Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
The good thing about America is you can fight and can create.
You can fight for the path your heart leads you down. And it's magic, don't get too down, sportscenter plug of the night, Plaxico still wants to fly, this time as a bird and not a plane. Those guys got so good at that shit.
Much love to the team and tomorrow, the Broadway play. After I'm done with this I'm a write a black updated Annie for Broadway and send the script to Jigga for Ivy Blue to lock in.
Speaking of the Lexington Basketball movie, it's been a cathartic adventure. And for us, this is keeping it real on an upteenth level. In a way it helped me overcome my own LHS Hoop dreams, Stretch busted his knee day 1 our best friend, starting forward died in April, we went 12-5, no league title after 3 straight and eight out of nine. It was n't suppossed to be us. We were suppossed to win a state title. We lost 13 feet in our starting court, still hashed out a 12-5 record. Prior to my senior year, I was 40-5 over two seasons. Anyway following these kids with a camera and clocking 300 + hours of footage was a unique experience. And re-connecting with my old mentor and coach was priceless. The nightmares are finally gone. Now if I can finish the book it all we finally be in context and with me in a good way. Some pics from the sessions.
We also went and tracked down TH and Sean both of whom were now seniors ironically still playing together at the college level @ Fitchburg State. And we had pizza with them afterwards (Papa Gino's bitches!) just like the old Alexanders days we spent with, high school for them, 30's for us. And it was the right place to be, incredible to see the transition from boy to man especially Seany. I remember when he was born. If ever a kikd grew up lexington basketball, he was that kid. Anyway it was senior night @ Fitchburg State. We got some end footage from our own movie, and Karen Sullivan had an awesome senior sign we took a picture of.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
And there goes one of the all time shots in Lexington high home game history. Please just forward to the end of 32:30.
And what a great substitution by the Big Guy. You can see Mike Walker check in with under twenty seconds left in the half and Trevor Williams on the line. I remember being in the latrine directly after, halftime, the old boys bathroom, and hearing Charlie DeGoug's saying, "We'll be talking about that at our 20 year re-union!" To the guy next to him, I was eleven. It was awesome, but one of the great, great mystery's in life, did this shot actually go in?
Watch it, if you can, again and in slow motion. Did this ball actually go in or was it a gift from the ghosts of Lexington basketball's past?
Let us know what you think.
CP Brought to you by Gorilla Dunk Productions, the team behind, Where The Defense Began. A Documentary Film. Coming 2012........
Friday, February 24, 2012
mix tape circuit for our film Where The Defense Began.
I flew home for some final footage and to take in senior night 2012. Post Coach Farias, the new coach looked like a kid coaching in the Hayden league's. he appeared grossly underqualified. And they have the tallest front court in the league. AND THEY DIDN'T WIN THE MIDDLESEX LEAGUE TITLE, a once birthright. Instead, they LOST SEVEN GAMES.
With a college sized front court and tradition rarely matched state wide, the old guard would've had this team running maybe one loss. Senior night, the stands were empty, and most disturbing, the gym was cold. But this wasn't now, this was then, this was 88 another year in the program. And it's gone. Nothing lasts forever, but we intend to at least make it right, at least put it down, what we had, what was lost on film.
The crowd was empty, the gym was cold, they played zone, and admission was free, and there were no concessions.
Just to re-cap, we film the entire 06-07 season which incidentally was Coach Farias's first undefeated regular season. A season in which he bagged his 500th win, the Minuteman ran off forty plus straight Middlesex League games capping a staggering six year run that left the Minutemen 129-8 the last six years and the gym was always stuffed. The year we came back, it was just like how we left it. And that say's something. The world had changed so much, not inside that gym on Tuesday and Friday night's though. God forbid, a home state tournament game, which the above footage is.
Anyway in one year the new coach playing zone in the cold gym with no fans or admission loses as many in one that they had in the prior 6.
Anyway our cameras left in 07' to louder cry's of parents inside a new administration meanwhile his grandson, the Justin Bieber look alike Matty Langone becomes terminally ill with a rare form of childhood cancer. If your familiar with this, I assure you are not familiar enough. During that time, after the season and following his grandson's passing, this new administration forces the man's resignation at his weakest moment.
And if we believe like stories exploding across the country of this "trophy" generation, the SuperIntendant got involved passed down the order to the 33 year old AD who rolled over and handed the job to the an unqualified former college peer of hers she attended Tufts University with. A biology teacher who was already working at the high school, easy, breezy Reggie something.
Coach Brinklow's 14 years of service are thrown out the collective window, we haven't won a Middlesex League title since, the gym is empty on game nights, the gym is cold on game nights and no one it appears cares one bit and i think it's because everyone is gone.
Coach Brinklow bounced out, Coach Smith heads home to NY, Coach Allen gone. Matty Langone gone, Mrs Brinklow too and the one guy and his loving wife that did so much for me as a student athlete and zilla head nut are dealing with the puncture this school committee indented late in their lives.
