This latest incarnation of New York City is acting pretty bitchmade if you ask me. Maybe it was all that Disney shit filling up Times Square and chasing away the hookers and closing the arcades. It’s definitely not sexy to see all this anti-Islam fervor being generated over a community center, but the blind fear people are circulating over bed bugs might be the worst thing yet.
The damn things are so small they can barely be detected and if you also have house centipedes they will eat the bed bugs so your problem solved. If people want to fear something they should worry about all the vermin feces they inhale everytime a subway car wrapped with advertisements blows into their station.
Truth be told is that I’m hoping on cashing in on the bed bug hysteria in my own little way. Niketown has reported an infestation in their store’s stockroom. Hopefully they will be discounting some AirMax 2009 to the low low. I’ll be there to pick up those pieces.
Biggups to Eugene police (and prA’li the fact there are no Blacks in Eugene).
I remember being in a Ross store in Atlanta and true to form Ross had some random fly shit.
Player exclusive University of Oregon football cleats.
Them shits is flyer than Dries Van Noten shoes, and I own Dries Van Noten wingtips with a kilty [ll].
I planned on visiting the west side before the year was done if my prA’li movement picked up any steam. Eugene, Oregon just put some chips on the trip. Anyone at Beaverton care to match it up?
I caught a glimpse of my personal Polo Ralph Lauren holy grail I.T.
The Tigerhead Leathersleeve Letterman jacket.
I used to politic online with a dude who had put the jacket up for auction on ‘the system’ (eBay), but then refused to sell it to me because the bidding never exceeded $250. I wanted the I.T. so bad I told the dude I would give him $350 but even then he balked. Sonn wanted five bills. I suppose I should have just given him the bread at the time because here it is almost ten years later and I still don’t have the jacket.
It popped up twice recently on the system, but both jackets have been men’s size Large. In that vintage I can still rock an XL, but a Large just looks silly of me as if I like fishsticks. The jacket is detailed so mean and beautiful. Peep the leather trim on the pockets. The simple clean scripted logo on the left breast is reminiscent of baseball club design. The quilted satin lining is just like they do at all the finer universities.
The big tigerhead on the back is where this I.T. really shines. Also peep the leather on the backside of the collar for those of us who know how to get our Arturo Fonzarelli poppin’ off. I have only two words for this jacket… Class and sick.
Hide the women and children if I ever get this joint in an XL.
My red and black apparel program is just sickness from the start. Shouts to theshoegame.com
I would have to rock the Agassi’s tho’ because that is just the tennis shoe type style I would want to express with this jacket.
But I could be convinced to go Air Jordan VI black and varsity red just for those who have a hard time understanding how 1992 my vision is.
Internets,
Greetings from sunny St. Ma’arten. My summer of rest, relaxation, recharging and realization continues from the fair shores of the famous Dutch Antilles isle. I’m in a cafe, stealing a wireless, the ocean before me, latte beside me, sunblock on and cooking. I would have loved to tell you that Oprah lent me her crib so that I could finish the scribework on my memoir.
Its the story of the prodigal son of New York City who turned his back on everyone and everything that raised him until he was brought to his knees, within an inch of his humanity, and had to begin the difficult journey of finding his way back home. I hope this story will help teenagers get through the tough years when peer pressure forces them to do things they might otherwise not.
Awww, who am I kidding? No one gives a shit about morality or humanity or any of that fruitbaggery anymore. We are beyond books and beyond spirituality. What I’ve really been trying to do is Facebook friend Caroline Gu911ani since I learned that Sephora declined to press charges against her because of who her dad is. Maybe I can convince her to do a smash and grab at Tiffany’s?
I’m still following the news feeds in St.Ma’arten although I’m gathering news using legacy methods like newspapers and television news. I’m about to turn off my Twitter accounts and leave my Facebook page alone. I feel like the information cycle and focus that exists online doesn’t serve me for learning about stories or the people that make them. I’m returning to a simpler existence.
Fuxing around on a Caribbean island can be a sweet reminder for all the things you forgot were important. I take so much shit for granted back in NYC. I try to do everything possible. I want every plum project at my day job. I want to attend every free outdoor concert and every open bar advertising or entertainment industry party. I want to buy every sneaker that has air in the midsole. And then I want to go back home and sit in front of a computer until the sun rises to tell everyone about everything. But its not possible to do everything — and you miss so much when you try.
The trip to St.Ma’arten was mostly to find some time to be alone with my girlfriend. I refer to her on the blogs as Chocolate Snowflake. I called her that because she does all kind of crazy shit that I only associate with the white, but then again she and I went word for word on every song at the Hall & Oates concert last year at Coney Island. I wouldn’t trade my Chocolate Snowflake for anything.
Dallas Penn in virtual reality is pretty fun to fux with. DP in real life reality is just as dope. As a matter of fact, DP is real reality. I’ve just been waiting for the rest of you to catch up with me. Don’t do me like Rakim and have my shit be obsolete by the time you get up to speed. The very fact that you are here at IC.com means that you are capable of moving faster than the speed limit. In a minute we are going to take you on a journey as fast as the speed of light. Faster even. We are going to take you into the future.
