The Willie Lynch Letters, really?

Earlier today I received an e-mail from one of my estranged aunts about a picture caption on my myspace page. The picture is of my sister and I in the stands of our cousin’s graduation with a little girl in the background trying to get into the picture. The caption reads “There’s a little dark girl trying to get into the picture in the back.” The e-mail that was sent to me included the fact that Egyptian queens and princesses were considered beautiful back in their prime (okay…), super model Christy Brinkley is hot (I’ve never heard of her…) and the mentioning of the Willie Lynch Letter (a speech given almost 300 years ago). Obviously bothered, I had to respond to her damn e-mail. The following contains an excerpt from the e-mail (actually, the whole e-mail minus a few sentences) and starts out with a quote from her e-mail to me. She spelled perpetuates wrong…


“Society pertuates that light or white epitomizes what beauty is i.e. Super Model Christy Brinkley or light skinned girls with long straight hair in the black videos is what is use to symbolize what beauty is. As a result the "Willie Lynch Letter" is in full effect!”

This shit never fails does it? I make a joke on my myspace page about a girl who is obviously of the darker nation and every black woman in her 40s and 50s who experienced the Civil Rights Movement first hand has to jump on my back as if statements like yours are helping to end the proliferation of racism and sexism in the United States. As an educated black man who happens to hold grudges, I’m more than offended that you’d throw the “Willie Lynch Letter” in my face not knowing the circumstances. Sure, I’m a light skinned brotha who pointed out that some young woman is darker than I, but there was nothing more to be read into that. I didn’t say that she was an ugly dark skinned girl (which she obviously isn’t) nor did I say that I wouldn’t be attracted to a woman whose skin is darker than mine (because I’m definitely not that shallow).

I know what’s going on with race relations in this country, and in reality, I feel that everything that is learned about racism, sexism or ageism (if we really want to get technical about that damn speech given almost 300 years ago), is learned in the home. The experiences that are learned from our families are the experiences that we take with us into the real world, and I’ll hold that truth to be relevant until my days on this earth are up and only the words that I’ve written over the years live on – which is why I took immediate exception to this e-mail. The “Willie Lynch Letter” was written to keep African-Americans divided and to keep plantation profits up. If one thing remains true from that letter, it’s Lynch’s statement that black men and women will carry on and will become self-refueling and self-generating for hundreds of years – and this truth was never more evident to me than a few months back when you, Auntie Bridget, tried splitting my immediate family apart by attacking my mother through both my sister and me.

I don’t know what you wanted, but I do know that you went about it the way slave masters from the 1700s would have loved for you to do it. I’ve taken that experience and learned that everyone in the world can be as cut-throat as they need to be to get what they want, even if it means coming between family. I understand where you’re coming from as a black woman, because I lived exclusively with black women for five years of my life. However, I don’t need you, or anyone else, throwing that “black is beautiful” bullshit at me because that phrase is the epitome of the propagation of reverse-racism. Instead of seeing colors, how about “people in general are beautiful.” If for some reason I happen to find a white woman extremely attractive and marry her, it isn’t because of societies perpetuation of what is or is not beautiful, it’s because I have found her beautiful (or intelligent or hilarious or all of the above). We need to give up this “media is controlling beauty” argument because it’s just become an excuse for why black women are losing black men. Instead of consuming so much of the mass media, why not go out and create your own reality.

Further more, instead of chastising me for pointing out the obvious, why not go after the black men and women across this country who live and die by what is written in the Bible. This country was built by the hands of African American’s who had their basic rights as humans taken away by white men who need the cheapest labor possible to make this the “world’s greatest country.” I mean, there are specific passages in the Bible that men used to justify slavery and prolong subjugation as long as possible. In the wake of the Civil War, Jefferson Davis, the president of the confederate states after the South broke away from the Union said, “Slavery is an established decree of Almighty God. It is sanctioned in the Bible, in both Testaments, from Genesis to Revelation.” We hear about everything morally right about the Bible ad nauseam, but the same people who were oppressed because of this book continue to warship the God who condones such an evil practice of the human race. In Exodus, the guidelines for buying, selling, and treating slaves is clearly outlined. In First Timothy, we learn how slaves should look at their masters and in both Matthew and John it clearly states that slaves are not better than their masters.

I want to read your assumptions about how I feel about women of color as much as I want to hear anything about race equality, sex equality or class equality from the mouth anyone who totes a Bible around with them all day and claims that the way of the Lord is the right way. I’m tired of being preached to about race issues from people who don’t look at things from both ends of the conjectural spectrum. I merely pointed out that a girl was dark skinned to get a laugh from a couple of friends on my myspace page, something no one should ever take seriously. Had I known that I was going to get “The Lynch Letters” thrown in my face like I’m just some average ignorant nigga (a phrase not to be taken literally, please, spare me) maybe I would have written a more controversial caption.

This shouldn’t be a big deal.

Stay Hideous,
PB

Phillip on this, Phillip on that

Phillip on the Democratic National Convention so far…

I was strangely consumed with one speech in particular last night, Mark Warner’s, for two reasons. One, he looked plastic and looked like he was taken right out of the cartoon “American Dad” and two, he was a terrible speaker with an amazing message. I sat on my bed late last night (I didn’t get to see it live because I was working) both amazed and disgusted at the same time. He often paused for roaring applauses he was sure would come, but didn’t, and had one of the corniest voices I’ve ever actually sat and listened to (and I wouldn’t have if his speech wasn’t so good). But he caught my attention early when he said that the race for the future was the most important race we’re currently in – and it can’t be won with a president who is stuck in the past. That shit was brilliant, however, not as brilliant as Bob Casey’s speech.

I don’t remember anything that fucker said, but he had that whole crowd chanting “four more months” twice during the course of his speech. Not four more years, but four more months of that Republican bullshit that has been tearing this country down for eight years. I only watched Hillary Clinton’s speech just to see Bill Clinton’s reactions. If you missed it last night, you missed seeing the proudest man in America while Hillary spoke. I mean, if you could have seen the faces that fucker made you would have been envious of the love (or admiration) he had for Hillary. It was ridiculous and disgusting and amazingly entertaining to watch. And when Hillary mentioned Bill’s administration in the 90s, he leaned back with that “yeah, I did that face.” I was in tears from laughing so hard. I’m interested in seeing Bill Clinton’s speech tonight. It could be the funniest speech yet, or the most disturbing as far as Obama’s candidacy goes. Either way, it’s must see TV.

Phillip on women and ex-GFs…

Before I get on my rant about ex-girlfriends (well, I actually won’t be ranting because I’m above that shit) I just want to point out that pretty women are the root of all evil. There is a saying that is along the lines of “everything is done to pay the mortgage.” Well, for those of us renting out apartments, everything is done to please a pretty woman. I know every dude in the world who thinks he’s the pimp of the year or just has a glut of hoes on his jock is going to say that he doesn’t need to do shit to please a woman – well, that’s where you’re absolutely wrong. There is nothing more capable of making a great day terrible or a terrible day great than a pretty woman, and this truth is becoming more and more evident as I watch the moods of my friends change simply by communicating (or not communicating) with different women – hell, I’m even a victim of this from time to time (calm down Davion hahaha). I just wanted to let all of the fellas know, stay away from pretty girls if you can! They’ll murder your soul (and to all of the pretty women out there reading this, I don’t really mean that!).