Never had a farewell tour, never a nod of thanks or gratitude, no hall of fame, no reminders within the school or it's corridors of the man's giant thumbprint he left on that gym, program and the town itself. It's shameful, and all involved should feel a twinge of that. What boggles me, is how, inside a town of Lexington, obsessed with rules and due process does process suddenly disappear? Look at those bleachers in this game, look at those bleachers, that's why I played basketball. It inspired me. And that's how it always was, why did they ever cut the stands in half? And I was fortunate it was still like it appears here when I played. 88 was especially electric. And I'd never be alone again, Coach Farias was right, Rollie what we called the basketball as kids was one friend that never left your side.
Coming in 2012, Where The Defense Began. The 2006-7 season in full documentary format and high definition.
And thanks to the mizzle, we diggen in those crates. enjoy.... By the way there is a Lloyd dunk in the first five minutes. And how sick was this 88 team? Smooth games all around, cool ass time. The M & M Brothers, all - in, and much love. Charlie Paradise PS: We do miss the 4th Q of this which arrived the best highlight of the game and as usual it came from the crowd. The BC High crowd tired of getting spanked on the court and in the chant war, which I was obsessed with hit us with, "we're going to College." Poking a cruel and slightly racist chant to off set the demolition. But the LHS students just rolled off the toungue, "we're getting scholarships" in thunders five claps. They were beaten, like Vadar says to Luke at the end of Empire. whoo Question: Can the M & M brothers come back and coach? Rocky 5 this bitch.
As you know the Retar Crew STORMED our nation's capitol this past Thursday. It was vinyle, it was vintage and it was victorious. The long awaited post is here, and here, dear, is a quick clip of the talented crew arriving befoer their show and white house visit that Friday. I was along for it all. They arrive!
This is the type of clip which equates to a fans dream , just kicking it at your pad with your favorite musicians.
4 Mikes . This next clip is hilarious and goes to the very heart and soul of our beloved Re-Tar's. Ok, so the spot, the Marx cafe, a venue JQ sold on the fly, a venue i don't think was every prepared for this type of act. We had 50 people there, and wham, first crisis hits, the spot only has 1 mike, shit! It's a 4 man act, what to do? GQ was steamed, I tried to keep it positive thinking they played a liquor store over my bachelor weekend in Chi, couldn't have been worse than that, right? However as you'll hear, even at the Liquor store they had 4 fucking mikes.
And with 1 mike there would be no show. So what do you do in a situation like this? I was in the Retar huddle and as panic set in, the first star, and at times, strongest drunk, stepped up. In a crew everyone proves their mantle on certain days and in a variety of ways. And GQ shined, he picked up the mike, and made a plea to the crowd. Hey Ya'll my name is GQ from the Retar Crew, yo we're so happy to be here and want to perform for you but listen the marz cafe only has one mike, so we need your help, if anyone lives close or.... And so it went, and, snap of the fingers, just like that, a kid had a mike in his trunk, a girl had a boyfriend 2 blocks away that is a musician. A half hour later, and boom! We were back, problem solved and we had this.... And with that a show went off and later a great night slept, we needed some rest, the next day we were bowling at the White House. CP Da Realest
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Click on title to read article.
From left, Anthony Palmeri, Kory Fogarty, Cyrus Baker, and Mike Giaconia of the Red Jacket boys varsity basketball team wear shirts that say "Bring Em Back", on front, and "Miles", on the back, before their game against Harley-Allendale, in reference to the head coach being let go.
By Charlie Paradise.
Another day, another succesful and tough head coach run out of town by an angry mother. The parents that use my broker phone technique of going over a controller's head that isn't interested in what I'm selling, it works. These parents of a suspended player go right to the SuperIntendant. What an awful lesson. The kid platys and they fire the coach. If it didn't just happen to my own high school basketball coach, an amazing coach and man to say the least I wouldn't be so charged. The comments under this article are bountiful to say the least. Here's why the parents are WRONG.
Please read this article in toto first.
Here's the deal, the parent makes a comment at the end of the article and talks about 1 dumb mistake, he's just a kid and should not have his memories robbed. Does this sound familar? Does this resonate with you? Because that's the argument, and it's the only argument. And here's why this is exactly the wrong response however understandable. And as always I will make this point digging out a story of my past.
Briefly: I was 14, on a bikepath with a couple buddies. Blonde girl jogs past us, 1 of said Buddy's grabs her between the legs for a moment in time she jogged past. Also this was a girl that had them kicked off the town bus just the day before. She had been violated, she fell, cried and jogged to the police station as we walked back to my house. That evening I was summoned to the police station, they spoke of a rape charge, and when I went to my usual and only denial defense, I became privvy to a new term, Guilt By Assocation.
The thought I could be in grave trouble having done nothing inappropriate was a shock to my system. And my father had been warning me about it already for years. Guilt by association. Fast forward: 2009, I get a call from an attorney asking me about this incident on a Lexington bikepath back in the spring of 1991, how crazy is that? Said buddy was unable to bring his new born baby back from South America, they were not yet married, and even today remains marrerd in litigation missing all those "firsts" trying to his girl and daughter back in the country. The reason? Sexual offender. So I asked the attorney, we were kids! I thought Juvanile records were sealed?!
His response, "Not when it comes to immigration issues they're not." And I just couldn't believe it. I sat stunned because all's I could hear was my father's voice so many years ago, "Don't be an asshole." "watch out who you hang out with." "one bad decision today could fuck up your whole life."
