.” Being forever in tune with my best friend he is wearing that same mug that precludes him from radiating retardation. “What?” I just can’t stand it – for when he gets like this I want to be in on it too. A drama student working in the theatre had opened the locked door for us thinking at almost thirty years old, dressed as such, we’re all high school drama students. The ridiculousness of this possibility made us all, in one format or another, become blotchy. “I would fuck so many chicks if I was in high school now.” Monster the last kid of the crew to lose his virginity states aloud. The walls, corridors and face of the schools central artery had changed but it was all still there. Memories burst as long forgotten starlets of information are lit to life for the first time in forever. Soon we get into the crux of the entry to the student parking lot, the basketball gym where we starred, minus one and finally the main hall in G house where we freely flexed our flip nature. Its where are lockers and home base remained for four years, a grand theatre for all of our antics on a centralized stage that received heavy traffic from all diversified angles. We valued the senseless however relentless pursuit of loyalty. Pulling the dumb shit we found strength in our numbers. Ignorance is youth, and youth is bliss, if your good looking. “G House Rough House!” Monster says with the steroid excitement of someone that was once instrumental in random violence against innocent by standers with a duster. “Crenshaw Ave.” Adding the staple and all black section that sat adjacent to our own home base as a click, gang or bunch of white kids that all wore the same hats and protected our interests. Boyz in the Hood was big in 91-92 “Ronnie Lee, special” Magic adds as he looks back at the iconic mural that defined one of the states great basketball D1 programs. Ronnie Lee was once the NBA defensive player of the year and won back-2-back state titles, and yes, his mural on the brick wall that bridged the gym and our lockers was inspirational.
Never will have any regrets. Arriving at the highest concentration of our lockers that the long hall yields, we stopped to take inventory. Stamping his finger into the large plexi-glass, the noise breaks us back into reality. Scully screamed high, halting all reminiscing, “look at that!” “that’s pretty funny” Monster stoically stated followed by a high pitched “oh shit” out of me. Ten years removed from an institution that we transformed, I saw where he was pointing. Scratched into the windows surface and in enormous print, “wow,” we all leisurely smiled. Clearly visible to this day, in this our high school that had undergone such a massive facelift read “CEE 94.” It was the only thing left.
Filling up another stale beer from a red plastic cup I was stunned, focused and cracked a personal chuckle for better or for worse was the spirit in which it cracked. Staring intently into the surface I forget about current life and thought about my story, how it all happened. How it all started with that tractor lawnmower accident. And what that meant on this day on that plexi glass window. Nothing to anyone but everything to me. Drifting away to where all roads end, I sought closure. Astori was a place that bequeathed on me a wisdom that only its frantic teenage insurgency could unmask. A place where new money met old money met no money. The most amazing high school story I’ve ever heard. “CEE” 94” the gods couldn’t let it come down. It meant something. “Yo Kim I ain’t going to leave without saying something on this track.” Left Eye Young Guns.
Hoop Dreams deferred until we got a chance to come back, and film a doc. coming in 2012 on LHS basketball. Check a snippet below, we get it done.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

White House _IGGAS (POstell Pringle - Retar Crew Member)

GDD making a living on sharing the best youtubes under 1K views on the web. We'll change that here. PO member of the REtar Crew, Broadway stage actor, writer and MC. I heard this track in the Q brothers studio a year ago this week. During that session I hit them both with the classic track, "YWETLL" you won't eat that light bulb, the peer pressure joint. Anyway Postell, hit me with this, and I was proud, the great artists transcend. The best music comes from the worst times, economically speaking. Chuck the TV, and start your own thing, thanks POs, JO on the production, and long live Eddie Murphy from the 80's. and red, and blue leather coats, tight

