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This morning I awoke with a dilemma. I have done somewhat haphazard preparation for the LSAT, a test I deemed necessary to heighten my chances of favorable grad school matriculation. But there were logical reasons not to take it. I had just taken it last year, and that score was respectable. It was lower than my original, and even the original seemed like a valid test score in my preliminary research. But I am stubborn. I just knew if I just did the studying, I could test amazingly high. But what if I just had an off day and blew it? Then what?

It seemed the signs were telling me no. My advisor had advised against it in her first response. And just as I initially prayed for clarity, Posh let me know she felt the same way. I had just taken it. And she said her score was valid, and I had taken my original around the same time. Finally I decided on a sign to not take the test: if I had to initiate a restraint that required pink paperwork, I could not take the test. Our largest client (300 pounds) had an issue. He beat and kicked me to the point where I believe my shins are truuly shedding tears. But he was on the floor, and legally I could not put him in that special type of restraint. But then he did get in a position, and I would have been foolish to be that stubborn and hurt us both. I did the hold.

I channeled my stubbornness by testing my faith. One more sign to confirm the first one, like a modern day Gideon. If I get a text message by 8:00 p.m., then You want me to take the test. My inbox was free at 8:11 p.m. I am so not taking that test.

I might be cited as silly and superstitious. But I'm just a believer. I need to read more and truly get a true grasp of what I believe. But I believe in Him. And I love Him.

The Wonderful World of Work

Yesterday, me and Mocha were bamboozled into believing my temporary assignment at the older boys' program was through. Sadly about 45 minutes in, we learned the sad truth that it was not. Once I found out that news, I figured I probably would be headed there today.

But before all that, I had to go to a training in place of one that had been cancelled on Thursday. So 10 hours in the midst of the organization. And it is Monday.

But it wasn't too bad. Training was quick and their were bagels and Sunny D. I even had good conversation with one of my superiors, who I thought hated me. But it also bothered me that we don't get along better cause it seems we like a lot of the same things. And this isn't a crush thing cause I know she's a lesbian. Maybe I just want everyone to like me.

Anyway after a brief stop at the supermarket, I made the call to my program director to figure out why wee were bamboozled. He wasn't there but I was proud of the message I left. I didn't back down. And he called right back and confirmed my departure. And confirmed next week as well, but then it should be over. We'll see.

But I realize that I cannot change these things so I shouldn't really too aggravated about it. I had my chances to make moves more quickly and not be in this position. I still could quit and find another gig in New York or even be brave and move away to DC or something. But I accept my position. I actually kind of like it. Interacting with different sets of kids can be energizing. I learned about Dungeons & Dragons and played a silly barely instructional game of basketball. I even got the chance to say goodbye to one of my favorites since they may have bumped his date of departure up a little more.

All in all, not such a bad day. I still need to make sure I get the hell out of there though. I'm needing more distractions to keep myself energized and motivated. That's a bit troubling. And Mocha informed me that tomorrow might be a maelstrom since one very aggressive boy is finding out some very disappointing news. And who usually draws him as an assignment? Yours truly.

I think I will sleep now and hope by the time I wake up, I won't be dreadful.

Where Amazing Happens

There was a time where I followed professional basketball like it was my religion. High holy days included Draft Day in June, which I actually watched in entirety, laughing as I saw the newly rich in awkward technicolor suits. Raised on CBS, my formative years with NBC, every SUnday from about January to June was filled with basketball. When I was older, I watched the cable broadcasts during the weeks, even enduring local Knicks broadcasts when the competition was up to it. All Star weekend was my holiday. The only time my attention eaned was to follow college basketball. But that only reinforced the love cause I was even more familiar with the players.

But things change. There has been a lull in the entertainment value lately. After Jordan left, the only brief blip of excitement has been the Shaq Kobe mini dynasty The poor NBA was hoping hat Lebron could deliver them, but his team failed him and even that failed to jump off. In its descent, football has asserted itself as king of the landscape. Even baseball has weathered scandal to be America's past time again. But basketball has seen poor gameplay and poor off court decisions bring it to the border of irrelevance. It is still number 3 but not because it has earned it. It just fell back there. NASCAR seems to generate more excitement, if not the money. But soon they'll exploit that. Whites and Southerners love it. It will make money soon.

