The Curse of Ham

Rap sales plummeted 21% in 2006. In a slow year for music overall, no Rap album sold enough to make the Top 10 list for the year. This was a first in a very, very long time.

"the game's [effed] up. nigga's beats is banging, nigga ur hooks did it. ur lyrics didn't, ya gangsta look did it. so i would write it, if yall could get it. being intricate, will get u wood, critic. on the internet, they like 'u should spit it.' i'm like 'u should buy it'--nigga that's good business."

Sorry Hov, I can't go with u on this one. During a routine bit of procrastination, I watched a 4-part video online: "Confessions of a BET Producer." Without going into an analysis of everything said, I'll just say that black music has successfully been pimped again. They did it to every other secular form of black music, and now we have sold ourselves back into bondage.

"I dumbed down for my audience and doubled my dollars. They criticize me for it, but they all yell 'Holla!'"

Thus is the double edged sword. Jay is currently an executive. The big wig. The swinging "appendage" at the world's most storied Hip-Hop label. What has he done to reestablish integrity into the music? Nothing more than a sub-par "comeback" album. There's something to be said about the oppressed who find their ways through an oppressive system only to become themselves reincarnations of those same oppressors. For all the disgust I have for Jim Jones, there was some truth in his indictment of Jay for selling out to the "Doug Morrises" and "Jimmy Iovines" of big business (and don't be fooled, that's really what it is).

Yes, stupidity sells, but it doesn't get u the Lifetime Achievement Award at the Grammy's (though it may earn you an Oscar). Nas's "Can't Forget About You" is an infinitely better song than Jeezy's "Go Getta" for a number of reasons: better production, better hook, and umm... better lyrics. But the few times I turn on the TV, I keep on seeing that child molester and Jeezy dancing with a room full of women. There was a time when it was hot, but that was 10 years ago. Booty in videos peaked around the time "Dolly" and "No Panties On the Dance Floor" were BET Uncut hits.

My love for rap has not wavered, but my frustration with it has come to a point where I must bid it adieu by and large. I can't watch BET or MTV without throwing up in my mouth at how stupid we look. There was a time when I used to sit and read lyrics for songs. There was a time when a hot line could give me chills. It doesn't happen anymore.

Who's to blame? We are. We sold our music (and therefore our souls--music has always been the core of our ethnic identity) to white suburbia. Jay was right, we "brought the suburbs to the hood" and they cleaned us out of everything worth anything. They took the fun out our music. And no, I don't mean the leaning and rocking. There was a time--there has always been a time--where black music was fun, not too serious, but still said something. All I can think about is Justin Timberlake's latest album. Futuresex/Lovesound was a fun album, but it wasn't frothy like D4L or even Jim Jones. It broke ground without taking itself too seriously. It was music. Good music. It was art. Remember when Hip Hop was art? Today it's more "paint by numbers." Insert cocaine reference here. Insert sex reference here. Insert money reference here. Insert alcohol reference here. Promote new clothing line here. I mean cot durn!

And since I fiend for good music even more so than I fiend for exclusive Nikes, the past 5 years have sent me more and more to white artists for what black artists used to be renowned. You know, above, I said "they" took the fun out our music. I'm unfairly passing the buck. "We" took the fun out our music. We allowed for it to become okay to pass off laziness as mediocrity and labelled mediocrity genius. When white America bought into us, we bought into their conception of us, as an ignorant monolith of gun-toting, drug-slinging, whore-mongering buffoons.

And why not? I mean, it was profitable. We saw Jay and Diddy make money and thought that we were making money too. Problem was, we weren't. They were. But still, we followed like sheep. We burned our throwbacks. We bought shirts with collars. We started calling ourselves "grown and sexy." We didn't have a pot to piss in nor a window to throw it out of.

Meanwhile, we forgot what it was like to be vulnerable. Our music became the moat and brick walls for an empty city. We dug deeper ditches, filled it with more unsavory creatures, gilded our gates, blinged out the bricks, tricked out the drawbridge, and for what? A city with nothing in it. (Was that a lil too abstract for u?) Basically, we created an image of invincibility. The super-thug. The super-thug got his coke straight off the boat from the Columbians. The super-thug took 41 shots and sodomy-by-plunger and lived to record a platinum-plus album about it. The super-thug always won.

I mean dang, even R&B couldn't escape it. I think Robin Thicke's "Lost Without You" is the first song in a VERY long time to get play and be popular that showcased a man's emotional vulnerability unapologetically. (And he's white. Point proven.) The Child Molester keeps thuggin even tho he got ran off stage in Madison Square Garden. Outside of Thicke, the biggest R&B hit that exhibited a bit of emotional vulnerability was prolly T-Pain's ode to the STD-laden working women in "I'm In Love With a Stripper."

I know what you're thinking. My point exactly.

So I'm sure ur like, "dang, jonathan. where is all this coming from?" Well, it's coming from the fact that I've been listening to Amy Winehouse for the past 2 weeks non-stop and my frustration with the fact that 1) Back to Black is, as ?uestlove stated, the album Lauryn Hill wanted to make, and 2) that nobody black makes good music worth listening to anymore. I got a lotta ethnic pride and it really irks me to hear a white british girl do soul (Aretha/Ella Fitzgerald soul, not elevator-soul like Corinne) better than anybody else in the game right now. It bothers me when I'm looking up lyrics to Citizen Cope, The Fray, Jamie Cullum, and all these other white folks cuz they're actually saying something and nobody black says anything worth repeating outside of meaningless, catchy phrases (BALLIN, and all other DipSet ad libs apply).

Now that's not to say I hate white ppl. Some of my closest friends are white :-). And it's not to say I don't like the fact that they are making good music by peicing together remnants of the black musical heritage with HipHop sensibilities. I love it and I respect it. I just wish black people would do it (and respect it). Part of the problem is that if anyone outside of Prince would have made Futuresex/Lovesound, no DJ would've ever played it. Negroes woulda passed on it like it was the bird flu. The same with Amy Winehouse. I mean really, if Lupe was white, he wouldn'ta went platinum, he woulda went friggin diamond. We as a people have become so enamored of the image created for us (by us) that it's like we're standing "in the mirror pointing at [our] reflection, killing [ourselves]" unconsciously.

I still have hope for hip hop though. The game is lacking in bonafide talent, but those who have it, have it. Wayne is a monster. He needs to go through some stuff and use that raw ability to get some points across or at least tell us a good story like Biggie. He has the potential. Lupe's Food and Liquor was, in my eyes, the best Rap album of 2006. He scares me though. I could see him falling off like Nas did after It Was Written. The Clipse and Ghostface are the only ppl I feel that are worthy to do cocaine rap. If you ain't them, leave it alone. (That includes u, Weezy.) If it wasn't for The Clipse's Lord Willin' cocaine rap wouldn't even exist in its present level of mainstream popularity. I hope Jeezy pays royalties to Pusha and Malice. I think Andre 3000 is the best in the game right now as far as breadth goes. He's one of the very few rappers that makes me rewind a song to catch a line. Jay gets an Honorable Mention cuz he's Jay. I mean Kingdom Come was lazy, but there's something to be said for a lazy album being better lyrically than 90% of everything else. And I think he's in the process of rediscovering himself. I expect him to be the first real Republican rapper. I'm not joking. He's slowly but surely moving in that direction. Unless the Democrats cryogenically infuse themselves with a sturdy backbone, I see the Jiggaman playing the coon at a Republican National Convention within the next 10 years.

And as far as up and coming, I'd be remissed if I didn't shine the spotlight on Wale. All I've listened to for the past two weeks has been Wale and Amy Winehouse. I put all their music in the media player and just shuffle that jawn.

Now, in case u missed it, what I spent the last umpteen hours lamenting was the shallow state of black music and its narrow scope of artistry and message. Really, I don't mind the leaning and rocking. I even don't mind the cocaine rap. I'm not a HipHop Fascist. I just think black music has narrowed itself to the point that is become a black hole, a house fallen in on itself as the walls came closer together. Cocaine rap, when done right (and by "right," I mean by The Clipse and Ghostface--not Rich Boy), is hot. It speaks not only to an experience, to a voice often silenced and villainized, but gives that voice flesh, bones, and spirit through its multiplicity. (I'm not pulling ur chain. Lord Willin' and Hell Hath No Fury are unabashedly drug-ridden, but equally conscious and intelligent.) It humanizes the drug dealer without allowing him to become a caricature. Think "Nightmares." Good party music makes u wanna dance without making u look ridiculous on Kidz Bop. Consumerism has always been a part of HipHop. I won't bash it. Shoot, Wale's lyrics are steeped in consumerism. But there was a time when it was okay to say "I Need Love."

The fact of the matter is, contrary to what Jay-Z says, "being intricate" will not get u "wood." I have a feeling that, if Wayne doesn't get lazy on us, The Carter 3 will be his best selling album ever. Why? Because people want to hear what he has to say. And even more than that, they want to hear how he's gonna say it. There's a reason rap sales plummeted, and it's not cuz of the internet. It's cuz nobody pays for the "image." If we like the beat, we'll download a ringtone, no need to buy a crappy album. We've always wanted to hear what ppl have to say. Why else do u think DipSet is so popular? They always have something to say.