One more thing, my boy Davion and I went out to a club together for the first time last weekend (you think that’s weird, we’ve known each other for about seven years or so and actually shook hands for the first time a couple weeks ago, strange indeed). I must say, we were totally caught off guard by the drunken bitches in the club that night (I’m only calling them bitches because I didn’t know all of their names individually hahahaha). I was actually disgusted not only by them, but by dudes who don’t have enough game to pick up sober girls. I mean, it’s obviously easy to pay a few dollars to get into a club and walk out with some broad who had one too many. Dudes, step your games up, ladies, stop drinking so much because niggas like us laugh at you and write blogs about it (yeah, you too Jessica, I told everyone about you falling while trying to dance with me hahahaha!). Drunk girls are overrated, but best believe we’re going back for the sheer comedy. I’m tripping drunk girls on purpose next time.

About a week and a half ago my (ex) friend Fernando came into town. He and Davion did their little dance thing then we all met up at KFC (I know I know, make your black people love chicken jokes. If I choose the restaurant, however, it would have been churches, KFC is more overrated than Megan Fox). Well, we all hung out at the restaurant for way too long cracking jokes and shit like we were in high school at McDonalds after school. Well, my ex-girlfriend walked in with some scrub ass nigga (I’m not saying this because I'm jealous, I’m saying it because he still has a fucking s-curl in 2008). I had my back to the door so I didn’t see her walk in, but Davion did, but didn’t recognize her at first. I’m pretty sure his exact words were “damn, who’s that fine bitch over there, she looks like Ebony.” So, naturally, I turn around to see this girl, and it’s, of course, Ebony. I turn back around without making any eye contact with her because she’s crazy (you were right on point Celia, don’t let your brother date any half black half Mexican girls, they’re wild) and I didn’t want to talk to her. Fernando’s bum ass had never seen her before and was like “how could you let her go,” and Davion was, I’m about to prove that I am, in fact, a nigga by referencing this movie, but hey, it’s fucking hilarious, like DL Hugley’s character in “The Brothers.” You remember, after Morris Chestnut and Gabrielle Union broke up and then she showed up to the club with some other nigga and DL was like, “that’s not even her type.” Well, that’s exactly what Davion was doing, but way funnier. So I got one dude to the left of me telling me that I’m stupid for letting her go just because she was pretty (well, maybe he should go and get a pretty girlfriend and stop worrying about my ex, ouch) and another basically talking trash about her for being with a scrub and I was just sitting there thinking, “man, your main niggas care way more about your ex girlfriend than you do.” And it’s true. We all hate (or admire?) our friends ex-girlfriends more than they do. It’s in interesting dynamic within the male community, and I feel like it’s completely different for women. Women and their friends all hate whoever’s ex it is equally, and that shit is weird. I just thought I’d share the story since I had nothing else to talk about.

Phillip on having roommates…

For about the last two years I had been living by myself (single dorm for the 2006-2007 school year and a studio from that summer until this past July). It’s been a month since we’ve moved in and I have to say that it’s been better than I expected. Sure, they could be a little cleaner (bastards need to learn how to wash out my fucking pots and pans after they cook shit, hungry ass niggas), but outside of that, they’ve been cool. One of the guys, Dhevin, I’ve known him since his day of birth. He’s my mom’s best friend’s son, so he’s always been around. The other guy, Darryl, is his best friend and I’ve known the nigga four about for years. Davion and I basically looked after these little niggas while we were in high school and taught them to be just like us, and it’s scary how they’re the younger versions of us. It’s been good having them around so far because they’re fucking hilarious, chips off of the proverbial blocks. I’m cool as long as they keep their asses in school and out of trouble (and out of my damn bed, I’ll murder them if they bring one of their little skeezits in my room!). Nice.

Phillip on Halloween…

I’ve decided that I’m going to dress up as Prince this year. At first, I was joking around (if you’ve heard me say this before) but since Halloween is no where near NBA’s opening day this year and Davion found a basketball court that can’t be any higher than 8-feet high, I think it’s imperative that we take the video camera out on Halloween and get a game going on that court. Best believe that I’m going to be dunking on everyone who goes out. Game. Blouses.

Phillip on music…

I had a conversation with a friend the other day that had me coming to the conclusion that every artist that I can’t stand had a terrible debut album. With that being said, I’ve come up with a list of my top 20 favorite debut albums of all time (not the best, just my favorite – so I don’t want anyone ripping me a new one if the list looks weird, I’m looking at you Turner lol).

20. Get Lifted- John Legend (this is only on here because it has production from Kanye, and I’m not at home with all of my music to pull up better debut albums)

19. I- Led Zeppelin (easily my favorite classic rock album of all time)

18. The Carnival- Wyclef Jean (I remember my mom got this album for me when I was like 10 or 11 years old. Amazing album)

17. Jada Kiss- Kiss the game goodbye (that line, “I got you scared I can tell/ I get bucks like Milwaukee cuz like Sam I can sell” made me a Jada fan from that point on)

16. St. Elsewhere- Gnarles Barkley (only the second weirdest album I own, but it’s production is amazing. Danger Mouse is a beast)

15. Obie Trice- Cheers (probably one of the most slept on albums of all time. Obie Trice is a great MC)

14. Styles P- A gangster and a gentleman (this album has like four or five crazy stories on it and he and Jada connect on a few songs, they switch off better than anyone on a verse since Run DMC)

13. Reasonable Doubt- Jay-Z (Some classic songs on this album like 22 two’s and Feelin It. I probably would have been a Jay-Z fan before the Black Album came out if I had heard this before I heard the Blueprint)

12. Baduizm- Erykah Badu (Neo-Soul at its best. Songs like Apple Tree and Four leaf clover stay in my playlists.)

11. Back for the first time- Ludacris (Anyone who slept on this album was a damn foul. Punch lines galore.)

10. Black on Both Sides- Mos Def (New World Water still may be my favorite Most Def song and I LOVED rock and roll)

9. Back to Black- Amy Winehouse (For all of you who think she’s just some crack whore: Listen to this fucking album. Every track on here is amazing – and every track on her real debut album, “Frank,” is amazing too. Find me one other artist who put out two albums with no bad songs, just one.

8. RUN D.M.C.- Run DMC (Run DMC will forever remain my favorite rap duo. They changed the world with this album. Anyone who doesn’t feel Rock Box or Sucker M.C.s needs to kill themselves.)

7. Lord Willin'- Clipse (I don’t care if the whole album is about selling coke, this shit was amazing from beginning to end. I must have played this shit non stop for three months when it dropped.)

6. Juslisen- Musiq Soulchild (This nigga came on the scene and lifted the R&B game up with this album. This is the epitome of contemporary Neo-Soul for generation-xers.

5. 36 Chambers- Wu Tang (What do I need to say about this album. Wu Tang changed hip hop with this album. How many times have you heard someone say C.R.E.A.M. in another nigga’s verse? How many times have you been pumped when you heard that hideous ODB howl? M-E-T-H-O-D Man? C’mon, you know this shit was amazing.)

4. Illmatic- Nas (Well, there’ll be no more surprises from here on out if you know me. I can’t emphasize enough how ill the song Halftime is. It may be my favorite song of all time. I mean, he said it himself “with no famous guest appearances, the outcome, I’m crowned the best lyricist.” Illmatic is one of those albums that will live on forever.