But tonight I was captivated by two preseason games. In one, the Celtics showed off their off season acquistions and it was beautiful to watch again. Kevin Garnett distributed the ball to an active Paul Pierce and the sweet shooting Ray Allen. Even Rajon Rondo, with his lanky body and quick step, was a pleasure to watch. It was all so fluid and reminded me of the basketball I watched when I was younger.

So I decided to rededicate myself to all things basketball. Though I have been baptized into football, even college, I have a sports lull in the middle of the week and basketball could be the perfect fix. I still know the level of play could be upped but these young guys give me hope. It should be a fun season.

Titans of Industry

Undeniable is currently finishing up her time at boot camp to become a corrections officer in the prison system. God bless her and the 150 other recruits doing the same thing. But as she was alternating between scary stories of prisoners and disheartening tales of some of her dullard classmates, she informed me that the prisoners were responsible for manufacturing the furniture in college dorms and residential facilities like the one that employs me.

In another lockdown facility, they even have an eye lab that makes glasses that some of my kids where. I used to just ignore the rhymes about the prison industry complex that populate the more conscious of my rap choices. But Undeniable's experience shows just how prevalent it is.

Then I thought about how lucrative it is. In exchange for giving criminals some alternative to a completely banal experience, the state gets cheap labor to make goods that they profit from. Now I understand why there are so many conspiracies as to why the American prison population is so large, and why minorities are overrepresented on the inside.

But really I'm just a little bothered. Actually more than a little. Isn't it wrong for the state to profit from its failures, especially when they are human and cannot speak for themselves?

Just What The Doctor Ordered

Even after my excursion with Nitro and a fun morning jaunt through my neighborhood that resulted in a free picture frame and poster, the Sabbath day was mostly a malaise for me. I woke up with the intentions of going to church, although it was begrudgingly. But then I recalled we are advanced technologically and watched the whole service on the internet. I was distracted and the message didn't really get to me. I sat through a mostly pleasant meal with my parents, though I saw anger in my dad's voice at the slightest provocation. That man is not happy. And I even got my tickets to the Patriots-Giants game I coveted for my birthday. Still no joy.

Even my concert didn't seem so important. I chose to eschew the door opening time and took my time. I figured even if they stuck with the schedule, I wouldn't be missing much. At this point seeing Little Brother was enough. The bonus venues that were part of the city wide CMJ Music Marathon weren't that important.

But something happened when I stepped outside my house. My iPod delivered a banger and I had to move. I got to the train station just in time to catch mine. The great shuffle continued and I walked into the venue pretty charged.

$7 beer in hand, I found myself more assertive than usual. Usually I move as close as I can and then stop. But this time I saw my holes and pushed forward. By the end of the night I was only about 5 people between me and the stage. The opening acts rocked it. Evidence was energetic. Brother Ali converted me to fanhood. And even the interludes by the DJs were great, and better they were short. Right after the last interlude, Little Brother came on stage and killed it. And my positioning was crucial since I jumped up and caught the jacket Phonte threw off stage.

And then I timed it perfectly to have Tiombe Lockhart shake her ass on me when I booked it to one of those other venues.

What a beautiful night.

God moves in mysterious ways.

Carnegie '16

In my single digit years, probably around 8 or 9, I remember an instance after a church service where I told some adult that I wanted to be the first black president of the United States. I'm not sure what type of prescience I had at that point to predict that the spot would still be open by the time I was of age, but so far so good. And as much as I love Senator Obama, I doubt it will happen this time around. But Socrates somehow has always seemed to hold my potential in higher esteem than I have. He regularly refers to me as underachieving. This week he even alluded that I could have had a path similar to that of Mr. Obama.

It got me to thinking what happened to all those dreams. In New Haven, they must have got washed away with all my disillusionment cause that's the last distinct time I really felt like making a plan and definitively sticking with it. But Posh inspired me this week by sharing her her three different 5-year plans for life. Now I'm thinking I should have a 9-year plan to put me in position to make a run for the presidency. The greater goal is just self-actualization because sadly I am not a mason so my chances for the presidency must be nil.