Field of Dreams is famous for the line "If you build it, they will come." The inverse is also true. Niggas leave if u don't take care of ish. So while the House of HipHop has decayed into dilapidation, I and an alarming number of others of the African-American persuasion have jumped ship and bought the Amy Winehouse album, paid to go to a Robin Thicke concert, and brought "SexyBack" while staving off a "Maneater" or two.

Ask them. If you spit it, we will buy it. Cuz that's good business.

Call Me... sleep deprived in the morning.

Amy, Amy, Amy

Me and the Fader must have some kinda Jedi mind sync goin on right now.

...Prolly know me from the raps

My dude is gonna blow up. From The Fader party in nyc

Mommy wow! I'm a big boy now...

So most ppl who know me also know that i've dreaded growing up since around the time I turned 20. The notion of being "mature" and having "responsibilities" and bills (i can't put that in quotes, them jawns are no joke!) has been something I thought I could avoid like bird flu. But alas, though I enjoyed the nest and never really desired to fly, time has necessitated that I take the big step and become a completely independent being.

So today I opened my 403 (b) retirement account. I'm gonna be saving a considerable amount over the next year and investing in some good funds. It's really weird to talk about a retirement plan when u've only been in the work force for barely 6 months. Still, if "Jim Jones has equity," then so should I, or at least take the steps to get there some day. Plus, I need to find a way to stop spending every piece of loose change I can find on limited edition Nikes. If Nikes were illegal drugs, The East Coast would be Hamsterdam (not a typo... get up on The Wire) and I'd be some strung-out junkie in an abandoned building somewhere (I mean, I played one in BA... lol). So I'm taking the dough I would normally squelch on the Red Nike Supreme Blazers I've been searching for for the past 2 months and putting it away for the next, say.... 40 or so years. Then I can buy Nike Air Orthopedics (limited edition ones of course).

On top of that, I found my health care card in my wallet today. Something about looking at the co-pay on the card and opening up my retirement account made it click that I am an actual adult. It was bittersweet. I felt a sense of accomplishment on one hand and a sense of dread on the other. This isn't monopoly money. It's my REAL money. And i HATE spending it. I know ur thinking, "Then why all the gear?" The gear justifies itself to my sick mind cuz i get to look at it everyday. I have it right in my face. Plus, I take care of it so I keep it forever. But a doctor's visit? I don't leave there with much more than my health. I mean, can I get a free t-shirt at least? A gift certificate to a restaurant? Just my health? That's it?

*sigh* I'm a writer, but I wouldn't mind taking a bite outta somebody else's paycheck.

Call me... if ur interested in donating.

Visual theatre

Do urself a favor and go see "300". Don't expect much in the lines of plot. The storyline is (loosely) based on history so read a Social Studies book if you want that. But if u want a lot of real cool (said like a white computer nerd) visuals, this is the one to see. And it has some witty dialogue between the crazy battle scenes.

Now while I thought the movie was great--I think i'm gonna try and see it again, but at an IMAX--i have one complaint. Why were the bad guys (i.e. the Persians) all ppl of color? But not just ppl of color, they were outright BLACK, like blue-black, "my-name-has-18-letters-and-2-vowels" black. While i understand that the color contrast helped to accentuate the visual effects, I just have a problem with 1) the historical inaccuracy and 2) the representation of blacks. I mean dang, if the movie was about Egypt, they woulda cast all the puerto ricans they could find before they would get someone as black as the "Persians" in "300". That said, I did thoroughly enjoy the movie.

Amy Winehouse. Heard of her? If u haven't, u need to. Thanks to the beauty that is Vh1 Soul, I heard her video playing while I was doing something else around the apartment. I immediately started downloading anything I could find by her. She's a British "jazz" singer. I say "jazz" in quotes cuz she's like a female Jamie Cullum. She's a jazz singer, but that's too small a box to put her in. She's really a soul singer. Yes, a white british soul singer... kinda like that other one, uh, Joss Stone? I never really like that chick. This one, I like tho. And, increasingly, it seems that "soul" has been exorcised from black music and put into these strange white bodies, often from foreign, melanin-deficient lands. I mean, I knew the apocalypse was coming when I first heard Christina Aguilera belt out an Aretha Franklin song in the 90s, but I never thought I'd get to a point where names like Justin Timberlake, Jamie Cullum, Citizen Cope (shoutout to young Taylor, Jr), Maroon 5, and now Amy Winehouse would have more bonafide soul than their black contemporaries. The hiphop gangsta has killed black soul. Sensitive thugs, go get some hugs and bring me back my soul.

but since i'm not holding my breath, I'll put on some Amy Winehouse and wait.

Call me... please.

Two posts in one day? That bored, huh?

Considering I haven't specifically written about what takes up the vast majority of my life, (i.e. teaching), I figured I'd drop something so as to ground the blog in its roots (does anyone else find that funny like me?)

Well, progress has been made in Room 401. A LOT of progress. Mr. Garr no longer screams and yells. He still wacks kids, but he does it with a 2.5 ft pole that he twirls around in class and the halls like a billy club ("kappa style" as one teacher said). So I guess u can say I embody the saying "Speak softly and carry a big stick." I've learned a lot of the nuances of managing a classroom of kids. I am much more laid back with my kids. Seriously, I spend most the day sitting in my barstool at the front of the classroom and give responsibilties to students. "James, get that off my desk and pass it out." "Mabintu, take attendance for me." "Rugei, erase the board for me." "Derrick pass out the Math books." I've realized that as a teacher, I don't have to do every single thing in the classroom. In fact, things go a lot smoother when u start delegating those responsibilities to students. Grading papers, writing on the board, reading a problem--I forgot that kids love to do that.

And the funny thing is, my class is much more like a family now than it was 4 months ago. A (very) dysfunctional one, yes, but a family nonetheless. I am (finally) the ultimate authority in the classroom, evidenced by my ability to wack one of them without anyone threatening to tell their parents or calling the police. They know that I only wack em when they deserve it and that's only when they've refused to listen to repeated warnings. It's the unspoken consequence on my consequence chart (lol). And most times, I don't even have to hit them. I just grip it tightly like I'm about to wack them (which I am usually about to do if they don't stop) and they straighten up. "Aight Mr. Garr! Dang!" as their eyes get huge and they run back to their seats.

It was a long, arduous road to get to this point, and honestly, I've yet to "arrive". It's just that my class has improved immensely from the constant chaos of September, October, and November. I've reached a comfort zone (maybe too comfortable since I sometimes don't show up to school until 8:30. School starts at 8:15). And on top of all that, my kids are learning. Really, they are. Granted, I haven't touched a science book since December, but my kids are airtight in Math and know a good bit about Ancient Egypt (they can't pronounce "hieroglyphics" tho).

This past week has been especially chill. Next week we take the PSSA's. These are the state-wide tests that test students in Math and Reading as mandated by No Child Left Behind. Tilden has some of the lowest scores in Philadelphia and has failed to meet annual goals for YEARS. They even failed to meet the lower goals that are set for schools that fail to meet the regular statewide goals. It's that bad.

But since next week is PSSA time, I took this week as an opportunity to test the buhjesus out of my kids. I had a few mock PSSA tests in a crate so I made copies of them jokers and passed em out to the class. Aside from the fact that it prepares them for the format and work needed for the real PSSA's, it also guarantees 2+ hours of complete silence from my kids (another piece of evidence that we've made progress in Room 401). So I can chill, visit other teachers, stare out the window and marinate. It's been great. And after they finish, we go over the test. If they start talking, I stop, sit down, and wait for them to shut up. I look at the clock like I'm keeping time of how long they talk (even tho i don't) cuz they know whatever time they take from me I take from them by making them stay after school. Eventually they shut up after yelling at each other to stop talking and I continue. This was seriously my week. Very chill.

And tomorrow, we have the PSSA Pep Rally. Yes, a pep rally for standardized tests. There are 3 different shows, one for each grade. (It'd be chaos to try and have the whole school at once). But since I'm performing in the pep rally, I have to go to all 3, which means my class gets to go to all 3. (Which means ya boy teaches nothing tomorrow and just chills in the auditorium with his kids all day). I hung this fact over my kids' heads all week, letting them know that if they acted up all week, then I would do what I gotta do at the pep rally and march my class up 4 stories of steps to the classroom and work them like a group of recaptured runaway slaves. Since they know I'm crazy enough to do such a thing, they took it to heart and kept themselves in line (for the most part).

I still haven't told them what I'm doing at the pep rally. I didn't even let them know I was performing. I think most of them think that I'm just in charge of some part of it. It'll be funny to see how they react tomorrow.

But what will be funnier is seeing whether or not I'll be able to even talk tomorrow. Somewhere between Tuesday and Wednesday, my whole body started rebelling against itself. My glands are extra swollen, it hurts like heck to swallow (two terrible things for a singer), my body feels super weak, and i have a serious headache. (Pre-med's? Med School students? Ideas?) I usually don't get sick, and I've done pretty well to keep from getting sick from my kids. I take a multi-vitamin everyday, and load up on Vitamin C but something snuck through my immune system and got me good. Let's hope that whatever it is waits to deliver the final blow AFTER tomorrow. Either that or just leave tonight.

Yeah, that'd be great.

Now that i've filled the void in school posts for the past 4 months, I can go back to music, gear, and random quotes and poems till May/June.... sike nah. (you hype!)