3. Food and Liquor- Lupe Fiasco (I can’t tell you how many times I’ve played this album, and I’ve been amazed by what this nigga says every time I listen to it. He has a ridiculous balance of punch lines/storytelling that seems unmatched. I don’t know if there is a better MC out (right now) who is matching his skills lyrically [and I’m willing to go line for line with anyone who doesn’t agree])

2. The College Dropout- Kanye West (we all know how I feel about Kanye West, but this album is head and heels about both of his others. He put so much of himself into this album and it had something everyone could relate to. And I don’t even need to get into the production of this album. This is about as perfect as a mainstream debut album can get.

1. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill- Lauryn Hill (If I were creating a list of top 10 hip hop albums, this would crack the top 5. I created a list of the top 10 R&B albums, this would crack the top 5. if I created a list of the top 10 albums of all time, this would crack the top 5. Hill not only rapped and sang pretty much every thing on this album, but she also wrote all of the music, arranged it and produced it. She is the most talented woman of my lifetime. Bar none.

Phillip on work…

I burnt the fuck out of my thumb on the ID machine today. Ouch. And I’ve just realized that kids born in the 90s are starting to get to college this year. Yikes! I must be getting old. Time to hurry up and graduate. But uh… time to get out of here.

Stay Hideous
-PB

Most Interesting team in 2008-2009

[This article was originally published at Talkhoops.net]

In the wake of Team USA’s Gold Medal run in the 2008 Olympic Games, those of us whose lives are fueled by basketball are already looking forward to the upcoming basketball season. Around this time last season Kobe Bryant and the Lakers were the most dominating and interesting story of the offseason for a myriad reasons that included, but were not limited to A) Bryant throwing both his teammates and management under the conjectural Buss (yes, Jerry too), B) Dr. Buss saying Bryant could be traded and Bryant’s wanting to get the hell out of Los Angeles and C) Lamar Odom’s tattoo on his scalp. The Lakers being the most interesting team heading toward training camps has been the case for the last three or four seasons, however, with Andrew Bynum coming back with Pau Gasol in the front court, the Lakers look to be an actual basketball team going into a season for the first time since the 2003-2004 season, which is why the Lakers aren’t the most interesting team next season. And with that being said, this may be the most awkward thing I’ve ever considered writing in my lifetime (for reasons to be explained later).

Unlike the two other major American sports, football and baseball, fans of basketball have been captivated by individual players instead of team concepts for as long as I can remember. There are a plethora of athletes who are larger than their teams and there was even one, Michael Jordan, who was bigger than the sport itself. We as basketball fans love being able to watch a single player dictate how a game is going to happen just by his own abilities, which is why guys like Allen Iverson, Tracy McGrady and Paul Pierce (God forbid) will always have fans. This is why, when we talk about the Celtics in the 1980s, we immediately garnish beautiful words about Larry Legend instead of everything every player on that team represented, and this is completely different from baseball and football. When we think about the Steelers of the 1970s we remember that Steel Curtain defense and how they owned the AFC, we really don’t think about any individual players, and I’m sure if I asked either of my two roommates (who are both three years younger than I and are both huge football fans), they would be able to give me Larry Bird’s name in a conversation about the Golden Era of basketball before they came up with Lynn Swann, Terry Bradshaw, Joe Green or Jack Ham’s names when talking about that dynasty of the 70s. The same goes with baseball. We’ll remember Hakeem Olajuwon as a representative of the Rockets of the 90s, but we won’t remember guys like David Cone and Derek Jeter as much as we remember the Yankees of the late 90s as a whole unit.

This idea of the individual vs. the team, as far as basketball vs. football and baseball go, is a very interesting concept and isn’t only applied to eras, but to individual years too. Terms like the ’72 Dolphins or the ’85 Bears resonate with football fans as much as Jordan in 1987 or Charles Barkley in 1993 does with basketball fans – which leads me to the reason why this season the Lakers will not be the most interesting team going into the 2008-2009 season. With the acquisition of Gasol, the emergence of Bynum’s talent and the depth of their bench, Bryant no longer has to go for 45 points every night for his team to win games. The seasons of Bryant averaging 30 points per game are over even though he still remains the single greatest game closer and offensive force that this league has witnessed since 1998 (as we all watched in the fourth quarter in the U.S. vs. Spain gold medal game). Non-Lakers fans will no longer have to monitor the progress of Lakers games just to make sure they aren’t missing another Bryant scoring binge. The probability of Bryant going off for 50 points has decreased because the level of play from his teammates has increased. You can look at Bryant’s production, or the production of any great scorer, like you would look at a supply and demand graph with supply being surrounding talent and demand being points. As supply increases, the demand will ultimately decrease, which is why Bryant only had three games where he scored 50 or more points before the 04-05 season and only one 50+ game with Gasol on the roster. Every other 50 point game Bryant has had (and there have been twenty others) have come between the dates of December 20th, 2005 and April 15th, 2007, times when the talent surrounding him was unquestionably low...

[You can find out which team I think will be the most interesting to watch by clicking this link to Talkhoops.net]

Stay Hideous
-PB

R.I.P. Kevin Duckworth

LINCOLN CITY, Ore. -- Former Portland Trail Blazers center Kevin Duckworth died while on a trip to the Oregon Coast to host a free basketball clinic. He was 44.

The Lincoln County sheriff's office confirmed the death. He died Monday.

The 7-foot Duckworth averaged 11.8 points and 5.8 rebounds over 11 seasons in the NBA, helping Portland reach the NBA Finals in 1990 and 1992. The two-time All-Star also played for San Antonio, Washington, Milwaukee and the Los Angeles Clippers.

"Kevin will be remembered by fans as one of the most popular and recognizable players to ever wear the Blazers uniform, but to people who knew him, he'll be remembered as one of the warmest and biggest-hearted," Trail Blazers president Larry Miller said.

The Blazers said he was representing the team on a 19-city tour of Oregon.

Duckworth grew up in the Chicago area and was drafted by the San Antonio Spurs out of Eastern Illinois University in 1986.

The Spurs traded him that season to the Trail Blazers, where he had his greatest success, playing with Clyde Drexler, Terry Porter, Buck Williams and Jerome Kersey on two Western Conference championship teams. Duckworth was named the NBA's Most Improved Player in his second year in the league.

Duckworth remained in the Portland area after he retired in 1997, doing woodwork, fishing and hunting. He ran a construction company in Northern California for a time, and a restaurant venture in Vancouver, Wash., with former NBA player Kermit Washington went out of business.

The cause of death was to be determined by a medical examiner.

Information from The Associated Press was used in this report.

Star Spangaled Dominance

[This article was originally published at Talkhoops.net]

On the eve of the USA vs. Argentina Olympic semi-final rematch, we as basketball fans really have to look at what these Olympics can potentially mean for the basketball community at large. Unlike 1992, when the U.S. National Team completely obliterated any other team that dared to step in between the 92x50 parameters of execution and dominance, the 2008 Olympics have had a different tone as far as basketball is concerned. Instead of the Dream Team we have the less impressive Redeem Team, a collection of guys who have set out to bring the prominence there once was back to the states and to take their dignity back from the world. In the wake of these semifinal match-ups, considering the way that the U.S. team has played despite their obvious weaknesses, we have to ponder two rudimentary questions: Why is this U.S. team playing so well this year as opposed to recent world competitions dating back to the 2004 Olympic Games? And, is the international gap as close as we think it is?