And it's so true. 17 years ago, and it came back. The past never goes away. Ok, this head coach had a rule in place, go to a party with booze and be suspended for a game. The kid violated it, got caught, you miss a game. He got caught. And these rules are in place because kids are stupid, stupid accidents happen, kids are vulnrable and all's it takes is one night, one wrong moment in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Without the lessons stemming from the consequences of breaking the rules we do a disservice to our future. Sure you could forgive it and spit in the face of the young dead seldomly brought up in these conversations. It sucks you missed a game, and it sucks it was the playoff's, tournament time. But also you violated a rule, a team rule, you knew it, broke it and got caught. Just like the coach said in the article, the SuperIntendant should not even been involved in that conversation between player and coach.
And that's an instrumental teaching device. A team code. It keeps the others in line when a consequence is handed down after an infrastructure of team code. You know why it's good? Because there are rules, so many rules, life does not get easier, there are no excuses to your boss, calls from mother to bosses when the other kid got handed the big account because you missed a day sleeping in a heavy hangover. The past never goes away, and same for the rules. Childhood is fraught with potholes. Kids need discipline and respect, and it still might not be enough. The bottom line is you are a kid, and that's why there are rules. There are consequences to everything you do, the choices you make today shape tomorrow, it's as true as it is cliche. It's not about fair, it's about life. This kid, and this kid's mom really stink the room today here at GDD. Childhood is serious business and must be treated as such if you hope to not only come out of it, but also make a meaningful contribution to your family and country, a country that needs it but increasingly with these types of stories will be more and more devoid of this critical spice when boiled and caught gives birth to captains and leaders. The last point for the mother is that all your are doing here is putting an enormity of importance on a basketball game. It's not the right lesson and these trophy parents can't have it both ways. ******************************************************************************************* I recently attended a Lexington Basketball game and the magic was gone, 45 years down the drain. They played zone, and if you don't know, you don't know.
i think the more you pay in property taxes the more the parents can cry themselves the end result they seek. In our case if Coach farias of lexington had spent his 30 year career teaching and coaching in a less to do, a tougher town, say, Waltham, they;'d have built a statue of the man.
Money is a funny thing, and stories like this drive down property values weather the bulbble you live in allows you to understand this or not. You know in 1988, Coach farias sacrificed a state title and chucked 3 kids off an amazing, amazing squad that year. And he could'ev kept them obn, and they would've won, but he had old school principals. And it was back then, and the kids in question had been in trouble, and guess what? There houses didn't have 3 car garages.
I will bring to light the travesty of Lexington, the only remaining fabric of the old world of lexington basketball, the last man standing was 50/50 raffle man, harry laye, and he was recovering from a stroke, in a wheelchair. God, it was nice to reflect and sad to look up.
The crowd was empty, the gym was cold, you read that? The gym was cold. GDD has been on hiatus spening the last 100 hours in an editing studio making our movie, which documeted an end of an era....
Stay tuned, and never, ever, rat on your friends.
What no one realizes here is that the kids, ultimately are running the show, exuding more power than ever, in an America clearly slipping off it's high's. We must realize this, we must get tough again.
We 're doing our part, please stay here for updates, and we'll give you the heads up for the limited opening back in Boston as we quickly approach this summer.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
10PM. Marx Cafe, Washington DC. My favorite JQ from their original TV show back in the early part of this decade, Scratch and Burn. Fraction Jackson, crank it !!!!!!! And yes, they wrote, starred and did all the music for the run.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Another gem from our boy Dragon, the man that brought you 1 Line on the Saprono's, crank it !!!!!!!!!!!!!! Draghon we been killen them fo years my slice of holmes.
Happy Digital Wed Underrgound, humpty, hump..
And tomorrow nifght in DC, Retar Crew, to quote yet again the man of this post, it's on like Dijon!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
“Where should we park?” Porsche asked my sister Brooke which by the sound of her tone was a gigantic question. “Over there, I think?” My sister muttered to the finish line of her response, devoid of conviction before continuing “No, right there, wait, maybe?” Porsche responded, “not by G housers Brooke.” “Wait who do you thinks hotter, Seth or Brendan, seriously?” “Ethan is seriously so much way hotter than both of them.”
The girls were always talking about boys. “Totally!” Porsche high fived in true 90210 fashion my sister. Wheezer was blasting. It was deafening and giving me panic. I looked at Magic he was soaking it all in as we rolled into the mouth of our new lives. In fascinating alignment we see the student parking deployed in all of its rugged decadence. I realize I was probably over dressed instinctively hiding the cane under my legs. This was it. I don’t give a fuck Sprawls of good-looking clicks sauntered about looking to be seen and or preying on victims. The upper class guys were dressed in what appeared to be pajamas.
Anyway we’d heard too many stories at Upper Hayden about classic things that happened in this parking lot not to be excited. I was involved. “This is sick.” Magic was content. “I know.” The only response I could come up with. We had waited for our first day of high school like parents anticipate grandchildren. We had skills. I was about to go crazy.
“Mike look! Peri, there he is, chilling the man.” Peri knew both Magic and I, he was a basketball captain and legit prospect. Peri was six three, point guard, handled the ball on a sleepy string with great instincts. He knocked down deadly eighteen-footers and was a scoring machine. We watched him kill kids in Junior High and when he was a Sophomore. he started. This was a rarity next to our idol and then senior Lloyd "Lizz" who was a Mcdonalds All American. And Peri had game. And he was the man.