The Art of War

So for those who don't know, my lifelong dream has been to bridge my passions for music (especially hip hop) and English Lit and Language (along with my deep interest in social politics) and become a "Hip Hop Scholar." The notion was once a novel one but is now just atypical as there is a small but respected league of 20- and 30-somethings with big name BAs and PhDs who do just that.

That said, I was listening to the new Timbo track featuring Nelly Furtado and J.T. (the one where Timbo goes at Scott Storch and Timberlake goes at Prince) and wondered: wouldn't it be vicious if someone were to approach hip hop beef from a scholarly perspective? From the roots of old school hip hop beef and battling through 30-something years to MySpace, YouTube, and Street DVD disses. Don't frown, it's a microcosm of so much going on in popular culture, black culture and American culture. I mean really, Justin Timberlake just dissed Prince. Who'da thunk that sentence would ever exist? Definitely not me (for many reasons).

And its amazing how political hip hop has become within the last decade. I mean dang, a rapper can't say anything about another person without it being disected. And on the other end, everybody else is goin for dolo to try to reach the throne and proclaim themselves the illest. That, along with a new group of verbs, "youtubed" "myspaced" and "DVD'd" (thanks to Jim Jones aka Young Capo aka One-Eyed Willy aka LL Cool J cuz the "Ladies Love Cool James" aka Tru Life, Who are youuuuuuu?"... Jimmy has contributed immeasurably to the English Language:-/) begs to be analyzed by someone. And by "someone," I mean "me".

Oh and just in case you didn't understand those 3 vocab words, how bout some meaningful sentences (always the teacher):

1. I'm sure when 50 cent saw that Killa Cam had youtubed their phone convo for millions to see on the internet, he was ready to go at Killa.

2. I can't believe they myspaced Tru Life when they hacked into his myspace page and changed all his friends and pics.

3. I heard that Bleek had DVD'd Jim Jones by talking trash about Jimmy and the whole DipSet on a recent street DVD.

I only posted this cuz i'm about to make some spaghetti and didn't wanna forget it. Don't steal my idea. And let's hope i get over whatever sickness my body is currently trying to contract.

It's been a long time...

Its been over 3 weeks since my last post. not like u ppl are fiending for me to update this or anything, but i felt like i should drop a lil sumthin. The past 3 weeks have been the most uneventfully eventful (or is that eventfully uneventful?) weeks since I've been in philly. Took a quick road trip to dc to holler at the ole heads giles and obinna. shoutout to Jim Jones for making that weekend fantastical. I'm hiding from UPenn since I am probably the worst grad student ever. And school is winding down as my kids are preparing for the big statewide tests next week. This is what we prep the kids for all year and what they usually fail with outstanding levels of success.

Speaking of which, I'll be giving my first public performance since i've come to philly on friday. Where? No, it's not a talent show or some hip, neo-soul, doobie wrapped hipster open mic night. It's at Tilden's PSSA pep rally. Yes, we have a pep rally for our federal/state-mandated standardized tests (i never had a pep rally for Iowa tests or SOLs...lol) and yes I'm singing. No I did not volunteer, nor was I asked. I was not even around when the decision was made. In fact, I was in the air on my way to St. Louis to see Black Anthology when the Staff and Administration of my dear place of employment whored me for the pep rally. I really don't mind tho. Really, I don't.

It's funny tho for a few reasons. One reason: teaching has destroyed my voice. Something about speaking loudly aka yelling for 7 hours a day 5 days a week has an uncanny ability of damaging one's vocal chords. Another reason: I'm singing "The Greatest Love of All". Yes, the song that begins with "I believe the children are the future," made famous by the free-basing (we know it was crack), "is that Brandy's brother?" singer, Whitney Houston. (that went over some of yall's heads). And another reason: I'm nervous. For some reason, performing for an auditorium of hoodrat pubescents is a bit more nerve-wracking than talent shows or open mics or [insert past performance here]. No real room for error here. I'd rather do the Apollo with no fingers and a banjo. (That, class, is what we call "hyperbole")

Other than that, I've been stewing on a lot lately. Thinking. (I know, don't hurt urself, Jonathan... too late.) The saying goes that Life (with a capital L) and payback are both female dogs (hmm... are they sisters? mother and daughter? jus girlfriends that hang out on the weekends... ok, i took that one too far). So it's like i'm being dragged by two horribly vindictive canines (again. slight hyperbole. with a dash of melodrama.) But, as my nigga shakespeare said, philosophy is the sweet milk of adversity and i'm sittin on all this until the proper time. Good thing I'm not lactose intolerant.

i hope this is all as vague as i wanted it to be, so as to not compromise my own cancerian need for personal security while satiating my narcisistic desires to keep the blog afloat. (if u can't tell, my sense of humor is, as always, still in tact) :-p


-Call me...? No, don't call me. I'll call u.

Dehan we'alki

"From the moment I met you, all those years ago, not a day has gone by when I haven't thought of you. And now that I'm with you again... I'm in agony. The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. The thought of not being with you--I can't breath. I'm haunted by the kiss that you should never have given me. My heart is beating... hoping that kiss will not become a scar. You are in my very soul, tormenting me... What can I do?--I will do anything you ask."

-Anakin Skywalker, Star Wars, Episode II

Blame the Jews

I thought that would be a very inflammatory title. It is not completely random and is meant to be taken tongue-in-cheek. Maybe if ur smart u'll understand why by post's end.

So, I realize that I haven't talked about school in a long while on this thing. Prolly because I try to lock those thoughts away for as long as possible. That said, I felt the need to communicate to the 4 people who read the blog some details from my life, which is 95% school.

Thursday, I threw ("tossed" is prolly a better word) a bagel at a student and it hit him in the eye. Now i'm in a lotta trouble.

Welcome to Tilden. The End.

The Triumvirate is complete

It's been a long time coming, but finally, I can die a happy man. I am now the proud owner of 3 of the greatest pairs of sneakers ever made. Presenting (l to r) the Nike Flightposite 1 in gold, the Nike Penny Foamposite, and the Air Jordan V in black and metallic grey. I'll give u one last look at the soles (consider it a metaphor of some sort).

oh, so icy. maybe now, i can finally save my dough.

It's a sickness. I know.

You don't have to know me for long before you realize that I have a severe addiction to shoes. I'm a "sneakerhead." I can tell you more about tennis shoes than you could tell me about your life. That said, being on salary has not helped my obsession. Indeed, coming back to the East Coast, in the sleeper city of Philly, it's been a little too easy to find the shoes I want when I want them. Once (at the second hand store I shop at), I found the shoes pictured here, a pair of Nike Air Trainer 3's Limited Edition Viotechs (I know, it's sneaker-speak) for $26. $26!! That may mean nothing to you, but these shoes have appreciated to around $250-$350 on ebay, and I found a nice-but-used pair for $26.

Add to all this that Nike decided to release two of my all-time favorite shoes ever within one week's time; so ya boi now has a much smaller bank account to match the ever-decreasing amount of space in his closet.

Regrets? not really. I'm happy with pretty much every purchase I made. Even though you outsiders prolly think I'm crazy. And I am. I realize this. But I love it.

So without further ado, I present to you, 2 out of 3 of my grails, shoes I have longed for since childhood and now can finally bask in the joy of knowing that I own. The third will be purchased by Friday, God-willing.

If you're a sneakerhead and you don't own a pair of Jordans, then you're not a real sneakerhead. If it wasn't for #23, the sneaker game wouldn't even exist. We'd be trading Pokemon cards or something.

As for Air Jordans, we all have our favorites, the XI's are by far the most popular, but for me there was always one pair that I loved and desired: The black and silver V's. With their simple elegance, icy soles and reflective tongue, they were beyond words. If the XI's were the Lamborghini's of Jordans, the V's were the Bentley: stately, refined, and beautiful. Look at how icy those soles are!

I just purchased these retro's this past saturday. One of the happiest purchases ever in my life.

If you're from the Washington, DC metropolitan area, then you know that Chocolate City is the home of the Foam and Flightposites. The first pairs of Nikes fetching for $150-$200, these shoes were part of DC's uniform. By far, the most beautiful out of the entire series is the Flightposite 1. A clear evolution from the previous Foamposite shoes, the Flightposite 1 captured in a beautiful silhouette the form of the foot, not to mention that the original two colorways, gold (pictured here) and eggplant, were equally stunning.

No doubt, it's a polarizing design, but either you abhor it or you abso-friggin-lutely love it, and I love it. I happened upon these on ebay at a very decent price (not $26 though, :-p) and have yet to put them on.

Finally, the 3rd shoe in the triumvirate of grails has yet to be purchased because it has yet to be released. The Penny Foamposites, have the icy soles of the Air Jordan V and the foamposite upper of the Flightposite 1, with no swoosh. These are the only shoes where I can remember the exact time I first saw them on someone. It was Miami, Florida, summer of 1997. I was over at somebody's house and saw a bunch of boys running through the street. One of them had those shoes on. He was gone as quick as I saw him, but the image of those shoes have been emblazoned in my mind ever since. They will complete the triumvirate. That is, unless I get the eggplant Flightposite 1's too. :-p

And oh, did you notice the selvage? hehe... so fly.