The U.S. Men’s Basketball Team has been the most discussed and researched topic of these Olympics with Michael Phelp’s mom taking a close second, and it seems like everyone has taken notice of some of the members of the team off of the court. We’ve consistently seen Kobe Bryant and LeBron James in the stands at other sporting events cheering on other U.S. Olympic athletes like drunken college students, and I think this is one of the reasons why the U.S. team is playing so well.

No, it isn’t because they’re drawing inspiration from Phelps or Misty May and Kerri Walsh, it’s because they’re enjoying each other. The guys from this team really like each other, their personalities mesh and they’re going out to other sporting events and the Olympic Village together. Further more, what has stood out the most, well, at least to me, is the fact that this is almost a collegiate experience for the team, which works wonders for guys like Bryant and James – and also Dwight Howard – guys who didn’t go to college.

We’ve seen Bryant and James in the stands wearing red, white and blue polo’s while cheering like they’re representing their school’s swimmers and volleyball team. They’re out there pumping their fists, they’re yelling and giving high fives to random fans just like they’re the same as everyone else, just much larger. Guys like Chris Bosh and Carmelo Anthony only experienced one year of college life (which they probably didn’t get to fully enjoy going through all of the pre-draft events during their second semester or third quarter) and seem to be enjoying themselves in the same ways. This experience has been completely different from anything most of these guys have experienced, and the fact that they’re experiencing this together is going a long way as far as their chemistry on the court goes. What makes this year so different is that we never saw guys out together watching other events in previous years, not since 1996, the last really good U.S. Olympic team before this one.

Having two of college basketball’s best coaches in Mike Krzyzewski and Jim Boeheim has also been a different and rewarding experience for the team. Coach K and Boeheim are two completely different personalities, but they’re similar in the sense that they’re basketball ideologies and the way they handle players off of the court are completely different from anything you’ll find in the NBA. These NBA players, as much as you’d like to think otherwise, love learning about basketball, and both Coach K and Boeheim can offer different insights about basketball and just life in general that guys aren’t getting from their NBA coaches. The complexity in differentiating between the learning taking place in this year’s Olympics compared to 2004, when Larry Brown coached the team, is actually not complex at all. Coach K requires a certain brand of respect from his players than what Brown offered (that and the fact that Brown coached a bunch of guys who really weren’t students of the game).

If you were to ask me why this team seems to play so much better than recent teams of the past, I’d say it’s the collegiate feel of these games for the team. The camaraderie is not only between the players on the U.S. basketball team, but the camaraderie between the U.S. basketball team and the other U.S. Olympic athletes. The way they interact is akin to the way athletes on college campuses interact, and the guys on this team love it. The mere fact that they’re enjoying themselves off of the court (something that didn’t happen with the 2004 team) is doing wonders for the team on the court.

This other question, however, still remains to be answered. Everyone has their own opinion on the theoretical gap between the talent of the U.S. athletes and the athletes around the world, including myself. I realize that I’ll probably catch some hell for this...

Click this link to catch the rest of this article at Talkhoops.net

Stay Hideous
-PB

Where has the motivation gone?

Sometimes after I write my hands hurt from the ubiquity of repetitive taps of the keyboard. I love that pain because the pain usually signifies the end of an accomplishment. Yes, an accomplishment, no matter how good or how bad what was written, it’s an accomplishment when thoughts meet words and words meet the computer screen. At least that’s how I’ve grown to look at it these days. In a quest to become the best writer I can possibly be, I’ve had to take the bad with the good, however there has been more bad than good lately. To prevent unnecessary frustration or unnecessary stress or unnecessary anger I’ve had to train myself to become more optimistic. This optimism has turned everything I’ve written into an accomplishment, the thing is, I haven’t accomplished nearly as much as I’ve wanted to this summer – and it hasn’t even been close.

Now my hands hurt for an entirely different reason. They’re longing to transfer the energy expensed pushing down on various keys into more accomplishments, but the mind hasn’t been functioning the way the hands want it to. I’ve been lost mentally for about the last month and a half. My ideas have been as scrambled as the two eggs I ate before hitting the gym this morning and live has eaten and digested them just the same. It’s been getting harder and harder to get thoughts down on paper, even about basketball. I’m slowly coming to the realization that I’ll never be great at anything because I tire of it too quickly. I’ve been going hard at this writing thing for only three years, and I’ve progressed a lot, but there have been so many other things that I’ve started, thought I’d love doing, then grew tired of them. I mean, I could have been a good graphic designer, a good history teacher, a good music engineer (not to be confused with an actual musician). I get so deep into things so fast that I get tired of it because the growth slows down. It never stops, but my writing isn’t nearly improving at the rate it was two years ago and I’m definitely not learning something new every day.

I knew this was coming, but I prayed that it didn’t. I don’t have the propensity to continue doing things for long periods of time. I’m a natural born quitter. I get bored to easily, I’m bored with life. The thing is, I don’t know what else to do. It’s all I’ve known for the last three years, it’s kept me sane, it’s kept me humble, it’s kept me in school. But now, I’ve lost all motivation to write for a month and all of a sudden I’m tired of it. Inspiration has been harder to find than Carmen San Diego (I know, I love sports, it’s the Olympics, inspiration should be every where, right?). Honestly, as of right now, I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself. I have about a year and a half left before I graduate and get thrown out into the real world and all of a sudden, I might not even know what the fuck I want to do. I thought I loved writing about basketball, now, I’m not so sure.

I don’t know what I’ll do anymore. I love basketball, I love history, and right now, that’s about it. I’m hoping this is just some bum ass phase. I don’t know. I can’t stop writing because I have an obligation to run my school’s newspaper for at least another year, hopefully I’ll wake my ass up and realize that I’ve been doing what I need to be doing.

To be continued (maybe?)

This just ruined my day

From ESPN.com

Greg Oden's finally looking ready. But the guy who will get him the ball is banged up.

The Portland Trail Blazers announced on Wednesday that guard Brandon Roy will have arthroscopic surgery on his left knee on Thursday. The operation will repair a tear in the meniscus that was revealed by MRI on Tuesday. Blazers team physician Dr. Don Roberts will perform the procedure at Southwest Washington Regional Surgery Center in Vancouver, Wash., and Roy is expected to be sidelined for between one and two months.

Oden, the top pick in last year's draft who missed all of the 2007-08 campaign after right knee surgery, worked out for the media on Tuesday.

The 7-footer from Ohio State showed no signs of problems in two-on-two work with teammates Steve Blake and Channing Frye and former Arkansas star Steven Hill, a 7-footer invited to practice with Portland. Oden isn't allowed to go five-on-five until next month.

"I'm feeling good," Oden said. "I do not have any pain or soreness in my knee."

Roy is part of a young nucleus for the up-and-coming Blazers. The 2006-07 Rookie of the Year has averaged 18.1 points, 5.0 assists and 4.6 rebounds over his two years in the league.

Roy helped the Blazers improve by 11 wins in his rookie year to a 32-50 mark, and even without Oden, Portland jumped up to 41 wins last season.

Information from The Associated Press and Reuters was used in this report.

On the Olympics...