“Wow.” I was day dreaming out loud. “Look at that rack!” But I couldn’t, I had to make a decision on the cane. I could tell Magic was happy with his dressing strategy. “I might not be able to walk into high school for the first time with you if your really going to take that cane out of this jeep.” “Yeah.” I respond drifting like I’d just taken a muscle relaxant. Now I was definitely going pull it out and strut. “Carl we’re about to park, remember what we talked about.” Brooke floated back a stern look of cool affection.
“People will like you Carl if you don’t show off so much.” Brooke flaming the fans of my own insecurity right before we exit our module was the first mistake. Girls that actually spoke to me like Porsche and my sister always pleaded with me to tone it down. My best girl E Double from 3rd grade at Hastings never said it though. She was my biggest fan. She wanted Showtime with a blistering, catastrophic anger. I can’t believe Brooke said that in front of MAgic and Porsche “Yeah she’s right buddy, you want to keep riding in with us right? And don’t act so black, I mean a little is OK, but you go overboard.” “Porsche fuck you, you’re a loser here just like Junior High.”
“your in store for a big wake up call Carl!” “Fuck you ho and fuck guitars” ”You’re going to fail here kiddo.” ”That’s it!” I was done. I grabbed my cane; fuck it and jumped out the jeep. Porsche held her hand to her mouth like a southern women sneezing politely, “oh my god this is like what I was totally afraid of.” “By Carl.” My sister slammed the jeeps small door. “What’s up Mike?” But before I even look over he had walked away. With my cane in tow and new Adidas Carolina blue Adidas Sky Jackers with the powder blue slips, I was all of a sudden alone on the really tip. Reverting back to the animalistic detail that separated and defined me in many ways I climbed on top of Porsche’s Jeep (which I now wanted to key) and smiled, “Yeah boy! What’s up high -”
Instantly I was harshly interrupted by a bunch of nearby coffee drinking braided belt wearing pajama rocking senior football players, I didn’t think they started. Abjectly I looked down while contemplating my abjuration for I’ve never to this day had an affair with braided belts.
Everyone had a soft spots and “wiga” was mine. If Magic was my best friend, Lamont was my brother. I’d watched the civil war films with my father after my accident. And Lamont gave me not only a brother from Dorchester but also a unique lense in which to see a very difficult reality continually absorbed. A reality that spawned a hundred questions that no one it seemed carried the confidence to honestly address. The guys in Pajama’s and or jeans with braided belts and Doc Maarten’s, they were racists. I’d hear them in the Hayden locker-room. And kids are kids and kids are like that but the legends we honored never were racist. And my heart was again pounding, a massive amount of adrenaline made eye contact, “what?” “Ha, ha, ha Carl fucking Easton in high school. He’s a (pause for game show effect) Wiga look at the fucking cane! Go home you retard!” “Fucken Wiga.” Another voice another chuckle. “Carl Easton, keep talken wiga!” Everyone lost it right away after that. And in fairness it was a relatively just off the press type of term at that point. My heart sunk.
I knew the last voice right away. Tyler Hodgkin. I know his fat mom too. He was wearing the aforementioned skids and Bart Simpson T-Shirt. Guys and girls laugh alike as the spotlight expanded. I was nervous and needed to get angry. I hate rich kids. I hate white people. And suddenly I was there. I could play comedy. “Hey Tyler, your weight belt at Hayden has fake girls in bikini’s on it, you have no neck and walk around with your arms out like you haven’t showered since the last bench press you benchwarmer!” I’d crossed the line, his eyes dropped down and towards each other, he was shocked, “What did you fucking say to me punk?” “Look at how fat your chin is boy!” I got my first high school crowd laugh. That was big. I was turning this thing around. “Yo, I see your mom and shit at the skating rink and her body isn’t medium it’s fucken large G!” A small and growing chuckle ensued. “Hey everyone look at Tyler’s gay champion sweatshirt and faggy braided belt! I only wear Adidas people!”
As I jumped back off the Jeep Tyler and two of his buddies accompany him to stomp out this public threat and retain the faith in there average upper class images on the very first day of their senior year. As a freshmen with theses clowns, I thought to myself, I have nothing to lose. After all there were hot girls with big boobs, bank accounts and zilla like tendencies everywhere watching, high school in Astori. They were probably wearing black sunglasses with curvy white signatures in the corner as well. I don’t give a fuck In the moment, I’m ready, it was a fast market and I now had the jitters. I forgot my books fuck
I laughed at ADD. I grinned slyly. I shrugged my shoulders. Suddenly Tyler stepped on my brand new Carolina blue Adidas Sky Jacker with the blue slips shaking his head and lightly salivating. Pointing his finger directly into my bone dominated nose his spit was crystal clear, “I’ll fucking break you in two. You little dysfunctional spaz.” As his friends laughed, I began mentally preparing my next statement. It’s just a movie. “Yo, I can see like you being mad n shit that I being a freshman gets up and just starts screaming stupid shit. I’m sorry yo. I had a rough morning with the family, you know.” I hit him so lightly on the shoulder, “ And I have bad ADD yo.” If you build it, it will come.