In 9 years, this is what I would like:
- Financial solvency. The debt is there and I will incur more with grad school. But there's no reason it can't be managed. And there's also no reason that I can't be responsible for setting up my future.
- Ownership of property. Condo, house, something. With more in the future.
- Professional satisfaction. It seems established that I will be in some sort of profession that lets me exercise my altruistic spirit. I might stray for a bit. Cash is cash. But ultimately I want to make a lasting positive impact on this world.
- A family. I want a wife. I want kids. I want a dog. Simple.
- Amazing health. There is no reason I should be out of shape

So how do I go about this? For one, these applications need to be done by early December at the latest. And by mid-December, I need to have a license. I need to surround myself with the knowledge to accomplish this. I got a Suze Orman book for the financial part. And next year I need to be in grad school. I've started to actually follow a bit of an exercise plan.

But all this really needs is discipline, something that's been mostly absent in my tenure here on earth. I'm getting better at it though.

My advisor shared this with me when I finally got off my patoot and e-mailed her: "Remember movement only takes one step at a time."

One step, one step.

It Looks Like A Beautiful Morning

I woke up with the idea of going to church, but I wasn't exactly feeling the pull. I still was planning on going, but then I remembered that we are one of those technology forward churches and our service is online. Free of guilt and totally comfortable.

That revelation surely helped my disposition. With that knowledge, I ventured on a jaunt through my neighborhood. In the house, I was faithful and kept it with the gospel I am slowly rediscovering. On the walk, I fell to temptation and listened to my song of the week. And joy springs eternal.

Everyone seemed in a chipper mood. After such a messy day yesterday, the most appealing characteristics of autumn became evident. Young couples ferried around their children in bliss. Fathers actually spent time with their kids and lovingly interacted. At one point I expected one of those birds from Cinderella to sit upon my shoulder and start humming the hypnotic hook I had on repeat.

And I picked up a free poster and photo frame from the framing place that decided to be nice to its neighbors today. Plus I got an awesome card for my mom's upcoming birthday. There's no point to all this, but I figure after such a maudlin day yesterday, I should document my happiness.

Nitro Returns

The day had been a continuous state of malaise. What better way to break it up than a visit with Nitro. It had been close to a year since our last get together. That had to be a new record since we started doing these meet ups. But life got in the way and I stopped using AOL Instant Messenger, which was our primary communication.

Tonight we met up to see "3:10 to Yuma", which was unexpectedly crowded. And after it was all done, guru and disciple were back in concert again. I've realized that we must be a really peculiar sight even on the streets of New York. Tall African-American speaking intently with a sub 5 foot South Asian American. I chuckle now when I see the stares of African-American women assuming that this is a date and mentally downgrading their options once again. If only they were privy to the conversations.

After the movie, we ambled around the Village looking for a suitable establishment to sit and converse, but the Village is fullof hot spots and not exactly conversation points. Worse off, since it was Friday, they were all packed and loud. Somehow me and Nitro just have that ond. As we walked, the conversation was just as loose and comfortable as ever. We caught up on her new position. I got to sound engaging as I shared funny anecdotes that were the source of my new confidence. And of course as usual we had awesome food while slipping in funny observations of our fellow patrons.

(The date to our side was kind of disastrous. He constantly fiddled with his phone when devoid of conversation. And when he did offer conversation, it was so obscure and childish. You had to feel for the guy)

Nitro's reappearance helped me remember how nice it is to have adult conversation that is not work or relationship related. It's so easy to get caught in the minutiae of every day life. The afflicted of the quarterlife crisis must also contend with worrying about every aspect of their future. And though we touched on those topics tonight, it didn't seem half as serious as it sounds after hours of resounding off the sound chamber that is my brain. I need to do it more often.

Plus dessert was delicious.