On the Olympics so far…

USA Basketball
I’ve put this off for too long. This team is done with its easy portion of pool play. They have Germany, Grease and Spain coming up in their next three games, yikes! The Germans shouldn’t be too tough to handle for the Americans. They’ll just have to keep the ball out of Dirk’s hands and keep the Caveman (Chris Kaman) off the glass.

What I’ve liked so far:
1. Dwayne Wade has been amazing for the US team off the bench. He looks to have that pre-shoulder/knee surgery quickness and explosiveness. He’s been getting to the rim at will and he’s been a lock down defender on the other end of the floor – well, at least when he’s been on the ball handler (but more on that later). Miami Heat fans and executives alike have to be liking what they’ve seen out of him so far. Baring any other wild injury (knock on wood) he should be back to old form in no time.

2. LeBron James is unstoppable on an all-star team. He has been the US Team’s best player by far in these games. When his weaknesses (ie. mid-range game, lack of post game, inconsistent shooting) cannot be exploited due to other all-stars being on the floor he can go out and do the things he’s best at (ie. getting to the rim, dunking on dudes, running fast breaks by himself) he’s pretty hard to tame. He’s been great playing help side (as you saw on three amazing blocks against China and that one mid-way through the second against Angola [yikes!]) and he’s been really jumping in passing lanes.

3. Chris Bosh has been great providing what Dwight Howard hasn’t been able to give the US team in the paint. If I’m starting an NBA franchise and I had a choice to build around Dwight Howard or Chris Bosh, I’m taking Howard every time, but this isn’t the case in international play. Chris Bosh is better for this style of play. He can bring out defenders and hit the mid range jumpers and has the quickness to get around defenders and get to the rim. He’s going to be a big part of their success (if any) against teams like Grease, Spain and Argentina.

4. The coaching staff’s full court press has been very affective, especially when teams have brought in their second or third point guards. The US team is obviously the quickest and most athletic team playing in these Olympic games and it makes for some crowd pleasing passes and dunks (that Jason Kidd to LeBron alley-oop early in the game against China made me yell Oh My God and I was quite pleased when Kobe smashed on Sun Yue, and I can’t wait to see what Yue can do in the NBA, he is a potential beast).

What I haven’t liked:
1. Seeing Coach K prowl the sidelines. I can’t stand this man. He’s the reason I’m rooting for Spain to win it all. I do not want to see Coach K succeed. My hatred for Duke runs so deep that I’d rather see Coach K fail in the Olympics instead of seeing the US Team pick up a gold medal. Oh, and Carlos Boozer has been terrible. No wonder he hasn’t been getting any playing time. Tyson Chandler should have been selected to this team, I mean, look at the chemistry he already had with Chris Paul (the lead the league in alley-oops!). I have more allegiance to North Carolina than I have with the US, so I’ll root for Spain.

2. Trapping in the half court sets. This is going to ruin the US Team’s hopes for a gold medal if they try to pull this stunt against some of the better teams (even Germany tomorrow morning). American basketball players are already lazy when it comes to closing out three-point shooters so leaving a shooter to double team another player is more than just pointless, it’s stupid. Not only do international players shoot better on average than American players, but the three point line is a few feet closer to the basket so the shots are going to fall at a higher rate anyway. There shouldn’t be a player in the Olympics that an American shouldn’t be able to handle one-on-one and if there is, let him beat you instead of letting his role players light you up from behind the three-point arch. Spain’s guards are going to destroy the Americans if they don’t figure this out (I’m looking at you Coach K, you too D’Antoni).

3. Carmelo Anthony is lazy and should not be playing power forward. He set a goal of 10 rebounds per game, he’s had 10 rebounds in the first two games combined. Bring him off the bench for some added bench scoring and start Chris Bosh. You don’t need anymore speed in the starting line-up with Jason Kidd running the point with this Kobe/LeBron wings. Actually, Deron Williams should be starting too, Jason Kidd has been playing like shit. He’s the second best three-point shooter on this team and can abuse any guard in the Olympics. Change the starting line-up to Williams, Kobe, LeBron, Bosh and Howard. That can’t be stopped, especially when you have Kidd, Melo and Wade coming off the bench.

4. Kobe’s shooting has been terrible. There isn’t much more to say about that.

5. Free throw shooting has been abysmal. Can’t really say anything about that either.

6. I don’t like their jerseys. So far, from everyone I’ve talked to, I’m the only one who feels this way.

Swimming:
Before I begin, let me just say Michael Phelps is a beast. Now that’s out of the way I can get into swimming’s biggest story so far, the 400-meter freestyle relay. Earlier this summer I posted this blog on the best sporting events of the year up until that point, well, the 400-meter freestyle relay has definitely fallen under that ‘will not soon be forgotten’ category. There were so many interesting sub-plots going into this race that put this race on my ‘must-see’ list for these Olympic games. Were talking about Michael Phelps going for 8 gold medals in these games alone and more gold medals than anyone else in Olympic history in one of the two events that Phelps did not receive a gold medal in during the 2004 Olympics in Athens. We’re talking about a dominate French team who were heavy favorites to win the event and an overly cocky Frenchman, Alain Bernard, talking about how his relay team was going to “smash” the American team. We’re talking about Phelps needing all three of his teammates to come through, not only to win the gold, but to also have a chance at breaking the world record, a feat he had already accomplished in his previous two events – and then there was the race.

Phelps led things off, but his lead was less than commanding. Things moved form Garrett Weber Gale to Cullen Jones, then Jason Lezak dove into the pool, trailing Bernard, Frances best swimmer and anchor. Bernard was on world record pace and looked as if he wouldn’t be caught. Then, after the turn going into the final 50 meters announcers moved from “Lezak is going to have to pick things up if he wants to pull this off for the Americans,” to “Lezak is closing the gap, he can pull this off.” Then, in those final 25 meters the announcers moved from “Bernard is tightening up! I can’t believe this is happening,” to “I CAN’T BELIEVE LEZAK PULLED IT OFF! THAT WAS THE FASTEST SPLIT 100 METER SPLIT IN OLYMPIC HISTORY!” Phelps screamed like a madman, Weber-Gale was screaming explectives at the top of his lungs and Jones just jumped up and down with that God damned smile on his face. It was moving, it was exciting, it was inspiring – it was what the Olympics are all about. You don’t see determination like what Lezak showed during every stoke of those last 50 meters. His finish – just .08 seconds before Bernards – is going to be one of those clips that we’ll see for years to come. It’s going to be something we were all glad we watched (well, those of us who actually watched it live) because it was the epitome of the spirit of sport. That race is why we watch sports, at least it’s why I watch sports. It was simply amazing to watch.

Gymnastics:
Let’s just be glad that Alicia Sacramone doesn’t live in China or Israel, where I think they kill any Olympic competitors who fail miserably. Maybe being murdered was a stretch, but we do live in a country where we give sympathy to failures. We all love the story of the Titanic, Bill Gates was a college dropout and our national pastime, baseball, is a game of failure. Now we have Sacramone, who, after China left the gate to an Olympic gold wide open, fell on the balance beam before her routine even started then, to add insult to injury, fell again during her floor exercise leaving her looking dumber than John Edwards during his interview where he admitted having an affair with that crazy lady. The thing is, since she’s only like 12 years old and fell apart on the biggest stage possible, people won’t go that hard on her.