You should think about it; take a second... *ding!*

"The Great Artist may in fact be the socially useful narcissist"

"Most people think Narcissism is just being stuck-up and self-centered, but in the extreme it means there is no one else in the person's world with them--intense loneliness."

So, to my fellow Artists, do u have what it takes to be Great?

I think I'm in love

http://www.apple.com/iphone/ipod/

looks like i'll be switching to cingular. (never liked t-mobile anyway)

Blame Jeffrey

so i'm not as much of... how do i say... an "open book" as the young Taylor, but i must admit that reading his stuff, listening to Lupe, Clipse, and others, and the fact that i live by myself (translation: too much time spent thinking) have all amalgamated to end what had been a pretty extended writer's bloc. it's not like i had been tryna write that much, but i was more or less uninspired and unable to produce anything worth looking at for at least a year.

Well, the levees have broken and with them have come all the internal conflicts that breed the stuff I don't call prose. will u understand it? maybe. maybe not. could i make it more understandable and less guarded? yeah, probably. but i'd rather confuse u and leave u conflicted. is that a good thing? prolly not. iunno.

*note*: above is an example of me thinking too much. i digress.

so anyways, i've been writing more over the past 3 or 4 months and blame it on JV Taylor that i decided to put some up here. what can i say, i need an outlet. but i will not give dashiki-and-incense-laden introductions like the aforementioned individual has been known to do. all things are open to criticism (good and bad) and questions and interpretations (but if ur off, i'll let u know).

This one is a lot rougher than the first 2, but i'm bored. wrote it mid-november.

Tilden Dreams

I wonder—with the future before me,
at a desk here, walking there, never silent—
what happened to my dreams?

Wrapped in cellophane or spoiled
(because everything has a “sell by” date,
a shelf life)? There were always many
lofty, as they dreams must be, like an attic
in an old house, or this building where
I stand in front of dreamers who have no idea
they’re sleeping.

It makes sense
that the top floor is off limits. We’re one beneath it.
Besides, it’s filled with feathers
and perhaps the remains of a pigeon or two.
But I will remind myself and my dreams:
even birds have limits, wings can be burdensome,
and that star I wish upon may be filled
with souls that wish upon my own planet from a distance.

So I wonder—with the future before me,
at a desk here, walking there, never silent—
what happened to my dreams?

Like long lines in the cold, breath collecting
before my face to warm the tip of my nose
for a jackpot or an elusive ticket to a candy factory,
were some of them lost
before I had ever discovered them?

With so many black plastic bags tangled in tree branches, I can tell
they never take the time to notice packaging,
and the bags crackle in the wind like blown speakers, like static
from TV. Looking down from my window, I mistake them
for a flock of crows, as I’m sure
they would mistake a crow for a plastic bag in a tree.
It makes sense.

The desks are empty, I cannot hear them anywhere
but in my head. Still, I know that they are speaking
of the past, as the future always does, in spite of itself.

I wonder how long it will take
to sweep up feathers and excrement: the future
is as impatient as a dream.

Call it the "winter itch"

The first day

Some stood like axes on the wall,
Others more like guillotines
I have so much to learn
I stood, the only clean blade in a cutlery
until responsibility forced me to draw blood.
This is not new to you, is it? You expected more.
By day’s end, soaked in red,

I questioned myself.

I am not a soldier,
was never a fighter,
how did I end
up in the midst of a war?

This eighty year old brick building
is a fortress that only contains
the confusion of the street corners;
lives that carry the names of the fallen like their ink-
stained backpacks: those are forgotten too,
left at home.

Aware of their place, they are huddled, looking
like freshly washed swine in a mosque,
and I am a bayonet named Moira.

Lest I forget...

In my rant about music of 2006, I forgot to highlight the fact that DC is (finally) putting out some authentic home-grown talent worth listening to. There is of course Mr "Put Me in the Pocket" Tabi Bonney, but the real breakout is Wale. Dude is a monster. He's signed to Studio 43, the upstart label founded by former Rocafella VP (and DC native) Kenny Burns, and deserves real attention. Download his mixtape (for free!) here http://www.studio43group.com/mp3/hate_is_new_love.zip

and if ur into it, holler at his myspace page, http://myspace.com/wale202. Tabi Bonney's got one too, but i'm too lazy to put a link up. Google him and you'll find it.

The future is here

Happy New Year ppl. Unlike most ppl, this is the final day of my short Winter Break. It felt much longer though and, aside from the fact I didn't get any work done, I have no complaints. Reflecting on the year that was, I thought about a lot. 2006 was definitely a watershed in many ways. I won't add to that; a man's gotta keep some things to himself, right?

So, I have no witty transition, but one of the many things in my head about this past year was "Is hip-hop really dead?" I mean, Nas's (great) album said so, and we all know that we should listen to Nas. And aside from the pure art of it, Rap isn't even selling like it used to. I read somewhere that there was only one multi-platinum rap album this year. ("Ugh!" as Pusha T would say).

And then there's the "future" of rap, Jim Jones (no comment) and DipSet, Lil Wayne, who seems to have fallen victim to his own talent such that he believes he can be mentioned in the same breath as Jay or Nas (maybe i'll expound on this in another post), and is there anyone else worth mentioning?

Well, prolly so. While I'm not sure it was better than Lord Willin', Clipse came hard on Hell Hath No Fury. Too bad it won't get the commercial attention it deserves, which is strange considering they're the ones who blew the doors open on commercialized cocaine rap with grimy rhymes that didn't compromise themselves for commercial success. I'm a firm believer that Lord Willin' is not just a classic but durn near a masterpiece. (Is either The Carter or The Carter 2 better than Lord Willin'? I don't think so, Weezy. And can we come up with more creative album titles, dood? Ur getting lazy like Hov, but you still don't have two-thirds the swagger.) With the exception of "Nightmares," I don't think the beats on HHNF live up to the rhymes.

And then there was St. Elsewhere, the Cinderella album of the year. It was a breath of fresh air from market-driven collaborations and cookie-cutter hip-hop (yes, hip-hop). Cee-lo has always been one of rap's most poetic voices Dangermouse went bonkers, like "tripping balls" as white ppl say, on those beats. It was a masterpiece and a classic. Too bad the media hype frenzy ate them along with their album. "Smiley Faces" shoulda been #1 twice as long as "Crazy." That's not a slight to "Crazy" which--forgive me--was crazy, but rather a nod to how vicious "Smiley Faces" was. But alas, the world is a strange place.

Then there were other albums, Kingdom Come and Hip Hop is Dead along with Idlewild, from heavyweights. The Outkast album was a dissapointment, and even I'll admit that Jigga is rusty. (He's still better than Weezy. "Minority Report," "Lost Ones," "Prelude," "Beach Chair"--i hate the beat, but peep the lyrics--Big Homey did make a mature album. Just that some of it is lazy. Dude's not pushing himself.) But can I give a shoutout to two standouts from both albums...two names: Janelle Monae and Chrisette Michele. All I can say about Janelle Monae is that she's a monster. I remember the first time I heard John Legend's Knitting Factory CD sophomore year. This girl had me feeling as excited as that when I heard some of her stuff this summer (and i was siced when I found the Knitting Factory CD). So allow me to become her hypeman for 2007. And I doubt Chrisette needs a hypeman, she's signed to DefJam. But all i can say is that her hook on Nas's "Can't Forget" was mean and vicious.

And Nas? I may be one of the only ppl who thought his last double album was actually good, but either way, this one is not debateable. He really got it right with this one. It's consistent and the flow--the rhyme patterns and meter--is crazy on some of his tracks.

But still, with all this talk about hip-hop dying, I had to say that there was a beacon of light, the Hip-Hop Resucitator, if you will. Born Wasalu, my choice for hands-down Album of the Year was Food and Liquor. I don't care what you think, if you don't agree with me on this one, you're just wrong. This isn't opinion, it's fact. Food and Liquor deserved 5 mics. Was it a perfect album? Heck nah, but it was a masterpiece. It was the album that bridged the ghetto and the Black middle class. It was critical of itself, its culture, and dominant culture all at once. There were stories, (my goodness, were there stories!), rapper braggadocio, and real lyricism. It was "real" hip-hop. But not in the way that old heads speak of the olden days of A Tribe Called Quest, P.E., Rakim, et al. No, it was real Hip-Hop for a changed people, a changed hip-hop. For the growing number of black professionals as well as those high school dropouts. For the suburban kids who pout when they don't get their PS3's and the kids at Tilden whose parents spend welfare checks on 8-balls (real rap, not making this up). But all in all, it was intelligent, which, in the end, was its downfall. The program directors, A&R's, and music execs still don't know (or want to know) how to market music that you actually have to listen to. Music that makes you think has no real place in our culture anymore, or at least you would think that with all this durn snapping and leaning. I mean really, the only commercially successful rapper in this era of hip hop who could make you think was Kanye, and he (has) had to be a gorrilla (as well as an arrogant butthole) to get there. And really when you think about it, I doubt he'da gotten where he is without being his own #1 fan.

But it's not about Kanye, it's about the Fiasco. I have to admit, I slept on Food and Liquor at first. Although the retail version was much better than the first version that leaked on the internet (thank God whoever leaked it and forced him to go back in the studio. And thank you Lupe for not being lazy and going back into the studio), I just didn't give it the attention it deserved. But as I would play it while I was doing something in my apartment, I found myself stopping here and pausing there, going back to the computer and rewinding a verse like "did he say what I thought he said?"