Tomorrow may never come
For you or me
Life is not promised
Tomorrow may never show up
For you and me
This life is not promised
I ain’t no perfect man
I’m trying to do, the best that I can,
With what it is I have
Dear Internets…
Dear friends of the inter-connected networks. The Twitterers, the FaceBookers, the folks that have this page as part of their RSS feed, everyone still on my Hotmail e-mail blast list… How the hell are you?! Have you gone to any of the free concerts being held all around the city. I was able to catch Gil Scott-Heron at Central Park’s Summerstage. I will definitely be in the park on Sunday, August 15th for Public Enemy as they commemorate the 20th anniversary of their greatest album – ‘Fear Of A Black Planet‘.
Gil gave us some blues that makes me recall the oil spill in the Gulf.
How has the summer been treating you so far otherwise? Excellent, you look well. Me, not so much.
If you have recently looked at my face when I didn’t know you were watching me you have seen that I don’t smile as often. It isn’t anything that you have done per se. You’ve actually done your best to keep me in good spirits. You watch the videos that are produced by the ICs collectively and singularly, you also read the blog posts that we all generate in various online locations. You’ve done your part to keep us together on the web, but I still got the blues.
This could be that male menstruation thing that I read about somewhere and maybe I’m cycling thru that right now. Actually to be honest with all of you I know why I have the blues. I received an eviction notice from my home for the last almost 40 years. Not my co-operative apartment that acts as a warehouse for all my shit from action figures, to hundreds of pairs of sneakers and over twenty years of Polo Ralph Lauren clothing. Not my mother’s basement (which incidentally is now located in an Atlanta suburb called Marietta).
The home I’m referring to is Never-Never Land. I’ve been the steward of this place for as long as I can remember. Everyone that has come thru here during that time has pretty much deferred to me. They’ve allowed me to guide them on adventures that have been delightful, daring and sometimes deadly. Each year I welcome the next group of adventurers and we fly thru this land making our own rules and avoiding Captain Hook and his henchmen as best we can.
But then Tinkerbell came to me with the message that NeverLand was being developed as a resort island. There is no way I’m going to be able to avoid the bulldozers that will uproot all my favorite treehouses and cubbyholes. It’s finally time for me to grow up. Growing up isn’t about just paying bills on time, altho’ that is definitely something I will need to work on. Growing up is living your life in service of others. Family, friends and even total strangers. I’ve been a solo act all of my life. Even when I had a younger brother I was on my own shit. Even with a girlfriend I still went in my own direction at my own whims.
My life changed a bit when my father died, but my mother was still independent despite contracting multiple sclerosis. As she has become elderly and now invalid I am asked to assume the responsibility of the leader of my family unit. I have been a leader of the Lost Boys, but that isn’t how you lead a family. Leading the Lost Boys was still an exercise in selfishness. The boys that couldn’t keep up with my madness were cast off from NeverLand. If you didn’t have the courage to follow me into the mouth of the volcano I called you a coward and mocked you. I had no patience for those with fear.
I was like that because I had so much fear. I used to afraid of being alone. My mother left me alone a lot when I was young. I was raised by her grandmother. My mother was young and pretty and she had many suitors. I’m sure she loved my father because she married him and gave me his name, but his drug abuse demons drove her away. So as a young single mother trying to get by in New York City she had to leave me. For days and weeks and months my great-grandmother did her best to replace her granddaughter. And she did a wonderful job. My great-grandmother was a Scottish goddess named Beryl O’Loughlin.
I just returned to NYC from visiting my mother in Atlanta. Her condition is deteriorating after falling and breaking her hip last year. She isn’t able to walk any longer and the MS is stripping her nervous system of control of her life. I suppose I should start looking for a place in NYC that offers assisted living because she isn’t going to be able to remain in Atlanta for much longer when the family that is living with her has to go their own way. This is the sound of the bulldozers and excavators entering Never Land.
I brought my nephew with me to see his grandmother. He is the middle child of my kid brother’s 3 x 3 litter. 3 sons by 3 different mothers. This child is the only one of the three that I know. For various reasons of the American story that is how shit goes. I haven’t seen the child for over a year. He reminds me of my brother too. I have to make sure that my nephew doesn’t end up a Lost Boy. Not too many kids can get thru that period without gaining horrible scars or worse. I was lucky that I was smart and emotionally unavailable. He needs my help and I see this.
Now Peter Pan has to become a parent or dare I say a patriarch. I didn’t want this day to come because I never wanted to be responsible for anyone other than myself. So this is why I’ve got the blues. But the good thing about my blues is that it isn’t the song of defeat or humiliation. My blues is the song of redemption. My blues is the phoenix that rises from the ashes to spread its beautiful wings to the sky.