What I thought was interesting about that collapse was the fact that the US Women’s gymnastic team finished better than the Men’s team, who are all going home with bronze medals, yet, it felt like the Men’s team finished with a gold medal and the Women’s team didn’t even get to the podium. Lack of clutch will do that to you. I watched the men’s team celebrate like they were on top of the gymnastic world when they pulled off that bronze then I watched the women’s team look like they just heard about Bernie Mac’s death when they realized that silver was inevitable.

Other Notes…
Track and field starts on Friday, I’m patiently waiting for that… the men’s volleyball team is wack… RIP to both Bernie Mac and Isaac Hayes, both were legends in their respective fields. Those were two huge losses and they will be missed dearly…

Stay Hideous
-PB

(Word count to date: 57,010
32 days and 42,990 words to go)

Letting it out

Today’s blog is just going to cover a few topics.

Simply Wild
I’m going to have to put the conclusion of that on hold for a couple days because I have a lot going on right now. I promise it will be finished for those of you who care.

Annoyances
I've been annoyed beyond belief with a few things lately and I’m going to run down a few of them for you.

I’m sick and tired of dudes who bring their girlfriends to the gym and cupcake with them the whole damn time. I went to the gym this morning before I came into work today and this little (literally) Mexican couple came into the gym and were kissing and flirting and shit all in the middle of the place. When I’m working out that’s the last thing I want to see. Then the bastards moved over to the couch and were just making out in front of the damn big screen TV. Now I can’t go over there and watch ESPN (still no cable at the new apartment yet grrrrrr!) because these two refuse to get a damn room. Look, I don’t care if you bring your girlfriend to the gym to work out, but work the fuck out. None of us wake up early to see your ass kiss on your ugly ass girlfriend.

I’m sick and tired of people calling me after 1am. There are a very, very select few number of people who can call me late at night and I’ll have no problem with it, but I can count those people on the fingers of my left hand. There is one guy on the list, so if you’re a guy and you’re calling me after 1am I’m punching you in the fucking neck the next time I see you. Also, of the four girls, only two of them are not related to me. Meaning, if you’re not my mom or my sister, chances are I don’t want your bum ass calling me after 1am. I can’t punch you in the neck because only bitch ass men hit women, but I’ll have my sister punch you in the neck and I’ll tape that shit and put it on youtube. I like sleeping, don’t wake me up if it isn’t important. Bastards.

I’m sick and tired of people who shove religion down others throats. Don’t come to me with your Jesus madness. I know where I am in life and I know where I want to be, I don’t need you telling me that I can’t get there if I don’t live like a damn Christian, especially when you’re probably not living like one either. I’m not against Christianity, but I’m not necessarily for it either. I have my reasons for not going to church anymore (football?) just like you have your reasons to continue to go (socialize?). One day I’m going to get mad and kick some knowledge to one of these mofo’s. I know the Bible (kind of), but I’ve studied other religions (most interesting shit ever) and I just don’t think Christianity is the “only way” for salvation – and I like sinning way too much.

I’m sick and tired of people who take my kindness for weakness. One day, when you’re asking me to do something for you, you’re going to get mad when I say no and you’re going to think I’m evil (which a lot of people seem to think for some reason). I don’t have a problem helping people, in fact, if I even remotely like you, I enjoy helping out. However, some people think I’m some kind of scrub or something, which I’m clearly not (or I am and just don’t know it), but if I don’t feel like doing something, lets not get upset at Phillip, he does things for his self sometimes too (oh, how selfish). Damn straight. Oh, and just tell the truth bastards. No need to lie to me, I handle truth like Chris Paul handles the rock.

I'm sick and tired of this Brett Favre story. Okay, he wanted to come back. Cool. We got it. So the Packers were dumb enough to go with Aaron Rogers over Favre. I get it. So Favre wanted to be traded. It happens. Oh shit, he's traded to the Jets. I didn't see that one coming. <------ That should be the story. It's been played to death. Pakers fans have to be tired of it, Aaron Rogers has to be tired of it (man he's going to get booed at their first home game) and most of all, I'm sick and tired of it. I don't give a damn anymore. What I do care is that Manny Fucking Ramarez is playing for the fucking Dodgers. God I hate that damn franchise, and the fact that they now have the best team in the division makes me want to vomit every hour on the hour. Too bad they still won't win a fucking playoff series. The NL is actually really good this season. I'll enjoy that beating more than the myriad text messages ESPN has sent me telling me that the Giants lost -- does anyone feel like that series against the Braves lasted two weeks. What is up with that? Next year, though, the Giants are winning the NL West. You heard it here first. They've shown signs of potentially being a pretty good baseball team. Just watch. Are you watching, good.

Strictly Business
A lot of things are opening up for me as far as this writing career goes. As you all know, I write for talkhoops.net, a basketball opinion website. I’ve improved a lot since my first article, which was a little over a year ago, and hope to continue to improve as long as I write. I also write for my school’s newspaper, where I will be the Editor in Chief for the upcoming school year. I have to say that my nerves have settled a bit. I was thinking about it the other day and I’m really not going to have to do much more than what I was already doing as the sports editor of the paper, I’ll just have to speak in front of all of these other students (God I hate public speaking). Outside of that, it shouldn’t be two difficult. Sure, I’ll have a depleted editorial staff, but there really wasn’t much of an editorial staff when I wasn’t running the show, it’ll work out (hopefully). Last, but not least, I’ve been recommended for the editors position for the Wasco newspaper. It’s a small weekly newspaper (much like Cal State’s), but I’ll be paid for it and I’ll be taking on a whole lot more responsibility. I will apply for the job, and if the interview goes well (yikes!) I’ll probably end up getting the job. I was kind of up all night last night thinking about how I’m going to manage editing two newspapers, school and another job (yeah I’m keeping this one, let the saving up for a Macbook commence!). I’ve decided that I’ll probably end up dropping one of my classes and just taking 12 units instead of 17, which is still full time. I’ll probably end up dropping that history class (which is still up for debate because I need to jump on this minor ASAP and I’m not sure when they’ll offer another class on Ancient Grease, a topic that has always intrigued the hell out of me). I’ll probably have no social life from September through November (especially with football starting in September and basketball in late October, you’ll never see me), and very little in December, then none again from January through June, but I guess it’s something I’ll have to give up if this is really what I want to do. Sports journalists can be gone from home for weeks at a time covering a beat, I’ll just be gone from everyone for a while just to put together a good resume and some good clips so when I finally get out of this hell hole (seriously, a cool day in Bakersfield is 94 degrees? Fuck that, I need out) I’ll be able to get a semi-decent job somewhere in either the Los Angeles or San Francisco area to start out. This will probably mean that it will take another quarter or two for me to graduate, but whatever, fuck it. It was probably going to take me another quarter more than the four years to graduate anyway, at least now I’ll have an excuse to tell the family on why it’s taking an extra year hahahaha! I’ll keep you all updated. I only told two people about it yesterday, but since one threatened to beat me up if I didn’t apply (seriously) I decided that I’d share this with you all today since I will.

Football
It’s about to start back up and I couldn’t be more excited. The Raiders are going 12-4! And that’s how I’ll end this blog.

