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Taking a Beating

18 Apr

As some of you already know, Adrian Peterson was reinstated by the NFL this week. I personally thought it was horseshit that he was suspended so long, when players can drive and kill a motorist can come back the same season.

The hypocrisy in the NFL has been so thick, that even the on the field product is not enough to mask it. Goodell is always screaming about player safety, but he is the main proponent for Thursday night games (and swears the NFL knew nothing about the effects of head trauma on players). The “headhunting” and qb safety rules put into effect are called arbitrarily, and the league has suddenly become a glorifed flag football league.
I’m not into it, and haven’t really been for a while.

Football is a dangerous game. You need to be a little unstable to play–some would argue that it is best if you are. The reason I grew up liking it was that it was a gladiator sport. I loved watching Ronnie Lott and Chuck Cecil take receiver’s heads off when they ventured across the middle. The danger element is what excited me. Now Goodell wants to soften up the game and the player’s images off the field, instead of calling a spade a “spade.”

You can’t have it both ways NFL. I could stomach it if the NFL just came clean and said “the game is really dangerous, but we don’t care about the players, and that is why we want Thursday night games. Play at your own risk.” I could respect that. But this lying doesn’t sit well with me. Don’t dressup a pig, put lipstick on it and call it Holly Rowe. That is insulting.

But it is this kind of hypocrisy that pushed Goodell to suspend Adrian Peterson for being an overly vigilant discliplinarian with his child. He didn’t knock his son out in an elevator. He didn’t tie his kid up in the basement and feed him dogfood. He was just overzealous with the belt.

Am I excusing this? Hell no. I can’t imagine being a 4 year old, about to get my nuts whipped by an angry Adrian Peterson. I wouldn’t want to take an ass beating by him now as an adult, so I cna imagine how terrifying that must have been.

But let’s be real for a minute. He was raised in a different era. I remember there was a time where you could get beat at school by your teacher. In third grade we’d sit in our class and silently laugh at the kid getting wailed on in the hallway, and stifle the laughter as best as we could when the teacher brought the unlucky kid back into the classroom.

Hell my Senior year in high school I defiantly chose to take 5 licks from a paddle from the vice principal, instead of going to after school detention (and that was just for too many tardies). Can you imagine how awkward it was for us when we’d see each other in the hallway later.

Principal: ” Hi Bobby, how’s it going?”

Me: “Fuck you!”

Nothing is the same after you spank someone. It is an intimate thing, and not in a good way.

But it was a different time. That generation got beat as kids and they thought it was best way to discipline our generation. My uncle had a huge paddle in the garage with the words “EQUALIZER” painted on it. The sight of it alone was enough not to get out of line on those visits.

The one and only time my mother ever whupped me was after I got into trouble with the police for breaking someone’s garage windows with my “friends.” My parents had to split the costs with the parents of the other hoodlums and it cost my family 100 bucks (we weren’t flush with cash back in those days). She wore my ass out, and maybe deservedly so.

Nothing compared to the shame and disappointment I felt in myself–even at the ripe young age of 8. I felt horrible. I didn’t even want to break those windows, but I myself get peer pressured into it. Sure I was mad at myself for putting myself in that situation, but I felt even worse when the man who owned the house turned out to be this old blind man.

No ass beating I ever took could possibly match what I felt internally. This would have been a great teaching lesson without the physical beatings. But things were different in the 80’s. Only rich white people went to therapy, and most black kids got beaten when they fucked up. I was a relatively good kid, and was lucky to have pretty laid back parents.

But not everyone was so lucky. Adrian Peterson hit his kid, to teach his kid that hitting was wrong. The NFL punished Adrian Peterson excessively to teach Adrian Peterson that excessive punishment is wrong. There was a teachable moment in this situation and the NFL screwed the pooch.

Peterson deserved suspension, but not for the entire season. He could have done counseling, and community service among other things. Things didn’t have to be this ugly, and Goodell missed a wonderful opportunity to do some things right in the PR department. As it is, there are a lot of bitter feelings between the Vikes and AP, and Goodell only reinforced the idea that he doesn’t deserve his 44 million dollar a year salary.

To be continued…………..

For # 14

1 Mar

The early 90’s……….

2015-03-01 01.00.14

Even Though I Hit It I Don’t Miss You

28 Feb

Real Spit.

becomingveritate's avatarDirty Window Pane Poetry - An Experiment

Disclaimer* All Things I write are subject to artistic creation.
I’ve never gutted anyone nor has anyone gutted me.