Yes, he did.

Verse of the year, from "Daydreamin'":
Now c'mon everybody, let's make cocaine cool
We need a few more half-naked women up in the pool
And hold this Mack-10 that's all covered in jewels
And can u please put your titties closer to the 22's?
And where's the champagne? We need champagne!
Now look as hard as you can with this blunt in your hand
And now, hold up your chains, slow motion through the flames,
Now cue the smoke machines and the simulated rain
But not too loud cuz the baby's sleepin
I wonder if it knows what the world is keepin
Up both sleeves while he lay there dreamin
Me and my robot tiptoe round creepin
I had to turn my back on what got you paid
I couldn't see, had the hood on me like Abu Ghraib
But I'd like to thank the street that drove me crazy
And all the televisions out there that raised me
I was...

Like i said, on this one, if you don't agree, you're just wrong. 8-)

Tabi Bonney Video

I love DC. this is one of the greatest songs to ever come outta Chocolate City. It's the DC equivalent to Jim Jones "Ballin'". Holler at me if u want the full mp3.

"i been outta school for like... 10 semesters." LOL! put me in the pocket joe!

The craziest dream i ever had.

Ok, so it's like 4am here and i just had to get up cuz i had by far the strangest dream EVER and i needed to write it down so that i never forgot. sadly, some of it i already forgot but i still have a lot of the good stuff.

It was a long dream but i'll pick up from here:

Me and a group of ppl, (i don't remember who they were) walked into someone's apartment and started to just hang out and look around. At one point, one of them asked if it was okay if he went outside to test his bike out that he just built (don't ask). The other two found a couch and sat down to watch tv. I went to the back bedroom and walked around and ran into some ppl from high school. There was a computer in there.

Suddenly, the back bedroom became a large computer showroom. It looked like a computer lab except the computers were for sale. I was using one of the computers and one of my friends (he was a friend in my dream, but not somebody i know in real life) was to my left doing something on another computer. He had been there before me.

Then a mother and daughter walked into the computer lab/showroom with what looked like a sales sheet or catalog. They were speaking a different language to each other. The mother was white and kinda portly and her daughter was white and plain ole weird looking. When the daughter walked in her face showed that she was utterly confused with what was going on. The mother, it seemed was also confused and was trying her best to explain what these computers were to her daughter.

Then the mother started to touch the computer next to me. They were nice computers and some of them, mine included, had wireless keyboards.

Well, she took my keyboard. She reached over and took it right from under me, as innocently as one could possibly do such a thing, and sat it next to her. I watched her sit it down randomly on something (can't remember what) and continue to talk to her daughter who was still confused. I then tried to get it back.

"Excuse me," I said politely but perturbed, "I need that."

The mother and daughter both looked at me confused and did not seem to understand what i was saying. But in broken english she said to talk to her husband who was just walking into the computer lab/showroom.

When he walked in, he walked over to me and sat down in the seat where my friend had been. (I guess my friend knew what was about to happen so he left...figures.)

"Hello, sir, where are you all from?" was my first question.

"Germany," he said in a thick accent. His english wasn't good either, but it was better than his wife's.

"Do you not have computers where you are from?" I asked.

"No," he replied.

"Well, these are computers, and part of the computer is a keyboard." I pointed to the one at the computer where he was sitting. "Your wife kinda took mine and won't give it back."

Suddenly the man started breathing heavily through his nostrils. "I don't like where this is going," he said softly with anger.

"Security!" I said quickly. This dude was about to blow and it wasn't gonna be on me.

As security walked up, I backpedalled to the opposite side of the lab/showroom. Then, the german man proceeded to roar and start fighting with security. Then dude chased me around the store until more security got to him and they started rumbling. This was the craziest part of the dream but i think the whole family was fighting somebody. All i know was that it was pandemonium inside that store. I was making a joke out of it at first, but when dude seriously started to try to beat my ___, i seriously got shook.

Finally, i snuck out of the store and tried to run as fast as i could, but for some reason, i could only run at half-speed, so i eventually stopped. The store (which was at first an apartment) was now part of a mall and i walked through one of the mall entrances and looked nervously from face to face to make sure it wasn't the crazy german family. Then i walked back outside and tried to call my sister, who had been with me at some point of the dream, but no one picked up. Then i remembered that my sister had left her phone at 4th and market earlier in the dream (weird how the dream connected what happened earlier and didnt forget about it right?).

It was okay either way though because I ran into my sister as i was walking from the mall and then into two of my high school friends, Akeisha and Beri, who are now deltas. They just so happened to be with all their sorority sisters outside eating cheesecake. (yes, i know). I said what's up to them and started to tell each of them about what happened but i would always get cut off and then ignored (just like high school, right? lol) Eventually everybody shut up and let me talk and so i started to tell them how I was in a computer store and somebody tried to beat my up, and for some reason i was telling the story with my eyes closed. When i opened my eyes the only person still there was my sister, eating cheesecake so I stopped telling the story, shrugged and took the last piece of cheesecake and a raspberry that was sitting on the platter dish. After that, we walked into a park where some woman was playing a piano concert and talking about World War II.

Then I woke up.

I never slip. I never fall.

Back in business. My new monitor is (vicious and) working. Now i can go back to procrastinating from the comfort of my own home!

:-/

Oh, and my life is cinematic. Just thought u should know. Details are unnecessary. Last week before Christmas break!

I tried to told yall...

A reprieve from the abstruse complexities of teaching.

sometime while i was teaching, 10 deep blew up like woah. Jeezy's wearing a hoody in his newest video, and i saw their gear in almost every hood shop on South Street last weekend. I remember when it was a small skate/streetwear brand u could only find in a few shops. I can't lie though. Fall/winter '06 is real hot. especially for the thinking man...

oh the irony...

For those who don't get this one. The pic is made of different shoe boxes.

I feel like i'm selling old stock info...

Philthy Philly

There's something about living in the buttcrack of America (or at least dealing with those who live there). I think about my students. One of the worst things to say to someone during a bathroom break is to say that they're bout to "take a smash" (translation: "take or dump" or "have a bowel movement" as my mother would say). Doodoo (yes, i spelled it out like that). It stinks, but there's something funny about it. Farts. They stink, but you're lying if u can say u never farted and laughed or even laughed when somebody else farted. So my point (obscure as it may seem) is that life in the dumps has its moments of humor in the midst of all the misfortune and the stench of s-h-i-t (using it in the vernacular sense. forgive the obscenity).

Case in point, this saturday, while downtown, i stopped by a t-mobile store to pay my phone bill. i had to wait b/c every attendant was "attending," as they do, so i just hung out and waited. while i waited, a woman walked in and started looking at the display phones. she was a black woman dressed in full muslim garb. this is not odd in philly, where there is a very strong presence of african-americans who, even though they are slave descendants like me and (maybe--depending on who's reading this--) you, are also Orthodox Sunni Muslims and dress in the same style as the arabs we often profile as terrorists and suicide bombers.

So i'm hanging out waiting for a free attendant and this woman, in her burqa is walking around the store and touching phones and looking back and forth in the store. suddenly stands start beeping and everyone's looking around trying to figure what the annoying sound is. another black woman in a full burqa (with only eye-slits) walks in and seems to be asking the first black woman why she's taking so long and walks back out to her car. Not long after, the first woman walks out of the store too and into her friend's car on the curb and they drive off.

She left with one of the display phones. you know, those ones in the store that are charged and activated for full use but connected to the stand? well, she disconnected one of them. evidently she wanted to have free cell phone service for a month or two and figured a quick way to get it done was to just lift one straight from the store.

Only thing was, she took a fake one. yeah, u know the plastic ones that are sometimes next to the real ones in a cell phone store? yeah, she picked up the plastic one on accident. funny right?

My second story comes from last night. After waiting forever for the blue line at 40th and market, these two drunk men walked into the same car with me and a number of other ppl, but not without bumping recklessly into many of us and saying God knows what to us. problem was, 3 of the ppl who were bumped didn't take too kindly to the drunkards and began a heated shouting match with the 2 drunkards on the subway. The 3 in question looked to be 18-25, black, 2 guys, 1 girl, and were going at it with two very drunk older black man, one of whom was kinda muscular for a drunk. (I'm not sure what that means, but oh well.) This may not seem like a big deal, especially to those of u used to the urban life. But the sad part was when one of the younger guys from the group of 3 took off his jacket, ready to fight.

Turns out the 3 of them were part of a group that promoted non-violence in Philadelphia. The slogan on the front of their shirts: "Making a safer Philadelphia" with a "Stop the violence" slogan plastered on the back. Fitting, huh? Even more fitting was that the subway car was filled with old black women. Picture those old black women you see that spend everyday going to and from church. it was a picture of a lot of things all at once. A fart personified, perhaps. Funny for a moment, but all in all, the stench is repulsive.

Words of wisdom

Today I had a meeting with Dina Portnoy, head of the UPenn/TFA grad program about my (lack of) progress this semester (some things never change huh? ;-p). *Sidenote: Dina is also the mother of DJ Drama. no lie.*

Well anyways, in our conversation she let me know:

"Teaching gets better, but it never gets easy."

I wholeheartedly believe her. 2 weeks till christmas.