(Word count to date: 55,288
38 days and 44,712 words to go)

Simply Wild [Pt.2]

[Cont. from Simply Wild Pt. 1]

“What the hell is Kevin doing?” I thought to myself wondering what was about to happen next. I had nothing on me, I never do. I’m not hard and I don’t pretend to be. I’ve never carried a weapon on me and I was 39048729357 percent sure that I didn’t have one on me now, but I was just as sure, because of these sudden turn of events, that the officer was going to find something on me. I could only imagine what at the moment. “Man, this guy could find a ball point pen on me right now,” I thought. “And have reason to throw me in the back of his squadron car.” I was – how do they say it – federally fucked, and the worst part about it was that I still had no idea why the hell the officer pulled us over.

I moved my thoughts to the side, as if they were blocking the vision of my friend, so I could once again focus on Kevin’s actions. I watched as he drizzled the weed onto the Philly, roll it, then seal it with his saliva. It was surreal, and just got weirder when he put that one down and started another. He ended up rolling four of those mother fuckers – all while I was being searched by a cop who was determined to find something on me. After he rolled the four blunts, he put three of them in the bag with the rest of the weed then proceeded to pull out a lighter and smoke the mother fucker. I was being searched a cop, for what seemed like an eternity, while Kevin sat there in the drivers seat, Fishscale still pumping through the speakers, smoking weed – and none of this seemed weird to either of them. Then I heard the words that I had been fearing the whole time I was outside of the car.

“Ah ha ha, what do we have here?” the officer exclaimed, sounding more like a cop who had planted something on an unsuspecting civilian than being excited to have finally found something on me. I turned my neck around to see what the officer had been holding, my heart beating harder than the thumps Ike gave Tina. Give my body a minute of this punishment from my heart and I would be sure to have bruised ribs the next day. I got a quick glance of what he was holding before he made me face forward just to see Kevin calmly puffing away at that first blunt. It looked like a small metallic object, it could have been anything. “Let me guess, son,” the officer continued. “you’re the one who cut up that poor woman on Thursday, right?”

He reached around and showed me what he was holding, a damn unused box cutter blade. My little cousin worked for Big 5 and was always bringing those home on days they’d get their shipments in. I told him that it was exactly what he thought it was and he broke me off with a story that would make some of the least faithful husbands of this country blush.

“I thought so, maggot. We’re investigating an attempted murder case where the victim was cut numerous times with a blade very much like this one,” he said, not one word of it coming off as truth. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

“Wait,” I said, stupidly speaking to this officer. “You have to be kidding me, you don’t really think I killed someone do you?” Instead of answering, he just hit me over the head with his forearm and moved me over to his car. I don’t think Kevin noticed any of this because he was on the phone, probably with Allison or Melissa, saying something along the lines of “I’ll be over there with time, baby,” as he puffed on that damn blunt.

As he closed the door I got my first real good look at him. He was a Mexican cat, about 6’2’’ with a thick mustache, ones usually reserved for that show Reno 911. He had a rather long face and his cheeks were a little chubby, he reminded me of a squash and his skin fade bothered me. He had that weird shaped mouth that a lot of fat people seem to have, think comedians Lavel Crawford and Monique, and his eyebrows were unusually thick for a Mexican. His name tag read Sgt. Sanchez but his face read prick with those fucking aviator sunglasses on with the sun dropping as fast Allison’s pants are sure to drop later on tonight, fucking Kevin. Sergeant Sanchez snarled at me before walking around to the other side of the car, getting in and speeding off to who knows where.

As we raced down the boulevard, Sanchez turned off his service radio and turned on the cities Old School station. I couldn’t make out what song was fading out immediately after he turned to the station, but just as fast as that one ended, Roger and Zapp’s I want to be your man came on. Just then I realized that I could potentially be spending a night in jail and decided on the spot that I hated that song. Sometimes irony is hilarious, and I guess this would be mirthful to me too if I wasn’t the one on the way to jail, but for me, that night, irony was a bitch – a bitch that I wanted to fight. I wanted to ask Sanchez to turn that shit off, but for some reason I didn’t want to test my already shaky karma. That night something came back to bite me in the ass, and it was only going to get worse.

We pulled up to the police station sometime between 9:15 and 9:30, the son had completely dropped, yet, this mother fucker’s sunglasses remained perched on his damn nose. He opened my door and pulled me out of the damn car and walked me into the office. It looked nothing like any of the police stations I had seen on TV shows like Law and Order or the movie Blue Streak. He walked me over to a bench between two desks. In front of me was a leggy woman wearing a light gray business casual suit/skirt thing. Her hair was cut short, usually not my style, but there was a certain sex appeal about beige skin tone and stern face that I liked. She wore very little make up and was still gorgeous, that’s almost rare these days. She looked up from her paper work and eyed me cold, I hadn’t shaven in a few days and I only had on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, she probably thought I was just some regular dirty nigga who got caught raising hell. For some reason, I didn’t want this woman to think that about me. It’s funny how much you care about what people think about you when the other person is attractive. I wouldn’t have given a flying fuck if she was the ugly broad sitting immediately behind me. She had very broad shoulders and a thick neck. Her hair was longish and had been pulled back in a sloppy pony tail, she reminded me of an Indian chief for some reason, and I think it was the mole on the left side of her face. I could tell she was comfortable with her appearance in the workplace and loved being a cop. I didn’t like her much.

As I sat there uncomfortably in-between the two ladies I watched as Sanchez, who appeared much larger in the lighted room walk over to the Chief of Police. The chief was an older white man who had the kind of uncompromising face that most would be forced to respect just by the sight of him, I did. You could tell he’d been there long because his hair had been sprinkled with a little more salt than pepper over the last few years and his face resembled the shirt I was wearing at the time, wrinkled. He looked bothered as Sanchez made his way over to his desk, he had a look on his face that read: what the fuck do you want now, Sanchez. I could see it from here and bean to realize why when Sanchez began to speak.

[To be continued. I got consumed researching for an article I’ll be writing for Talkhoops.net on why the Knicks didn’t work last year. I’m going to be using a Communication Theory to explain my thesis much like I did in my article on Michael Jordan’s greatness, so look out for that soon, I’m kind of excited about writing it. Hopefully this story/dream will be finished tomorrow, I didn’t expect it to be this long.]

Stay Hideous
-PB

(Word count to date: 51,770
40 days and 48,230 words to go)

Paul Pierce is an idiot

Wait… When did Paul Pierce become the best basketball player in the world?

Q: Is Kobe really the best player in the world?
A: I don't think Kobe is the best player. I'm the best player. There's a line that separates having confidence and being conceited. I don't cross that line but I have a lot of confidence in myself."

Yes, that question was really asked and yes, that was a serious answer. No, Michael Jordan didn’t say it, neither did Magic or Larry Bird. Nah, it wasn’t Lebron James either. So who said it? Paul Pierce. No, I didn’t misspell Stephon Marbury or Darius Miles, Paul Pierce really said that he is the best player in the world.

Maybe he was talking about Scrabble or Checkers, he couldn’t have been talking about basketball could he? No, he wasn’t talking about any board games, he wasn’t talking about Disney Scene-It or Dominoes either, Paul Pierce was talking about basketball. Not NBA Live (or NBA 2K8 for you bums who hate on EA Sports), he was talking about real live basketball. According to a Madrid, Spain news source, RedArmy, Paul Pierce thinks when he laces up his sneakers, he’s always the best on the floor. This is not a joke, in fact, it’s far from it because the statement was so ridiculous I couldn’t even laugh.