Miraculously no one had verbally intervened and I became pumped that an audience of this magnitude remained quiet while I spoke. Silence persisted another four seconds until I softly uttered, “Yo MO, Tyler, I was serious about what I said though?” Tyler responded tough cutting threw the cluttered silence. “What’s that?” A deep breath “your mom,” my voice slowly rising to a scream “has a serious fucking weight problem!” Immediately Tyler that of superior height and strength hang 10’d me with a double fist strangle lock. Oh fuck I was fucked, and boy was he angry. You could see it in his neck veins people were loving it. My face turned purple. I dropped my cane. I can’t breathe. Help Jesus. It was scary. Laughter was the only audio playing. Different colors appeared, hundreds of tears flowed down my face. I can’t breath. I can breath. I see Security. I was dropped. I was inhaling air so fast and furiously because air tasted so good on my gums. Better than oranges at halftime of youth soccer games on hot summer days. I lay feebly all alone on my knees emotionally shaken. I’m OK. I finally tune back into the real world. Anger rallied me to my feet and I quickly felt for the small butterfly knife I tucked inside my jeans this morning for a situation just like this. My first thought was to run up and put two-thirds of that blade in the back of his neck. Then I would feel better. I carry a “doink” to school because I’m an aspiring rap star. TR was so shocked the first time he saw that knife Freshman year. “Ain’t no half steppen” I’d tell him in all seriousness.
As I watched Tyler high five his dimwitted running mates a newly instated student parking lot security guard wanted answers. “What the hells the problem here kid?” I couldn’t believe that toy boy / women was actually asking belligerently what had happened with me when the true felons were just seconds away! “Yo, just step away cracka.” I love callen white people crackers I wiped the last tear from my eye, heard the bell ring, regrouped and thought, “dam.” Also I’m thinking that if my mother had ever just witnessed how I just acted during my first thirty seconds of high school? That might’ve been it. I promised her on my grave this morning that I would be good this year, a whole new Carl I’ve moderately breached. An older girl walked by and I shouted, “yo Erica!” She stopped and thankfully responded, “yes Carl?” I seriously counter with terse quickness. “Yo chunks where am I supposed to go yo?” I was trying to regain my toughness on a fat girl that was friends with my sister in the 4th grade. “Homeroom loser.” She flew around and walked away trying to look mad at me. I wonder what that snotty little face would look like with moms Kawasaki high speed massager between her legs.
I straightened my shirt, which was dope, picked up my cane, turned my chain, pull downed my jeans, and headed towards homeroom pissed. My head was down and shaking from side to side in unison with my strut. It may look funny to some but I warn everyone I will do something stupid to you for my rap career.
And GDD Song of the Day, rest in peace NateDog, a classic.
From our house band the Retar Crew. And this is some JQ soloist, see the rest of the Retar's and there own personal ode's below...
PO and Weezy...
And of course their smash performance at the Double Door I personally filmed. Fuck me if it's all the same because I forgot my boom mike. But you get the gist, check em out tonight in Brooklyn, the Retar Crew Valentine's Day's shows rule the world! And check us out Thursday night in DC at Marx cafe, Fri in Annapolis. And stay tuned for live footage of our bowl off Friday afternoon at the White House. Who do you know like us.....
And continious big shout's to Kate Upton, we;'ve loved you here @ GDD from the start, and now you are the cover girl for the SZI swimsuit issue. Smart move SI, way to go KU. You are, stand by got toungue tied
This is a gem, Jackon murders his verse, he's the really white dude. A great track from an ill crew, my favorite is when JQ laments on his / 3rd verse, "Fuck running shoes" before asking, "why they gotta be so ugly?"
Stay tuned for our new website aimed at our hometown of Lexington MA. Also we'll have a Super Bowl Champ in the house Thursday, look for some footage of us all bowling at the white house Friday. With these assholes.
I'm hoping to make some major announcements by the end of the month regarding our basketball movie, and no m,atter what, it's still early people. Keep that energy high, make it a great fucking year, 2012, h-h-h-h-holl A!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
The #1 Song In the Country @ the time: Sweet Sensation, Sept 9th, 1990
The first and last day of grade school, junior high, High school and college are all highly regarded events for young parents with cute little kids. Anticipation, crisp fall air and possibility. Dreams intact bound hope to chance, tied preparation to progression all before reality robbed many of their courage Before we kids ruined everything there was hope.
The first day of first grade in elementary school for almost every parent in all of America is quality. Of course it doesn’t always last but at least on that first day of the first grade everyone was batting a thousand. Inside America say in Washington DC more than half of the kids that you start grade 1 with will never see the end of high school. Another large segment will never see college. And half of those kids won’t see their kid’s own graduation from a higher institution of learning. Of course if you were black and a product of the inner city these numbers skyrocket. In Astori it was just accepted that everyone matriculated unless as aforementioned you were black. Those were just the numbers although the METCO program had a solid record of placing students in college they just not my friends.
Understanding my own behavior and how quickly once promising school years typically soured, my parents always celebrated the brief moment of delinquent celibacy, I hadn’t a blemish on my years record. It was just like opening day of baseball. So much hope at Fenway Park for that first matinee. And it was the same for my school year. I hadn’t won a game but I hadn’t lost. Just like the phony pony pictures of the curtain family’s in the towns paper.