The inescapability of the self

"Wherever I go, there I am." I line from The Wire that I'm sure was taken from somewhere else, but struck a chord (like most things from the show).

Another week begins tomorrow.

The best gift a new teacher could ask for

Not-so-short and sweet:

After my reading class (which was bananas) left , I took my regular kids as a whole class on a bathroom break. We lined up at the door first. Boys on my right in height order, and girls on my left. After waiting a few seconds for them to be quiet, we started to walk to the other side of the building where the girls bathroom was. By the time we got over there, I realized that the girls bathroom is locked and so I would need to get a key from the security guard. So the question was: Do I leave my class alone in the middle of the hall while other classes are working to go get the key or do I take my class with me to search for the security guard who could be anywhere in the building?

I chose the former nervously and left them in a line to go get the key and warned them that I had no problem cancelling their ice cream party AND their bathroom break if they were rowdy and reminded them that other classes were learning still. I walked to the other side of the building and down the steps and found the security guard and ran back to where my kids were and saw the strangest thing I have yet to see since I started teaching.

My kids were in a perfectly straight, completely silent line.

My boys were in height order right behind the girls (who can line up in any order because they know how to act), facing forward (which meant they were not facing my direction), and were just waiting for me to come back.

I noticed that Mr Brown, one of the 6th grade teachers on that side of the hall, had now closed his door when it was at first opened, so I assumed that the only reason they were in a line was because they were being rowdy and Mr Brown had yelled at them till they did what they were sposed to.

Turned out that they did it by themselves because they wanted to impress me. I almost cussed I was so happy.

Now that's something to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving ppl.

Back like cooked crack..

It was a great weekend. Got to be back in the Lou with normal successful black people my age and hang out with friends and loved ones. Definitely what I needed going into the home stretch before Christmas.

My mother says a lot of things, but one she often repeats is "The Lord looks out for babies and fools." I definitely felt that this weekend, or at least the last part. After taking an unplanned nap Sunday afternoon, I woke up between 5 and 6 pm. I thought everything was gonna be okay tho cuz my flight didn't leave til 6:50...or so i thought. Once I arrived at the ticket counter at St Louis International, I learned that the flight I thought left at 6:50 really left at 6:25 and it was too late for me to catch it. So, I missed my flight.

No biggie, I thought. Put me on the next flight.

No can do, Mr Garr. That's the last flight to Philadelphia this evening. The first flight out the next day would put me back in the City of Brotherless Thugs after 10am.

School starts at 8:15.

So, needless to say, I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I was going to have to take my first sick day, and have my first substitute. Ya boy was SHOOK. I've heard plenty of stories and seen how classes behave when they have a substitute. And whatever u think is bad, these kids do 10 times worse. Fights, thrown books, broken desks, broken anything, taking teacher's belongings, roaming the halls instead of going to class, things thrown out of windows. I was worried sick that my kids were gonna go bananas when they walked in and saw some random person sitting at my desk this morning.

But I did what I could, made some phone calls, made some arrangements, and tried to load enough work on them to keep them busy all day. Then I enjoyed my last night in StL with the class of 07.

I caught the first flight back to Philly, came back to the crib and decided, "Hey, I'm going to Tilden. Who cares if I took the day off, I'm going to see what my kids are up to." It was more because I wanted to clean up the apocalyptic rubble I was sure to encounter and not wait till tomorrow. I also wanted to be able to make the necessary phone calls today for all the kids who were going crazy and get they mama's on the horn ASAP.

So I dropped my stuff at the crib on 43rd and walked to my trolley stop. Caught the 36 and got off at the normal corner. Only this time, it was around 2pm instead of 7am. I walked into the school, made my way up the 4 flights of steps and walked onto the 4th floor. I could hear my class from down the hall and had thoughts to just turn around and go home. Save myself the trouble of having to confront whatever misbehavior I was sure I would see.

I got to my door and peaked through the glass window and saw a mess of papers all over the floor. Everyone was talking, kinda loudly at that. But to my surprise, they were all in their seats and most of them were working. Nothing was broken from what I could tell. No books had been thrown. No one was hanging out the window. I was pleasantly surprised. But the real surprise happened when I opened the door and walked in.

"MR. GARR!!!" the class erupted into cheers when they saw me walk through the door. Two of my kids even ran up and hugged me as though I had freed them slavery. It was weird and surreal. The same group of kids who have no problem cussing me out and telling me how much they hate me and my class were actually happy to see me. To be honest, I thought they would've been pissed to see me come in on the day they had a sub, but not so.

And really, I think it was more that they hated the sub than they like me. It was more of a choice between two evils for them. The sub was super strict and so they prolly didn't like the fact that they couldn't bulldoze him (like they sometimes do to me). Either way, I came in, got a report of what had happened that day (turned out that 4 of my boys were suspended for something they did in Art class), and got to work on Social Studies. Save 2 knuckleheads, everybody did their work quietly at their tables. They cleaned up the room, straightened the desks, and got to go home AT 3:19. (It's been a long time since the whole class left on time. It actually may have been the first time ever).

I said earlier how one of my mom's favorite sayings is that "The Lord looks out for babies and fools". I really felt what she meant today. All that worrying was for naught. I was the fool who missed his flight yesterday and was scared silly that the worse was bound to happen. My boss was gonna think I was irresponsible, my kids were gonna kill each other, etc, etc, etc. Turns out none of the above happened. The Good Lord looked after me and my babies today. I even got them to work silently at their desks.

All the other teachers asked me "What are you doing here?" when they saw me at the end of the day.

In her characteristically intimidating manner, my principal said "I thought you took the day off, Mr Garr. Why are you here?" as I stood in the office.

"I came to see my kids," I replied with a smirk. "My flight came in and school was still in session so I tried to see if I could teach em a lil sumthin today."

She smiled back, as did the other veteran teachers in the office. Maybe I impressed them. I kinda impressed myself. But even more than that, I realized how invested I've become in these children. Even when they get on my last nerve, and I'm ready to manually remove their brains through their nostrils, I can't see myself letting them down. They've got enough of that already.

So no more playing the fool.

The itsy bitsy spider

Don’t look down

I watch as it falls silently, suspending as it were, on an invisible tether.
Calm, precise, neither fast nor slow, its mouth delivers the line that holds it
midair, spinning solemnly as the air wraps around it,
suspending as it were, as though speech were a rope, a noose, a lasso.

The closer I get, the more I cannot stop looking at it.
Its tiny eyes come into focus
I wonder
Can you see me?
(It was never as easy to kill
the ones that were so blatant. Those tucked in corners
offered less guilt and much less fascination.)

I am certain that it sees me because it stopped
in front of me
as though I were some discovery, some distant shore
to lay claim to, if it could only be sure
how to navigate the sea of air to reach the beach that is my lip or lobe.

And because I am certain
that at this point it is thinking solely of itself, I think of my own self.
The many words that I have hung from ceilings
like tissue paper cutouts, the constant eye
contact, seeing nothing more than my own reflection in another’s pupils.

If it is looking at itself in my eyes, I am not surprised.
What surprises me is the courage with which it meets death
as my hand comes from underneath
because it does not move.

_______

"and i can go on and on and on... but who cares?"
-GB

On second thought

"I never vote for anybody. I always vote against."
-WC Fields

With control of the House in the hands--or should I say "hooves"--of the Donkey Dems *rimshot* and the Senate at 50-49 thus far, I'm realizing that I should've cast my vote back home in VA.

Did I know anything about the issues? Heck nah, that's why I didn't vote in the first place. (Well, actually, it was because I spend all my time trying to figure out how to control/teach 23 crazy children). But I did know that I don't like George Allen. Something about him tells me he's felt the heat of a cross burning.

So I didn't vote and now control of the Senate hinges on what state's Senate race? Virginia! Of course it does! If i'da voted, it prolly woulda been a landslide victory for Allen and there woulda been celebratory cross burnings everywhere south of Prince William County. But I didn't, and so of course, it's a dead heat. So if Allen wins, I guess it's my fault huh? Sike nah...

But really though, people are all giddy about the results of this election, but does anyone have any idea of the Democratic Agenda? Like, what are they gonna do now that they've won? Just sit there and wait for the Republicans to say something so they can yell "NO!" and claim they've done something? Their majority is flimsy and if they can't come up with a To Do List that is more exhaustive than "Fix what Dubya broke," The Elephants will return en masse into the Capitol (a stampede, if u will) and hold onto the Presidency in '08.

Me, I could care less if the D's win. I'm all about balanced government. Lord Acton said it best: "Power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely." Its obvious with all the GOP scandals that that's exactly what happened. Even John McCain admitted it, even though it was prolly half-posturing for a Presidential run in 08, when he said, "We came to Washington to change government and government changed us." And if the D's make even greater gains in '08, the same thing could very well happen to them. So I'm happy more that the Congress will be more than Bush's Radio Flyer wagon (yes, I just said "Radio Flyer wagon") and do what Civics told me it was designed to do: keep the Commander in Chief in check like a pair of Nikes.

(At least Bush was smart enough to get his Supreme Court noms in EARLY. :-/)

Mother Kazakhstan...

Go see Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan.

It's got the social commentary of Dave Chappelle and it manages to succeed in the one thing that (in my opinion) Chappelle never did: scattalogical humor. Prolly one of the funniest movies I will ever see. Definitely one of the smartest.