I know if you’ve read anything I’ve written for this website you probably know that I’m a Lakers fan and you probably will have a few questions about the objectivity of me writing this article like: do you think Kobe is the best in the league right now? Are you a Paul Pierce fan? Can you write this objectively if the answers to those questions are yes and no respectively? Well, the answers to your questions are, definitely, I hate Kansas and the Celtics and probably not. However, I have one question for you, does it matter if I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, because that’s exactly what I plan on doing...

[Be sure to check out the rest of this article at Talkhoops.net. Just click this link.]

Stay Hideous
-PB

(Word count to date: 50,261
40 days and 49,739 words to go)

P.s. Part 2 of Simply Wild should be up later on today.

Simply Wild [pt. 1]

It was an early evening while Kevin and I rolled along La Tejara Boulevard in his 1999 Mitsubishi 3000GT on our way to meet up with some girls. The skies colors moved from yellow to fuchsia because of the radiant sunset that only seemed less than five hundred yards away. Kevin was dressed like it was the first day of school clad in a pair of freshly pressed khakis, a blue and white plaid button up and a classic Dodgers 59/50 with the gold sticker laid flat on the bill. He also had a pair of cubic zirconium ear rings and some Chuck Taylor’s that matched the hat that mad me want to vomit. I had on some black and red basketball shorts and a solid black t-shirt. I had no one to impress, I really wasn’t feeling these bitches, they weren’t my type. Hell, I didn’t even know why I was rolling with Kevin’s white ass in the first place, having me miss the Hawks game just so he could chill with whatever raggedy hoe he was in live with this week. I had on my black on black giants hat and my black Pro Models, our team shoe my junior year in high school.

We had just left his place before we headed out to see Melissa and Allison. Kevin spent the thirty minutes prior to our departure getting high with James and Marcus while I argued with Luis about the killing styles of thrasher and white tipped reef sharks. Luis and I didn’t smoke like the rest of the guys, but that was about the only thing we had in common. When I met him he told me that he was a Bronco’s fan, and right off the bat I didn’t like him, but we were always around each other because we shared three mutual friends. James and I have been friends since the first grade and we met Marcus and Kevin in the tenth grade in a history class. They shared the same sense of humor we had so we all started kicking it at James’ house after school. Luis started showing up one day because those four had English together. I don’t think he’s as funny as the rest of us although he’s definitely my intellectual equal in the group, but he sure as hell is the lamest mother fucker I’ve ever met – which is probably why we all keep him around – it gives us someone to rag on when things get boring.

As we walked out the door Kevin grabbed a small bag of the raunchiest stress I’ve ever smelt and stuffed in his left pocket. I have never and will never understand why these guys can’t live without weed, but then again, they can’t understand why I can’t live without sports. I mean, they all have their teams and are casual fans, but none of them get into it the way I do. I live and die with my favorite teams, it’s always been that way, always will.

As we cruised along in his 3000GT with the windows rolled down Ghostface Killah’s Fishscale blasted through his speakers. Kevin wasn’t really a hip hop head and would have had some terrible radio station on if I hadn’t brought my CD case with me. I nodded my head as I looked out the window while Kevin sang the chorus to one of the songs. “All around the world today, a Kilo is a measure,” Kevin sang with the girl’s voice. “A Kilo is a thousand grams, easy to remember,” he continued. As the verse came in a turned toward him to ask him a few questions that were burning in my head.

“What are you doing messing with these nasty girls, man?” I asked with a disgusted look on my face. “I have no idea what the hell you’re thinking.”

It took a few seconds for my question to register in his mind, then he started to laugh. Fucking marijuana. Kevin was fucked up. His eyes were crimson and he talked about picking up some fries every time we passed a fast food joint, but it wasn’t anything out of the normal. Kevin was fucked up daily. “Man, you know why I’m tryna fuck with them,” he started before becoming consumed in his immature giggling. “And you need to try to get some of this tonight. I don’t know why you’re trippin’ because you know Melissa will let you beat.”

I just shook my head in disgrace and went back to watching all the activity outside of my window and thinking about the essay I was supposed to be writing for Dr. Bramer’s Religious Studies on sacred scriptures of the West. I had originally thought about exploring the idea of how both the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament were evil books that have been used to oppress just as many people as people who have found salvation with those words, but I thought it might be a little heavy for my first essay in the class, so now I'm stuck here debating topics next to this high mother fucker more than ready to stuff his face with deep fried, over salted potatoes before potentially picking up some gross STD. I never understood how my friends could just lay down with anyone, I’m scared to death of Chlamydia, but maybe it’s just me. I’ve never laid down with some hoe I wasn’t sure was clean, fuck that. But Kevin was determined, and that’s where he was, traveling down the boulevard determined and hungry.

As Fishscale got deeper in the album Kevin knew less of it because he only listens to it when we’re in the same car and we hardly drive long enough to listen to the whole thing. He turned to me and asked me if I would let Mike Tyson fuck me for $1,000,000. This cat is weird when high, but all of the guys have outlandish conversations like this when together. It’s a guy thing, girls never understand why we would ever talk about this, but we think it’s hilarious. We always talk Luis into saying he’d do it for the smallest amount of cash because he’s poor as fuck and it’s hilarious making fun of him for that shit. As we debated how we’d feel both physically and mentally after being pounded by Iron Mike, we saw flashing red and blue lights and Kevin was forced to pull over, I’d never seen him more paranoid.

Kevin turned onto a side street with less traffic before pulling over, I’m assuming to make it easier for him to pull out after receiving his ticket for whatever the fuck he had done. As we sat there waiting for the officer I told Kevin to hide his weed somewhere or it would be a long night for the two of us. He didn’t listen, or didn’t think he had enough time to stash it somewhere before the officer got there, but he didn’t do shit except adjust his royal blue fitted. I looked over to the mirror on my side of the 3000GT and noticed that the officer was walking up my side of the car – and he started talking to me!

“Sir, can I see you license please,” the officer asked looking directly at me.

“Are you talking to me, sir?” I asked with a bewildered look on my face, utterly confused.

“Don’t play smart with me, son. Who else would I be talking to?” he asked not changing his menacing poker face. “I need to see your license.”

As I reached into my wallet I responded to his ridiculous request. “I just thought that since I’m not the one driving-” he cut me off abruptly, not wanting to hear any of my jive. He just wanted the license. I finally pulled my wallet out of my shorts and presented him with my license.

“Is this your car, son?” the officer asked. I thought to myself for a little before responding. Could this really be happening? What is going to happen when I tell him it isn’t? What’s going to happen when I try to explain that the car belongs to the guy who is driving it?

“No, sir. The car belongs to-” he didn’t even let me finish.

“Please step out of the car, son. Are you carrying any weapons on you?” he asked.

“No sir, I’m not carrying any weapons,” I said as I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the car door. I was beyond confused. Right when I stepped out the officer grabbed me and turned me around and posted me on the car as he searched me. As I was aggressively frisked, I looked back in the car to get a look at Kevin, just to see how he was taking this and he was rolling a blunt!

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was being harassed for no reason, in someone else’s car, after being pulled over for only God knows what – and he was rolling a mother fucking blunt.

[To be continued. I didn’t finish writing this before I had to close the lab, so I’ll try and get it finished tomorrow. Stay tuned!]

Stay Hideous
-PB

(Word count to date: 48,644
41 days and 51,356 words to go)