Happily Depressed

I woke up today without any sort of impetus to do the things I had planned. For one, I planned to go running in the morning, but I did everything but throw my alarm against the wall and stayed in bed. Then I was even tempted to skip the mandatory pre-licensing course I had finally decided to take. But what else was I going to do today? So I actually did that by calling on my new playing hurt philosophy.


And the course is done and I had a somewhat entertaining teacher to guide me through the tedium. But then I went for my usual jaunt through the city and the pavement did not exactly provide the lift that it usually does. I ambled in and out of stores at SoHo barely impressed and hardly looking. I wasn't even interested in people watching like usual.


I could easily blame the ugliness that the rain brought, but I think the discontent has been brewing for a while. I'm actually starting to tire of my job. I don't like where I am in life period. But I'm also starting to realize that I am just different. My fascination with sociology and the trends and categories slowly bled into my thinking. For some reason, I keep trying to find the archetype to which I fit and each time I come up empty, I get discouraged.

Forget all that though. I'm just me. I have to start operating like that. I have Ivy-league educated peers doing things with their life. Fine. Others are perpetually in school and accumulating wealth. Fine. That's just not me. I am closing in on 26 and have no idea who I am though. And it's time I finally started to define that. It's time to honestly acknowledge my strengths and deficiencies. It's time I figure out what it is I want. The nonchalance that has been my trademark needs to disappear. I want to be fiery. I want to be passionate.

It's time to act on all that bloody potential I have been too scared to mine.

I'm going running.

Old School

Today, I dragged myself out of bed and walked the three blocks to the driving school that has always been there. I had finally decided to get tthe 5 hour course that all of us New Yorkers have to take out the way so I could take the road test and drive out of Neverland. For some reason I still wasn't all that motivated to go. Dreary day. Five hours listening to mostly common sense stuff.

It was made bearable by the instructor. A silver haired man who spouted New Yorker as soon as he opened his mouth. Almost immediately, he revealed that he had grown up in the Bronx. Just the rhythm and cadence of his speech, and even the content, had me convinced that we had an old school cat on our hands. The way he dressed conFrom the nehru blazer to the sensible shoes, I wondered how New York stopped producing this specimen. In his time, it was obvious that people placed a premium on being informed. I find that people with the most basic of educations from that time have a thirst for knowledge that surpasses those who get graduate degrees today. Throughout his lessons and admonitions against drunk driving, he pepered in tales of his own excursions.

I must say at times I was a little spelbound by his presentation. Though he worked with one of the most mundane subjects, he was active and colorful. A diverse group of license offenders and bright eyed kids, he had us all tuned in when the recipe said we should have tuned out. But people from that time all seem to possess a at least a modicum of that charm. Honestly, things seemed simpler then. The attitude seemed simpler. Just the approach to life was simpler.

I am displaced.

Good Grief

For the past three days, Mira has been texting me pretty consistently about work matters. I think its her own way of dealing with grief. On Sunday, she learned her father passed away. I am a sensitive boy. Church made funerals seem very important. Even when people passed away that I was totally unconscious of, I always held a special reverence for their lives.

Of course, I naturally want to comfort, but it is very apparent that Mira does not want to delve into a touchy feely conversation. And that's how she deals with it. I realize I am privileged to even receive text messages, since her best friend informed me that Mira was only communicating to her. And in her own way she deals with it.

On the other end, the matriarch of our family friends passed away last week. Her granddaughter had repeated breakdowns over the weekend and found sleep at aberrant hours. At the burial site, she broke down to the point she was on the floor asking to be buried with her grandmother.

Two different types of responses to stressful times, both appropriate in their own way. I wonder how I'll react when it happens to me.

Playing Hurt

Last week, my right cheek doubled in size due to an unexpected left hook. I almost mangled my face trying to bring a 170 pound bruiser to the floor. In that hold, I definitely did something to my right knee. But I was out playing Ultimate frisbee the next day, where I am sure I aggravated a heel spur that was disippating. And to drown the sorrows of week, I went out and danced heavily, making my Jamaican ancenstry proud by gettting as low as possible.