Throw in our next store seemingly perfect sisters Mercedes, Porsche and their brother John and on Dogwood drive, at least for that morning, the illusion had become real. After kick saving my Junior High career so late in the game my mother had a wide range of new concerns and serious doubts.
Junior High Flashback: “College?” She says it like Jim Mora while coaching the Colts in his classic sound bite, “Playoff’s?” “College, College.” Laughing to herself at the prospects before tossing out, “Carl your probably going to wind up serving prison time.” That would always get a good laugh out of her, my sister and father.
My mother was always supportive on the camera heavy first day of now high school. However just last night she’d mentioned how she had racked her brain fives hours yesterday and couldn’t think of one instance in my life where I had sat still. New clothes, your best gear, day one all on display, high school, the biggest deal yet in my life. I still had braces. I promised myself last night that toning it down was in our best interest. However looking down at my cane, new sneakers and skinny gold chain I stole from my sister five minutes ago it didn’t appear this was happening.
“Now Carl what is the very first thing your going to do when you get to school today?” My mother says gently but diligent seriously like a citizen of the world with a military background. And she said it in front of my three sisters Dana, Mercedes and Porsche, which made it the worst. We were all a year apart. Exhausted by the fact that we’ve gone over this a hundred times I’d muffle, “introduce myself to the nurse, tell her I’ll be back at noon.” “And make eye contact.” My dad dripped on eye contact for emphasis.
“Right Carl! That’s a good boy, wait, why the hell are you carrying a cane, your not going to school with that.” “Ma, my ankle hurts, basketball is my life, you can never be too cautious, it’s my career we’re talking about.” “I don’t know.” She rubbed her fingers together, suspicious. The cane had crashed her brain. During moments like that she knew in her quickest and deepest calculations it was a system crasher better to just move on and kick save the big first day. A Tuesday in the winter and we’d have something to talk about. Not on the first day. “Ok, whatever, give mommy a kiss, make me proud kiddo.”
So jolted by the dynamite fuel which is the end of my mothers first day of questioning I hug her off of her feet exclaiming sincerely “I love you! I’m going to knock em dead.” My dad looked over like a coach skeptically overseeing a young athlete getting ahead of himself “One day at a time bunky” he said with his hand on my shoulder of course citing yet another smart axiom. After the big concern of the day was dealt with, the “rents” got back to what this joyous day was really all about; pictures. Astori to me was all about pictures. We were very fortunate to have two “sisters” that lived next store to us to share in all our Mayhem and us theirs. However Twistisism in Astori, on paper, they looked perfect. I regularly had to beat down kids in Mercedes grade if they upset her. She’ s my kid sister bitch. I’d always had a violent allegiance to my three sisters based on the loyalty stemming from all of the time and days together watching General Hospital. We really grew up together. The cast breakdown on the age tip here was tightly laddered. Mercedes was the youngest; followed by me followed by Dana and finally Porsche. Next year we’d all be in high school together.
As an a
ttractive semblance heightens the tragedy it also accentuates the gold medal moment. It is of that consequence that pictures, flowed and bountiful hugs applied during the latest in our timeline of, first days of school. We had moved to Astori immediately after my accident with the riding lawnmower. And I was the kid that was run over by a riding lawnmower. I’d learned to revel in it rather than let it fuck with me. And my goal was to be known as a varsity basketball player and not a handicap.
Our first year in Astori we lived happily in a yellow split duplex until I almost burned the house down. I was playing with fire literally and soon, metaphorically. I set ablaze the green living room carpet. I cried and told my father who was for the one hundredth time in my life going to kill me, “I’m sorry dad I just scared to move again.” Even cognizant at nine years old that it was a pathetic line to cover up my own delinquency I still uttered without conscious. I was just satisfying my curiosity of matches and cleaning products.
The big man bought my desperate attempt at salvation hook line and sinker. Except that he made me keep the burned up rug from the old den in my brand new bedroom for the next fifteen years. It’s why we always loved at the end of Back to the Future when Marty Mcfly delivered this line to his then father at his senior prom which do to the miracle of Time travel he was able to attend.
“If you ever have kids and one accidentally sets fire to the living room rug, go easy on him.” Marty Mcfly “We’ll watch out for him, he’s got two older sisters.” Porsche placates mom. A remaining few congenialities and it was time to attend the one moment that I had looked forward to my whole life. Only Magic held an equal adrenaline rush because let’s face it, for everyone else it was still school. We’d been prepared in a different way.
And there was much competition amongst the two of us toed to an eternal understanding that basketball success would bring good things to us. Crawling inside the Jeep I was hit with a coldblooded fact, everyone was wearing dope sunglasses except me.
Jesus fucking Christ
With little white signatures cursively crafted in a corner I suddenly felt lost about an outfit that seconds ago I was so sure about. Jumping into Porsches new convertible Jeep the last thing I heard besides Jane Addiction and barking dogs was my mother screaming, “Carl you forgot your books!” Away we roared. Anyway high school meant freedom. The girls so wrapped up in their appearance matched in the same played brown leather coats that they didn’t hear my faint mothers screams which was good because the books cramped my style and didn’t vibe with the doper cane I was about to pull out. The girls of course deaf in their focus of having just the right song on missed my mother’s final attempt to get the first day off on the right foot.