I don’t feel all that much on this, as you gut me of intestines.
Sprawled out on your couch I could use a real inspiration.

Are you one of those new waves?
You know the type that don’t crash at all;
They just keep on going towards nothings
Fizzle out afraid to hit the shore!

It’s a tragedy; The only people diving in are jokers.
All the intelligent fools are jaded
They didn’t like how the feelings made them hurt
So they brush them off and learn to love the cold.
There’s a fire in here and they hover by the stove.

I’ve always been so foolish,
Rash decisions to a dead head
Say baby, damn it’s cold outside!
Let that freeze chill into the bark on the trees,
You’re skin can take hits…

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This video made my night

14 Feb

God bless Luther Campbell

Geekin’ Out on D.O.C.

14 Feb

The Cult of Black Phillip

26 Jan

It’s been almost 4 years since Patrice O’Neal’s death in 2011.

I met him twice at the Punchline in San Francisco, when I was a (mostly) open mic comedian. The first time I saw him perform, I was so blown away at the realness of his set, that I could not have a coherent conversation with the guy. The deadpan expression he had his face indicated that I was sounding like a fanboy, as I found it hard to express how important it was to hear him say the very things I’d only begun recently to think.

My homie Greg Edwards got me on the guest list a couple of years later, when he opened up for Patrice, and I was shocked when he remembered me and started a conversation (maybe it helped that I had a cute woman with me–a platonic friend but he didn’t know that).

He fucked the whole room up, and I knew he was killing it because my girl was crying she was laughing so hard. All those dark and sinister thoughts you’ve ever considered were brought to light by Patrice’s stand-up. He was the truth because he spoke the truth. There was this clever and twisted insight to his jokes–which really just seemed like commentary. Whether you like him or not, the fact was that if you watched the man work, you were never the same afterwards. The man understood human nature like no other comic I’d encountered.

About a year and a half ago, I was looking up some of his shit on Youtube and I randomly ran into some of his podcast archives online. There are only 15 episodes (at most) of this show he ran with Dante Nero called, “The Black Phillip Show.”

It was a relationship advice show that went way beyond anything you could imagine. Feminists would probably regard the show as some misogynistic “Dear Abby” shit, but it was more like some Dr. Phil (hence the name of the show).
Every show, there would be at least one female guest on, and Patrice would just eviscerate these women with his passionate logic.

It’s worth checking out for sure

He’ll really fuck you up with his logic. For example, Patrice has this special ratings scale for women that I attempted my senior year in high school. Now I thought back then (1997) that I was doing some revolutionary shit by creating a chart that graded on a 10 point spectrum. the categories were (don’t laugh) LEGS (3 points) , T & A (4 points), and face(3 points).

Stupid system right? It definitely wasn’t clever by any means, and certainly not worth the crap I took when girls at my school found out they were on a list (kinda like when I made a top 25 in junior high).

Well Mr. O’Neal’s system is slightly more sophisticated than that without the mini categories.

His scale is 1-30. 1-10 is for ugly chicks with 1 being the ugliest ugly chick, and 10 being the hottest an ugly chick can be.

An 11-20 rating was reserved for average to averagely good looking women, or as he calls them “alright looking bitches.” An alright looking alright bitch” is 11, a “fine ass alright bitch” would get a 20.

21-30 is the highest raking group reserved for “fine ass bitches.” An ugly ass fine bitch gets relegated to a score of 21, while a 30 is given to what men usually call dime pieces.

The whole point of his scale it to lend perspective on what we observe as a woman’s beauty. A 1-10 scale is highly restrictive. With only 10 points to give a grade, a lot of women get lumped into a really high or really low grade because of the need to jam them into a rating.

There are not as many perfect looking women (by conventional standards) out there as people would like to believe. The same can be said of the least aesthetically pleasing women out there in the world. Most women fall in between and that area of gray is a lot larger than a 1-10 scale can provide.

Hearing Patrice explain this during one of his stand-up shows, revealed the errors in my thinking about the opposite sex. It made me think of every girl I’d been physical with, and made me adjust how I thought about (handled) them. Say what you will about the guy, he will make you think.

He was honest, he was brave, and he was really fucking funny. The comedy world needs more comics like Patrice O’Neal; people who are capable of making an audience laugh and think. A lot of comics get on the mic and simply jerk off, wasting everyone’s time in the process because they lack a point of view.