By Sunday, my body completely reacted. But instead of taking advantage of a lazy Sunday at work, I ended up playing football with the adolescents. The next day was an hour of full court basketball. The following day, the same bruiser challenged me to stop him during kick returns. And the next morning, I punished myself by resuming my dormant running regimen. Yesterday, I did the same thing, though I had much smaller goals.

So now my body aches. At one point, it was painful to sit since my butt was as sore as any other point on my body. Reaching to stop the alarm on my phone was an exercise in pain management. But even though I had reason to relax all this week, I still went at it. Somehow I need to translate that lesson to the rest of my life.

Mira made the comment that I had met her during the most stressful period of her life. I'm not sure I'm at my most stressed, but it is definitely the most important. I have committed to taking three graduate level exams in the next two months. I have finally decided on an educational path I want to take. But all that past baggage is kind of slowing me down. I played hurt at work though. I need to play hurt at life.

A couple months ago, a preacher did a sermon based on Paul's escape from prison. The angel said "Arise quickly" and as soon as he did it, his chains fell off. I'm very tempted to be stagnant right now. I'm not sure if it is because New England is in full cold, rainy, autumn mode or maybe that I am just too comfortable in the routine I have cultivated these last couple of months.

These chains gotta move though

Highs & Lows of Black Culture

After my spiritually depressing week, tonight was finally the Common concert. The trip down to DC wasn't too problematic. Actually it was almost what the doctor ordered. Solitude and space. And Posh made it even better by actually showing up on time. Go Posh.

Since I usually pay for the tickets, Posh usually takes me out. This time we headed to an event called First Fridays, which unbeknownst to me is a well orchestrated social networking event for Black professionals that has chapters in a multitude of cities. They change locations every month and this time around it was at a spot called UltraBar. It was a cool place and the DJ was playing songs that I thought I only listened to. Plus the libations were flowing, so the cares were melting away just as I'd hoped.

Of course I was in observant mode for the initial part of the night. Of course there were more women than men since we are talking about black professionals. But I found it funny that the patronage was exclusively black, but all the bartenders were white. I wished Malcolm was around to view it. I know some of us were on our ways to getting totally trashed and maybe ending up in beds we would regret later, but Plymouth Rock was lifted for those couple of hours. So loads and loads of well dressed and affluent black professionals dancing and drinking and being all responsible, making connections and shit. Man I loved it.


Then we went to the Common concert. Absolute opposite. It was held at a club called Love, which is questionable in and of itself. Posh has always abstained from taking me to this minor DC nightcub landmark, and after visitation I understand why. Its four levels of fun, or so its advertised. All I saw was a meat market of chickenheads and the sorry brothers who are jocking to take them home. Even though our tickets said doors open at 6, we arrived at 9:45 and the floor for Common wasn't even open yet. By the time it was, we learned that only VIP's would be close to the stage. Luckily we were already drunk enough so we headed up to another floor to dance. We had a good time, but so were all the hos around us. I started to think that booty shorts and stilettos were a uniform. And when the concert finally began, you had the whole mess of people who didn't buy tickets try to get on the floor. Plus it seemed like there were packs of questionable hoodlums who held up the wall and did nothing and looked like trouble brewing.

Oh my people my people, what can you do? Just love 'em I guess.

Aaaaah

It was a lovely autumn day today. The sun was out enough and the air was refreshingly crisp, even when it was a bit too cold. The house at full capacity was actually more manageable and enjoyable than yesterday. I had a playful conversation with a boy who'd had a hangover over the weekend and the boys actually responded to directions without temper tantrums. By 8:30 p.m., it was quiet. And though I got a bit of good natured ribbing about the state of my face the swelling has subsided a bit. The Patriots performed a clinic and so all of New England is happy. And my prescription of my grandfather's elixir (read: cognac) to nurse the tender pains in my jaw and elbow is only helping to accentuate my content mood. Plus I get to go back to my boys tomorrow. Life's not that bad.

(The Mets issued an apology note to all their fans which brought me a bit of comfort and hopefully closure. It's still bittersweet though which is why I didn't include it with the rest of the positive posting. I really don't feel like watching any baseball unless the Red Sox make the Series.)