Brewing with energy I was entering a bare-naked jungle where Hayden legends long since removed from high school could only protect me in aura. “They’re all going to laugh at you.” Adam Sandler “Carl do you like this song a little bit?” My sister looked back and breezily asked with that sincere diplomacy one harmoniously exudes anytime one tries to push electric guitar on a rap lover. “This song lights ass. Did you hear me too Porsche?” I wanted them both to always be clear on my musical standings. The fact was I simply hated guitars and or being around white suburban teenagers when they were playing loudly on their car stereo. For some reason the way I saw it was if you liked Heavy Metal a soft affection for slavery wasn’t too far off. Both of them now officially tuned me out by placing their hands momentarily in front of my face.
“Talk to the hand.” early nineties term.
Taking our first left out of our cul-de-sac, Dogwood circle a moment was a moment as I turned my attention towards the next exciting thing. Picking up our neighbor Mike. We were there in under thirty seconds. “Let’s go freshman, junior in the driveway!” Porsche yelled out. Porsche was saying the type of gay stuff that her and almost all of her friends were constantly guilty off.
“He’s so lucky to be riding with us. He better hurry up.” My sister impatiently chanted. “Your brother better not talk like he’s black in front of everyone,” Porsche added. Rolling my eyes I can’t believe my sister is jumping in on this. Magic is trying to get out of the door but his mother like my own at times was very nostalgic and trying it seemed to crawl inside his backpack. “You ready for day one Mizz, High school baby!” My sister’s comments appeared to apply more to a rock show than a first day of school. However inside Astori that’s exactly what it meant to mean.
Magic eschews any of this chatter and before jumping into the back of the seat with me can only shake his head when he first lays eyes on me. He couldn’t believe I was going through with the cane on the first day. It was the kind of headshake that reminded me that he was six months older. It was the exact same incredulous headshake my father would make when in batting practice I would step in the bucket or as he liked to call it “a fucking pile of shit.” The bucket is what you stepped in when you didn’t step directly towards the pitcher when swinging. Typically this causes balls to be shanked and not lined right back at the pitchers face which my father always said was the goal of every swing. My favorite Baseball Bunch episode all-time was Ted Williams.
“Had to bust it all out day one, wait.” Magic stopped, stunned and said sounding like his own father, “your not walking into school carrying that thing.” Monetarily Michael and I came from very similar backgrounds, that of the middle class meaning most of our family fights revolved around money. New clothes in a Beverly Hills town were important to everybody but especially to us. He’d been famous I’d been infamous for years we had to let players know we rocked the fly gear to compliment our dope hoop games. “We talked about this!” He says with the frustration of never getting through to me. “Yeah well I don’t give a fuck. I couldn’t wait, I slept with it.” “You slept with it?” Mike gave me the huge “Bart” eyes. Mike’s big thing with back to school clothes was to wait a few days, go strong casual, but don’t show the farm therefore you could bust out your new shit after everyone had already, busted out theirs. Be a week 2 standout other than a week one same-o. It sounded great in theory but as I’ll say many times throughout this text ADD is a hell of a nurse. I never had patience.
“Fuck off ho.” I resented the Bart eyes, and besides the cane was my thing. “Your officially retarded.” Magic said in leveled finality, “Oh yeah? Watch this boyee!” “Carl sit down!” I was so hyper. “C, remember when our bus got shot right on this road?” Of course I remembered. The bus was evacuated and the culprits apprehended. Our sole daily highlight in Junior High was the bus ride home but most specifically the ten seconds everyday we drove right by the high schools famed student parking lot. Getting a real time peek of the student parking lot and its after school festivities was a daily boner. We knew what went on in that parking lot like Henry Hills parent knew what was going on at the cabstand. Our bus getting shot corroborated everything we knew and re-instilled our dreams of high school as truly wild and completely out of control. Turning into the high school the girls scramble as their song ended and they now have an injection of real panic. They don’t have the right song on for this the biggest part of their drive, the bend into the main drag into the belly of the student parking lot. Mike sensing a retarded play grabs me, half rolling his head heavily rolling his eyes and says, “We’re almost there.”
As Brooke scrambled Porsche was acting like her lost children were burning in a school fire fanning her on the arm with peppered smacks, “Hurry up, I don’t know Guns and Roses!” “That’s like so old.” “Put on Bobby Brown yo!” “Carl” In unison, “shut the fuck up!” is the last thing I heard as we slowly rolled over the last speed bump and unearthed ourselves into the heart of everything in life. The football field sized “students” parking lot, as Magic and I sit transfixed I can on the Luke Lei tip realize the anxiety in my sister’s mind. Not so much in Porsche but when magnanimity of a moment is at such a colossal order, senses become enhanced as if you had actually lost one.
Friday, February 10, 2012
OK. We've already gotten some nose hair complaints, clippers in full effect. I first discovered nose hair clippers in Scully's dad medicines cabinet. And we quickly learned a true purpose for nose hair clippers. I could shave, easily, and refined, three stripes in my eye brow on top of the occassional "C" in the back of my flat top.