But not Patrice; he didn’t have a whole of time in the mainstream spotlight, but he made use of every minute. I still go back from time to time and pull up his podcasts on Youtube–just to have something different to listen to when I fall asleep. The guy just had a firm handle on what it meant to be human, and he wasn’t afraid to talk about it. He was that dude.

Buster(s) of the Week Award

12 Jan

Dishonorable mention to:

Boko Haram for killing 2,000 villagers in Nigeria this week, and the international media for not giving that news nearly the amount of press as #JeSuisCharlie. Just a terrible week in international news, dudes shooting up kosher markets in France, cartoonists getting capped in their offices, and some jerk-off throwing his five year old daughter off a bridge in Florida.

I went to go see Die Hard on Christmas Eve and Nearly Died Laughing

8 Jan

When my homie invited me to go see Die Hard at the Alamo Drafthouse, I immediately said “hell yeah.”
Then I thought, “Wait a minute. There is an Alamo Drafthouse in Dallas?” Well alright then.

I was excited about seeing it on the big screen because of the above posted trailer. I was in 4th grade when the movie initially came out. I had watched my fair share of Moonlighting, with Willis and Cybil Shephard. Plus the elevator shaft scene had me so hyped as a kid. I would slide down the railing on the stairs of my mom’s apartment and allow myself to fall and catch the bottom–recreating the scene in my head.

One night, there was a double feature, I think the opening movie was Lethal Weapon. While my mother was getting ready, I decided to get one last “Die Hard!” reenactment before we left. Feeling extra hype, I took off from the top of the railing, and lunged for the top of the railing instead of the bottom.

POW!! POW!! POW!!!!

Fireworks went off inside my head from hitting the concrete. My head was banging, but there was no way I was missing the movie. I didn’t say much the rest of the night and actually fell asleep before Die Hard even got underway.

Thinking back on it, I probably had a concussion and probably should not have gone to sleep. It is crazy to think that I could have died in my sleep and my mom would have been clueless as to what happened. Can you imagine the investigation after the autopsy showing I’d had some blunt trauma to my head? Would they have believed my mother or would they have thrown her in the clink?

Back to the present day. We buy our tickets and walk into the theater. In front of every seat is an orange tip cap gun, which to me seems a little insensitive considering the current climate in this country. I jokingly told my buddy that I wasn’t going anywhere near my cap gun, and privately plotted my escape just in case someone brought a real gun. I wasn’t going to be a victim of the “Die Hard” shooter if things went down. Maybe it was the weed causing the paranoia, or maybe it was just paranoia. But seeing a “shoot ’em up” movie suddenly made me uneasy. The police officers in New York had just been killed and I was on edge. Things have gotten so weird that nothing hardly surprises me anymore (especially when it happens in Florida).

I calmed down once the movie started though. There is barely 15 minutes of exposition before they jump right into the action. I’d forgotten just how funny the movie is. There is a self awareness in every action scene that allows the actors to deliver their lines in a tongue in cheek fashion. Even the the scenes where people get capped are funny–not in an over the top way, but there is at least an acknowledgment of absurdity throughout.

Carl Winslow is in the movie,and my favorite character is the nerdy black guy (who could have easily been the inspiration for Steve Urkel) who is a wiz at computer hacking, “Well looky here. The police have themselves and RV!!!” The best part for me was when McClane says “Yippee Cayyeee Muthafucka!!!” and the audience clapped.

Despite the goofy CB dialogue between John McClane and Carl Winslow, and the pregnant secretary drinking champagne, I’d say this movie is pretty flawless as an action flick. I bet it was a fun movie to make.

Image

Geeking out on Fela

11 Dec

This is the time when they kill horses

11 Nov

In honor of Armistice Day tomorrow

Bob E. Mick's avatarNuclear Polio Vaccination

Was walking by a truck
with a bumper sticker
that read” Freedom has a
taste that the protected
will never know.”

Seemed profound.
Until I looked at the driver
and saw that
he couldn’t have been
any older than 50.

Which made me wonder
about the last time
we truly fought for freedom.

Anyone who’s ever
played
Risk
or Axis & Allies
understands the
difficulty
in capturing a
strategic foothold
in this country
of ours.

The only possible
invasion from Mexico
is through the restaurant
kitchens and construction yards
along our borders,
armed with their culinary skills
and mechanical inclination.

From everything
I’d read about Nam
it wasn’t our fight
to begin with.

Often referred to
as unfortunate
and unnecessary.

WWII is arguably
the last real fight
for freedom
involving this great
country,
more about
seizing the role
of superpower
than saving Jews
from the sadistic
Nazi party krauts.

As…

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