Election Selection Life Reflection with a twist of limon.

Hello all. I have a public announcement to make. This may come as a shock to you all, but this needs to be said.


You see, 3 months from now, I will turn 42 years of age. I've been out of high school 24 years and out of college 20. I looked into the mirror this morning, and I stared at my discolored skin, years of neglect beginning to cash the checks I shouldn't of written; my large belly, where 17 years ago was, well, never a six pack but wasn't a college kegger; and not knowing where my shoulder began and my neck ended.


I used to to be quick, spending many and spring and summer bouncing around handball courts and running around mythical bases as I hit ball over fences...


...well, when my dear friend wasn't striking me out.


Now unless there is an emergency (or a piece of cake nearby) my legs find it difficult to motivate me towards anything behind malaise.


I see the gray hairs...and I am actually thankful they are on my chest. I always swore that the day the white hairs attacked, the razor would strike them down and my new name would be "Bro-jack.".


Hey, I couldn't pass for a Greek cool ass detective.


Anywho, I put my nearly 9 year old kid on his school bus, sat down and started the same ritual that has dominated my life the last 42 months.


Seeing what cereal to eat.


I guess I wonder to myself daily, as the ticks of my limited time continue to ebb like the water from my leaky faucet, what I am. I am sure I am not the first person who has wondered about this, but I am stunned, then again not surprised, about all the mind numbingly dumb things I've done. It is a true thing, that the choices of the present may fuck you in the back door like a stag film in the future.


I sit at my oak table in my kitchen, and I wonder aloud what i must discard if the pages of the book I've written arrogantly (note, arrogance and stupidity are truly on the same route to destruction) continues to its likely confusion. Some say my logic is greatly flawed, and in some instances their argument is all too valid.


However, I also know that my misguided steps have helped me advise others over the years to better things. My wife, who has either graciously ( or due to insanity due to a bad bite of store brand chicken fingers) stuck by my under achievements, has said for years I should charge for my solicited psychology; I however see it as a debt I must pay for the sins I've done...


...or for the crimes not yet stricken.


So here is the thing, as it is now the afternoon, and my trip to self discovery and disappointment has to be put on hold as my spawn return to vex me like an ass rash above the sphincter, and I just sort of stare at myself again, dressed in a Ill-fitting shirt, a middle aged man's pair of shorts, and my shuffle sandals, and as the demon of age creep up on my face, I sigh.


I am here to let the few who read this know the following bit of news...


...I am greatly flawed. I am a black man who, despite what my associates say, have to remain conscious of as long as I live. My children are gorgeous, yet I must tell them that there WILL be someone who will look upon them as an abomination...


...especially the one with the 21st chromosome.


I am spoiled, but realistic, I am not what I was, yet better than b4.


I ain't too bad, but god knows I ain't no good.


I will have to save money to hire pallbearers.


But I hope that the biggest part of this announcement is that...


...my name is G. Nice to meet ya. I am loyal to a fault, i will do things to make you scratch your head, and I am doing the best I can.


Did I also give advice just now? Perhaps.


In the meanwhile I'll get back to that novel I was writing, "Bro-jack and The Case of the Runaway Life.".


Possibly shitty ending, but a hell of a read.

Let's Get Nuts!

Ugh.

Been a rough patch lately, as that my golden shoes (I almost typed slippers, but then y'all would questions if I was on the gay side of the force) are about to turn back into those beat up sneakers I use to mow our weeds (as that the only grass that hangs around our yard is the kind smoked by the local children).

Anywho, as that I don't have much to turn to these days, I was rather pumped when baseball season started recently. Now, I've been a huge Yankee fan since Reggie Jackson was throwing down with Billy Martin in the dugout. It is a grand sport, and while it doesn't hold the appeal for most as football (whenever the hell that comes back...here's a query: what do you call a bunch of millionaire and billionaires who can't divide 9 Billion Dollars. Fucking mind numbingly pathetically "McWhatthefrigiswrongwithyou" stupid. Not funny, but accurate) the drama of a tight ball game offers a welcome distraction from what has been a disappointing trip I call my life so far (with the exception of the family, of course. I gotta be careful; ever so often my wife reads this stuff).

Watching a game recently (I don't catch too many Yankee games based on where I live in the US these days)ever so often the camera crew (who I am sure just do that because they are either tying their shoes, accidentally bumping the camera, then saying "shit, I can't go back to work at Taco Bell!" and flips back to the game) will divert their camera's eye to the crowd. Now, sports fans are an interesting bunch.

Actually, they are friggin' nuts.

It's an obsession with a lot of folks; mostly guys stereotypically, but there are a fair number of ladies who will be just as nuts as any dude, and can quote you stats faster than they can their kid's birthdays.

(I always found that interesting and sexy, actually; it is one of the reasons I married my wife in the first place. The woman once hung a teddy bear in effigy when her basketball team lost in the championship round. That's a hot ass chick to me).

Sports fans will miss weddings and funerals ("Mother Fucker shouldn't of died before Game 7. He'll still be there when it's over"), not speak to their mamas for weeks because they like the rival team ("Shit, I don't have a mama; don't care if it's Mother's Day...fuck her!)and paint themselves in toxic material just to show support for their team ("What do you mean, doctor, that my penis will never come back out again?"). It's an escape, an addiction, a salve, a way for folks, for once, to actually friggin' get along for a couple of hours...

...all for a couple hundred bucks. Loan officers are on site to take your applications before and after the game for the next time we can fleece you of your hard earn money.

But for me, sitting at home when I can to watch a game, even when I know this year's version of the Yankees have no chance to make the playoffs (old age is a miserly beeyotch)let's me forget the things that are wrong in my world for a little bit. I tend to drift back to my childhood, when me and my best friend AP (gotta use the initials; he may be in super secret squirrel mission, and I don't want him smoked by his enemies) would battle on weekends and summer days for supremacy of the neighborhood(note, I think he had a slight lead in our win/loss record when we were done...something like 5-1000, with him having the 1000 wins. But I won in the "broken bats in sheer frustrating cuz I sucked" categories). Being a fan (short for fanatic, which means all sports are eligible to be committed) let me yell, scream, throw stuff, and forget about the simple fact...

...that things simply didn't work out the way I would of liked.

So I toast the sport fan, as I play the appropriate "Let's Go Crazy" (Extended edition, of course) as I finish this up, as well as sports in general. Yeah, watching a bunch of spoiled rich folks say "I gotta feed my 14 illegitimate babies by 6 baby mamas, and I can't live on 10 million" gets a little stale, but for a couple of hours, one can jump in their bodies and get that single pitch, driving it out of the park, and run around the bases, as if God is saying "OK, I'm gonna put you back into your misery, but since I'm in a good mood, I'll give you a few seconds of heaven."

Well, at least that is what I hope was the plan. He (the Lord, that is) always had a generally warped sense of humor.