I went to the concert for UPenn's gospel choir tonight. It was pretty good. It's interesting to see how different schools do things like gospel choirs. It was very different from a Visions concert. First off, it wasn't free :-/. But they also had a running skit and a theme that was more... entertaining(?) than spiritual i guess. Ench... I enjoyed it. Next semester, I'll make it to more than 3 rehearsals so I can actually sing with them.

On the walk back home from the concert, I was singing some of the songs and thinking back of the good ole days at the WU and at Visions. In the background was this popping sound. One after the other. But it sounded pretty distant, and to be honest, I didn't even realize that I had heard the noises. Then as a crossed an intersection and passed the UPenn security guards that regularly patrol the area at night, I noticed that there was a lotta convo on their walkie talkies. Much more than usual when I pass them.

Suddenly I realized, those were gunshots. The popping back and forth. And it happened pretty close to UPenn. "Good thing I'm walking home," I thought. Once I got home, I came back to the bedroom and started to chill. Then i heard the popping again. Only this time, it sounded like it was right outside my bedroom window. I went to the window and realized that the shooting was taking place on 44th St or maybe 45th (I live on 43rd). Not long after that litany of gunshots and the epiphany of what was happening, I heard the sirens go off.

I had planned to go up the block and do some quick grocery shopping. That got nixed EARLY.

I'm goin to bed. What am I teaching tomorrow? I have no idea. (yikes!)

Greazy's Gear Guide Vol. 1

I was tryna see Borat tonight, but it seems like every person west of the Schuylkill River had the same idea and they all wanted to go to the same theatre so i'm back at the crib on 43rd. In order to pass the time, I have decided to write the first of a series of intermittent posts. I get a lotta questions about my sense of style, seeing as i try to stay ahead of the curve on most fronts. I was blessed in that my mother studied fashion in college and always made sure I knew the difference between "name brand" and "quality materials." Her love for clothes got passed down to me through my genes i guess. Therefore, out of my own sense of altruism, I have decided to begin to share my knowledge with the world. And by "world," I mean the 4 ppl who read my blog.

This first edition of Greazy's Gear Guide is for the grown ups. I'm a twenty-something, salaried professional, so we'll talk hoodies, tees, and nikes later.

Timepieces:
I have decided to open Greazy's Gear Guide with a brief tutorial on watches because I have recently gotten into the watch game. I'm very much a lightweight right now, no swiss-made timepieces, no automatics, no COSC certified chronometers (picked up a Japanese quartz Rose Gold Invicta cronograph for my bday in June) but all in due time. Either way, I will begin with the basics.

How do I wear a watch? This may seem an ignorant question, but judging by what I've seen over my life, it is obvious that most ppl do not realize that a watch is meant to be worn on the left wrist. Unless the crown is placed on the left side of the watch casing, go southpaw with the timepiece. The reason is functional: with the crown on the right side of the casing, one may reset the time without taking the watch off one's wrist. Of course, this goes to show the millenia of favoritism for all things right-handed, but such is life. If you're left handed and wanna wear your watch on your right wrist, get a left handed watch.

How do I know a left handed watch from a right handed one? The crown is on the left side of the casing.

Now, for you right handers who've been wearing your velcro Timex's on your right wrists, undo your strap and put it where its sposed to be or you will be forever seen as an imbecile, maybe not by the majority of ppl, but definitely by those who know the difference between chronograph and chronometer. And better to be seen as a cheapskate than an all-out idiot.

Now, that we've gotten that one outta the way, one thing I've been asked often is "where'd you cop that?"(Usually that comes 2 months--or years--after the same person asks "WTF are you wearing?" with a face like i just shoved excrement in their mouths). I've always been very tight-lipped about those types of things, so as to not unleash the hypebeast in us all, but I will begin to divulge some of my best not-so-kept secrets. I tend to stay away from the generic spots with mass-produced products (i.e. Express, Kenneth Cole, and H&M more recently). I would hate to see somebody in the same button-down or hoody I just bought and it hurts to pay more than $25 for anything, especially if i can't say like Kanye "Nigga, you ain't up on this."

For me, the top priority is always quality. Buy gear u can wear for the next 20 years. Who cares what the name is or if its plastered on the front for all to see. Craftmanship and fabrication are key. Poly and Ester are always a no-no. Cotton, Wool, Silk, and Linen are always best and it helps to know subsets of fabrication so that you know what ur getting when it says Cashmere, Merino, Lambswool, etc. Likewise, its a good thing to know about blends: Cotton/Linen, Silk/Cashmere, blah blah, etc. Know what's good for what kinda weather. Don't wear the seersucker blazer out to the club in November and don't wear the camel hair blazer to the club in July; u'll look like a fool. Look at seams, zippers, overall construction. Know pricepoints. 100 dollars is expensive for a cotton sweater, but cheap for a good cashmere one. (You can still find it cheaper tho ;-))

BUYER'S GUIDE
"Don't ask me what it costs, ask me what it's worth."

<-- My sexy pose. What I paid. Blazer: about 15. Shirt: 20-30. Loafers: 42. Jeans: 40-60. (can't remember exactly, i jus know that i splurged on the jeans)

Now for retail prices. Blazer: 200 (estimation on the low end) Shirt: 145 (no lie). Loafers: 175. Jeans: around 150, maybe more tho.

Add both sets up and compare them to each other. "You are now looking at one smart black boy. Mama ain't raise no fool..." LOL

When it comes to grown up clothes, the answer is always second-hand shops (and next is outlets). Somebody else already paid for the name and got a couple wears out of it. You get to be young and fly without paying flashy prices:

The Scholar Shop For all my STL folks, the Scholar Shop is the one-stop spot to get gear before your interview. The stuff is always well taken care of and where else can you get a Brooks Brothers dress shirt for $6-$12? For those that don't know, the Scholar Shop is a consignment store where ppl take the clothes they no longer want (or fit) and sell it. A portion of the money is used to fund scholarships (i think) or something feel-goodish. Basically, old, rich white folks take their stuff there and you can get good deals on high-end gear. Of course, you gotta search for the good stuff and you gotta fish through a number of Cosby Sweaters and ugly golf polos, but if you don't mind knowing that someone who probably suffers from osteoporosis once wore your suit, you're good to go.

I bought a heavy wool suit from there for 12.50 (it was during a 50% off sale) once. The jacket fit but the pants were too big. I took them jokers to a tailor and got em fixed up for about 20-30 bones and WAM! I'm wearing a fresh suit that prolly retailed in the 4-figure range, but i paid less than 50 for it (BALLIN'!!!)

Buffalo Xchange For my Philly folks, there's no better place to pop tags then Buffalo Xchange. Is that Ralph Lauren Purple Label Cashmere? You bet it is, and ur payin 15% of what they'd charge you at Neiman Marcus. (Copped!) Now when you say "Purple Label sweater with the logo secret," like Jay-Z, you'll really be tellin the truth. It's honestly not as cheap as The Scholar Shop (it's the East Coast, after all). A Polo button-down is about $16 there when it might be 10 in stl, but its still a heckuva lot cheaper than $85 retail. But because the ppl who bring their stuff there are generally younger, it's a lot easier to find stuff for the interview and for the club or the latest cool-guy shindig.

Lastly, Ebay If you know what ur looking for as far as product--not brand name--then Ebay can give you good deals. I've had more than a few ppl ask me about a camel hair blazer I have. (pictured above) I got it off ebay. I knew I wanted a camel hair blazer and i typed it in and found one my size and paid less than 20 for both (i have 2). No, I didn't type in "Bape hoody." I type in the product and fabrication of what i'm looking for: "Cashmere sweater," "Corduroy blazer" "Hammer pants," etc.

The only time I search for a brand name is if I know its obscure enough that there won't be 25 ppl bidding on the same product. So the names we all know (Prada, Gucci, Versace...) are never a good idea. Plus, it's ebay, the land of a million fakes. It's MUCH more likely that you'll find a fake Ralph Lauren dress shirt than a fake Hickey Freeman dress shirt.

And when it comes to brand names, while quality always trumps a name, it's good to know that some brands are known for quality product and construction. Even more important to know is that while some brands are household names like "Ralph Lauren," others like "Hickey Freeman" aren't (so far as twenty-somethings go). It doesnt hurt to go look for that Rolex when you wanna ball with a timepiece, but there are a number of brands that are equally sought after for quality craftmanship, if not more so. Audemars Piguet will prolly be the next Cristal when ppl begin to realize what Jim Jones and Jay and Beyonce were saying in "Ballin'" and "Upgrade U" respectively. Besides that, there's Vacheron Constantin, Omega, Baume & Mercier, the list goes on.

The point of that isn't to name drop (though it seems i did a pretty good job at that). When you know what ur looking for as far as quality, u'll discover the names that carry that level of quality consistently and realize what's baller and not. You don't get the Purple Label sweater at the second-hand shop cuz it's Purple Label (i'm lying. u do get it cuz it's Purple Label, but stay with me), you get it because its a high quality fabric with top-notch construction that's meant to be passed on to your son some day.

And it's not a bad idea for us to think that way about our gear. It's your money, get the most out of it. Really, us roosters strut for the hens of the chicken coop anyway. And maybe its crude to think that this all revolves around procreation, but really, it does. And for those who are "beyond" that notion, you can at least say it's about posterity in some strange, pretentious way.