When my father went to the Barba as a kid, he said only two words for tern years, "flat top." Easy breezy. Also editors note. At ending, it's kids don't buy drugs.
Anyway, happy Friday it's the best, and if your unemployed there will be a shit ton of peeps to kick it with in about seven, eight hours, hang in there! We've all been there.
Crushing loss to the Lakers last night, I can't stress it. Big couple weeks coming up. And remember all jobs have three parts, setting up, doing and cleaning up. I never hit the trifecta. And much love to (burp) yes, facebook, the Lexington basketbal community is coming up, posting gem after gem of all photo's, we'll need them
CP PS: I've always dreamed that one day my bed where I sleep, had a roll over tunnel that connected me to a water slide into a body of water, wow.
Thursday, February 09, 2012
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
The only option is to rally. Art is longer a choice. Take it all back. Know your team. Back up your work. If you fall get up. IN fact life might be how quickly you get up after being hit the hardest. If your punching walls still, your losing. Twenty four hours a day is allot. Practice makes permanent. I stopped drinking for the month of January however poolside in LA proved too much and I was derailed. Concurrently my computer back in DC melted. The blue screen of death.
Back up your work, the fact that my company and notes as a broker, the life line to my bottom line was not backed up on a national server was enough to relapse down, down, down the tubes. But I couldn't, it was a killer, but I I have to rally. And I will. A greater challenge. I snapped back quicker than I ever could have at any other point given the gravity of information lost. I have a movie to finish, a book to finish, GDD is bowling at the white house a week from Friday. The stories never stop and now I can film them from my phone. Where was twitter when Summer was fashioning lingerie, I often prayed for something like that back then.
I've envisioned how the high school hoops doc about Lexington basketball will unfold. And I'm excited to get this finished. And right a few wrongs along the way and give back like only GDD and the YG foundation does because after all, anyone can. That's not the question. I'll take wisdom over knowledge. I need to listen. And always be excited.
Chucky P vernacular. Cajun = hot cause frankly no one should be saying hot these days unless it's in reference to the weather. Vinyl replaces the record for official statements. Choppers are teeth and lettuce is hair. Just a few for tonight's evening edition. Please be on the lookout for our new segment google news, a quick, zillarific rundown of a pages worth of the latest google news with your host Mr. Paradise.
Also Rumor of the week. This is for the year actually, so far, but Khloe Kardashian is the bastard child of OJ Simpson hands down leads the wolves here. I hope it's true. Gorilla Dunk Song of the day. from Black Milk, so cajun. I need to freestyle to this sooner than later. OK, sooner. And our newer, newy segment entitled. The In Living Color Skit Of the Week. This is honor of my favorite show of all times glorious fall return to Network Television. So funny and packs a lesson at the end just like the best athletes somehow transcend, the best entertainment carries a lesson. C Ya'll manana. I miss Mendoza. $ / EURO. I expect the EURO continues to strengthen as long as it takes this Greek deal to get done. I mean obviously the markets do not care about deadlines as it relates to this Greek / EU bailout. And, and when it finally does get done, tomorrow, Friday, next week, whenever look for a classic buy the rumore sell the fact to take place. The EURO will shine that downside bias once it does finally get done. markets will digest and quickly be filled with an acute indigestion that will cause trades to vomit out these long positions. This will lead the single currency vulnerable to the downside. PPS: These two assholes pictured above are going to make a classic. Prop's to the Boston Mass Appeal team, Mizzle + the Jerk, c-ya'll a week from Friday as GDD reports live from Boston and Billerica and the lab, i.e video production studio where the majority of production on our first film project will take place. Thanks for following and being early, watch this go. Much love to the Gorilla family, those 60 hits a day hit like the chronic, and we are just getting started. Movie, Book, more YG Foundation events, Retar Crew's new album and new play! Othello, hip hop and Shakespeare, what we do. Stay tuned to the tighest underground family of gorillas free in the wild. 1
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
Sometimes it's the simple things that help bring you back after giftwrapping the Super Bowl to a New York QB with down syndrome. My favorite quote from the Breakfast Club. it's helping, it's helping.
In any event this is after they got stoned and are going through what they did that landed them in Saturday detention. Brian discloses he took shop for an easy "A" to keep his pristine GPA fully in tact. Bender asks him why he thought taking shop would be easy. And Brian replies, "Have you seen some of the dopes that take shop?" And Bender replies, "I take shop" and Brian gets testy, and walks Bender into the line of all lines giving the nerd something to think about over the weekend besides the fact that he was unable to succesfully kill himself with a flare gun.
A real winner.
Brian: "What do you know about Trigonometry?"
Bender: "I could care less about Trigonometry"
Brian: "Without Trigonometry there'd be no engineering."
Bender: "Without lamps there'd be no lights."
Monday, February 06, 2012
Saturday, February 04, 2012
Friday, February 03, 2012
Sunday. EVERYONE JUST DO THEIR JOB THIS WEEKEND. LET'S GET EM !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“Coaches who can outline plays on a black board are a dime a dozen. The ones who win get inside their player and motivate.” - Vince Lombardi
And my personal favorite, "if winning doesn't matter, why do we keep score?" - Vince Lombardi