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

2 Live & Die in LA (part II of a II part series)

GDD, LA Weekend Part II. OK, beach weekend, know this, Charlie Paradise always gets his tan. And seeking out future HQ’s Santa Monica praying for Summerland we also met with our newest correspondent Charlie’s noted Uncle, Joey as in Holiday. JOey Holiday they call him Mr. Christmas and Joey bag of doughnuts although most people don't call him that anymore. And he made millions selling cars outside of Detroit in Farmington Hills. He’s now been endorsed, we met, and all in all it was a great weekend in Southern Cal. I'll say this if I knew the illest horse track in America (Santa Anita, anything beg w / Santa in So Cal is ill) was 5 minutes from my grandma in law, half the rehearsal dinner would've agitated that warm concrete for live gaming. In Revere (Boston) they race Donkey's, it's like a waiting line to the glue factory. Out here in the majestic mountain range of San Gabriel, they race stallions. Here's a pic of Summer Crush attending her first races this past 1.
Disclaimer, I always become ADD enamored kicking it in LALA thinking only, how different it is than Boston. Not only in topography but culture and ideals. THE CONSTANT SUN and low humidity breeds patience, cultivates a culture to be figured out, all on your own! And that's at the heart of the growing up differences Boston vs. LA. And it's good and bad, I think. I could tell the Pasadena table, I’d quit my job due to, well, just no longer finding it interesting. I quit, the recession and pasky bills were holding me back from what I always knew was my true, red, white and blue calling, mdoel war sets, big ones, civil war only. And so I quit my 11 year career and tackled my true hobby re building miniature civil war SETS in our tiny manicured back lawn. ATENVILLE, GETTYYSBURG, what’s his names march, which NatGeo did a must civil war chronicle of, recently, whatever. I think, just thinking now, I can really get behind it. A teenage tattoo might break the entire family up in Boston, in LA it always will be what it may be, wait, what? And while there is a chuckle when I think about the obsessed Boston hockey dad, look I don’t know. A kid does need some direction but at the same time who knows. I know I needed direction, once, for an hour. At the center of this whole discussion is the ocean, the Pacific. And there is nothing like a California sunset.
And if that doesn't chill out the "ma burn the fucking pizza !" in the plate chucking East coast upheavel than nothing could. I quote Jim Morrison, "we're changing the world out here in California, yeah!, all-right!" Peering out over this spectacle I was not mad at the people that thought the earth was flat for centuries and lynched the craziness that would suggest other wise. It made sense to me, the shit is flat, what are you fucking blind guy, look, flat. The sun, man oh man, just watching that bitch deep its buttocks slowly down into the water of our visions peripheries, then disappearing? These dudes probably just assumed because there was no Google back then and they didn't understand gravity (Vote down Sopha) that the sun went up and down, knowing inherently it's regiment i.e. when to “cool it.” Great teachers rip from the 70’s, “you better cool it Mr. Johnson, your friends won’t think you’re too cool when you sit with me till five this evening and watch as I correct the whole classes term papers.” Can you see her, the chain to her glasses as they fall beneath her lids? But the beach, the waves, mountains, palm trees and lush vegetation, things simply roll off you. It offers perspective in it’s being, alive is a little perspective, you like how I just Yoda'd that? Because that shit is beautiful, so, we’ll see, I ‘m going to see if I can convince my hire up’s to HQ us out there. Especially after THE BASKETBALL DOC. DROPS. I’ve asked to do narration and wasn’t shot down, it’s because I was confident, and an executive producer. It's great being an adult. Which brings me to the GorillaDunk Daily quote of the day, "One should always play fair when one holds the winning cards." Oscar Wilde, my favorite quoter of memorable quotes, by far, don't let school get in the way of your education son. I love sunglasses, I love the ocean, but dam, I love DC. Happy belated MLK day everyone, weekend, you know we rep the MLK all day long even though we’re more black panther on the ideology tip here at the Gorilla. I hope you watched the Natgeo clip we posted of the Montana mountain man, Casey Anderson this dude might be the next Caesar on the Grizzly whisperer tip. Cali is nature. East coast kids roll out here, easy to get ahead. Safety tip: Don’t surf; your career will be done for. We headed to the Habana Café in Malibu, one of the only outside investments outside of itself that GDD has on it’s books. Dope place, Malibu, the script writes itself, big shout to Mr. Mark Lavalle, Lexington legend soon to be profiled that has been crushing the bar / restaurant thing. Gorilla Dunk friends that you grew up with picture of the month. Snippet. Mark and Ethan were best friends growing up. Mark got into the entertainment, restaurant fashion game. And Ethan won Survivor back when it was Survivor. And Mark has been lacing us up since we were kids. I only remember the LexPress buses in town, I love Mark Lavalle in black marker, a heart and an arrow. And it was great advertising. And he blew up early and still and he didn't go to college, holla! Look at these two cuteybagoodies. Check out Ethan Zohn's story, married another Survivor winner. Did amazing and charitable things with his winnings. Is now fighting cancer a second time. Truly a Son of Liberty Lexington legend but American hero. They use to call him Mr. Zero in high school, he was the goalkeeper on a nationally ranked squad back in 1991.
LA: COnt. I think it would be hard to live out there not being involved in the business that would be fun. Summer’s grandmother went to Revere High in Boston, so I just love that lady. Tan is here, much love to the mild month knock on wood so far. 2012, stay focused on your year, shit is going to be ill. Oh EURO what will you do? Look for more postings and content now that we’re all back home. Here's a picture of the YG current HQ's outwest located of course in Malibu bitches, the lumber yard, Habana b eeee atch. Mark's finally got a joint, monster's older brother always doing us right for since crazy kids.
And one more for my people locked up!
Check out this paparazzi shot of our friends Katie and Calvin joining us for lunch in Malibu. Now is this little Mime Prensky in the background, 1) getting on a fast legend track and hoisting the #1? Or is he actually back flipping uis in the face and giving the Loser?
And poolside at Pasadena, @ my long lost Grandma's crib by the horse track.
And leaving Mabu hahahaha
Falling Down
And the local (burp) news at the bar pre flight home.
And our long running crank it! series, in the spirit of cal a forn ya A, here's today track, an d crank it! Top three songs when the kids! kick the chorus at beg or end. Pink Floyd, The Wall Nas: I know I can and this Back in DC, and our regular programming, peace 2 the city of light. And check out Natgeo, follow amazing pictures to the worlds best source of content, National Geographic instagram@natgeochannel Next trip. Feb. Lex Hoops movie , full week in the studio, same team no games, holla Next Up. Markey Mark PS: Jackson 5 song of the year, we used to run out of the tunnel in high school into the tap drill. My idea, Chucky P aka the Dream, study up, crank it!