*plays "All Falls Down" softly in the background*

Call Me... "Mr. Bombastic"

3 Pictures to sum up my day

This was what greeted me when I walked out of Tilden this afternoon. School let out at 12:19 today, and us teachers had Professional Development from 1-3. Me and Ms Lyon, my TFA compadre, left to go get some food from Chillin Pizza before PD started and saw no less than 10 cop cars (including the unmarked Caddy and the Paddy Wagon) right outside. Turns out that there was a shootout of some sort on the corner right around the time school let out.

This was the menu of Chillin Pizza. Notice the slogan:

"Why you cook tonight, We do Pizza right!"

Also of note: "FootBall Special" Obviously, everything around Tilden reminds me of the importance of education. But it also reveals the insignificance of education. Think about it, whoever owns Chillin Pizza has their own private business, but can't spell worth crap. So how important is it for me to make sure my kids can read in the first place?

And lastly, this was our agenda when we walked into our PD session, (or perhaps more appropriately, when the administration--our bosses and the ppl actually running PD--walked into our PD session 15 minutes late). What's wrong with this picture?

I couldn'ta planned it any better myself. It's like life imitating art imitating life.

Lost in the sauce...

A quote from Jigga's latest radio blitzkrieg on Hot 97

"Every step you take, they remind you you ghetto...Now the question is is to
have had and lost better than not having at all?"

Listening to that I can't help but think about my kids' attitudes towards education. Sometimes it (can seem like it) is better to not try than to try to learn something and fail in the end.

Stream of consciousness post

"If you succeed, prepare to be crucified."
-Jay-Z

This week's been another rough one for ya boy, but I'm taking the punches like a boxer in the ring. You come to expect the one-two jab followed by the uppercut after awhile. The disillusionment translates to the lives that are in front of you everyday in addition to the selfish notions of self-preservation in an environment where it's acceptable for 11 and 12 year olds to say "fuck you" because you told them to get in line (for the 5th time).

One of my boys (it's always "one of my boys," sadly) robbed me today. It wasn't like the nigga stuck me up and was like "Gimme your wallet". Never that (I'd have to really hem a child up for that). It was actually much less serious than that, but still, he stole something from me. We were in math and I was tired of having to tell him to stop talking and to get his notebook out. I went back to his desk and opened up his (torn up) binder and tried to find a clean page of paper. Every sheet was covered with random drawings. This boy usually spends every day drawing in his notebook and "baking" on his friends in the class. Baking: the act of playing the dozens, "cutting up," "treating," or "joaning" on someone by the use of humorous and witty comments. The goal of which is to leave one's adversary "speechless."

Once I saw that the young man in question had nothing worth keeping in his binder, I took it. I closed it, took it off his desk and put it in my "work corner." This is basically my desk, but its really a mass of boxes, papers, and posters in, on, and around where my desk is. Of course this made him get all hype on some "Gimme back my binder!" type stuff to which I replied "No, your mother can pick it up," to which he responded "Fine, you take my stuff, I'ma take something off your desk," to which I replied, "No you're not. You're going to Ms Craig's room." Ms Craig is the lead teacher who takes students when they've been kicked out of their teacher's room. He refused (of course) and went over to my desk to eye something to take. I didn't wanna have to choke him for breaking something of mine, so instead I dragged him outside (literally) and had security take him to Ms Craig's room.

Now, I didn't really drag the poor child, but he was fighting against me, and he was losing. So as I moved one way, and he fought the other way, he ended up being dragged out. Oh well....

My other big problem student was already out of my room because he couldn't keep his mouth shut when we were taking our bathroom break (which took 30 minutes). So with Problem #1 and #2 out of the room, we made some progress during Math. We covered an entire lesson and they didn't go bananas for a full hour and some change.

Then Problem #1 came back and immediately brought back chaos. Within a couple minutes, Problem #2 came back in. He was still mad cuz he got embarrassed and blah blah blah. I cared about this much. Probably less. But then Problem #2 came up to my desk and this is the dialogue that ensued:
Problem #2: Gimme back my binder.
Me: No. Take your seat.
Problem #2: Nah...Fuck nah!
Me: You're not getting it back so sit down.
Problem #2: No! You take something of mine, I'm gonna take something off your desk.

Now, meanwhile, Problem #1 has made Problems #3, 4, 5, and 6 to get riled up and now there is pandemonium in the room. Also, I have 5-6 students who are begging for my attention to help them finish their math worksheets. Problem #1 and Problem #5 are horseplaying and screaming in the back of the room. Problem #3 and Problem #6 are at the very brink of getting into a full-out fistfight in the same general area.

As I'm trying to deal with all this, Problem #2 picks up the wood model I bought from Ikea to decorate the room and takes it to his desk. This is what he has decided to take from me. Since he went to his desk, I decide to let him be and try to do some damage control in other parts of the room. By the time I remember that he has something of mine, I look in the back and ask James and Rymier, "Where's [Problem #2]?" "He left," they reply.

Admittedly, my blood boils, but all I do is shrug my shoulders. I can't show my anger in front of these kids and especially when the person who's responsible for my anger isn't even there. Somewhere in between all this, Problem #1 blessed me with another "Fuck you" when I told him to come to my desk so I could get him up to speed on what he missed in math. He went back to dramatic horseplay with Problem #5. Eventually he decides to walk out too.

As each day with my kids passes, I become more and more dissatisfied. Not so much with my children, but with everything on which they depend.

First is myself and my relative ineptitude as an educator. I don't know what I'm doing, my kids know it, and they're suffering for it everyday. Because of me, I feel like some of my "at-risk" kids are being pushed closer to the grave and the jail cell.

But then there's the system, the one that pushes children through grade levels like noodles in a spaghetti factory. I need to flunk some of my students because they will not be ready for the 7th grade next year, but I can't flunk them because of this rule and that reason, and such-and-such is special ed, and blah blah blah. Then they wonder why 50% of Philadelphia 9th graders actually finish high school in 4 years. I watch outstanding teachers everyday. I'm surrounded by them. I don't believe all the talk about "underqualified teachers" in urban schools. Here, I'm the unqualified teacher. These other teachers have systems, skills, and swagger that gets the job done day in and day out. They have the experience to control a classroom of knuckleheads and hoodrats (real talk) with so much as a look. The administration has this to say and that to say, but it's far too much talk and not enough action. The truth is that schools like mine need stricter rules of discipline and achievement. But instead, we make room for the flaws. Goals are set at 50%-75% when each grade is already behind 1-2 years in the first place. We can't focus on a student who walks around the classroom and won't take his seat cuz we need to concentrate on the fights in the halls. Well, maybe if we were more strict about keeping kids from getting out their seats, they wouldn't wander into the halls and fight each other.

But in the end, I look at the parents. Children, at their best and at their worst, are reflections of the environment from which they come. It is obvious that my students with the worst behavior do not have parents that, frankly, do their jobs as parents. When I was a kid, my mother kept her foot so far up my behind I could taste the leather on the toebox and the rubber on the soles. Who cares if I liked the teacher? Sit down, shut up, and do your work, Jonathan. Don't make me come up to that school. And to be fair, some of these parents are spread thin. They're raising 5-6 kids (literally) by themselves. But at the same time, keep your legs closed mami. Grow up, realize the bulbs of responsibilities that are aching for your attention, take the money for ur fresh weave and buy a book to read to your kid(s) instead. As my Lead Teacher says, "Get off the couch, stop watching soap operas, waiting for ur check to come in the mail."

It's harsh, yes. Before I stepped foot into Soufwest, I would've called such talk insensitive and out of touch. But I'm here now. I breathe it everyday. My Lead Teacher was born and bred in Southwest Philadelphia and her opinions are about as pungent as an overflowed toilet, but they're real. I watch my students spend their money every morning at the bodega on soda and bags of chips and have to argue with them between 8:15 and 9 every morning to get them to put the soda and chips back into their bookbags. Who eats Cheetoes at 9 in the morning? But then I think about sitting on the trolley at 7am and watching a woman get on the trolley with her two small girls and the black plastic bag that all the bodegas use. She took her seat, situated her girls, and opened up a bag of chips and started feeding a girl who couldn't have been more than 3 or 4 years old. I watched her as she did it and wondered, who told u it was ok to feed ur baby chips for breakfast?

Ignorance breeds ignorance just as intelligence breeds intelligence (and money begets mo' money). The sad thing though, is that population growth is exponential. And by such a law, decline is also exponential. So as babies keep having babies, more and more things keep getting lost, and more and more of the wrong things become glorified and taken as norms instead of exceptions, and I enter room 401 every morning and meet the faces of those exceptions who have come to view the eccentricity of their existence as a norm and injustice as a way of life.

Call me... who?

Gone till November....21st

I've come to the conclusion that no rapper, dead or alive, has the depth and breadth of lyrical dexterity as does Jay-Z. I will expound in a future post, but let's just say the boy Young Hov has surpassed Biggie significantly in this regard

*Note* I don't consider Pac as competition at all when it comes to lyrical dexterity, especially when compared to rappers like Big, Eminem, Andre 3000, Big Boi, Common, and of course Jay.

The floodgates are open. May the waters rush in.