07.31.08
Excuse Me Sir, Why Are You So Sloppy?
“Excuse me sir, why are you so large and out of shape?”
This is the question I’ve been asking every time I go to my gym since I’ve signed up for a wonderful membership at Workout World…I know, I know. The name is incredibly cheesy and lame, kind of like their sales people. I probably wouldn’t have signed up for a membership there if it weren’t for the fact it’s 5 minutes from where I live. The first time I went in (ta he he. I said “went in”), the individual showing me around reminded me of Peter from Family Guy, but with more acne and darker hair. While he was showing me all of the somewhat aged equipment and telling me about the family environment and policy against excessive grunting, I just couldn’t help but to try and understand why he was so out of shape. How can you sell gym memberships and look like that? Why don’t you take advantage of some of the class offerings? And a year later, he’s still there!
His supporting cast isn’t much better. The most in shape person there is a 50+ woman that seems to go from working her shift straight to working out. I’m assuming she’s working out so hard to stay alive, or she wants to be one of the Golden Girls in the next few years. Either way, she gets props..fake eye lashes and all.
The other problem I have with Workout World is what’s outside. When you park your car before working it out, you smell the McDonald’s next door. When you finish your workout, you smell the same thing. That’s just one temptation. You also smell chinese food brewing on the other side of the building, and you occasionally hear a cat meowing then it suddenly stops. Anyway, I’m fairly disciplined and have struggled to not go to either restaurant, so imagine how the mentally weak and out of shape feel when those wonderful smells hit their noses? How many times do you think they have gotten to the door of the gym, started sweating, then ran next door to have some fries or some sesame feline? Even worse, the people working there often order pizza, wings, and a variety of other strong smelling foods during their shifts. They really should make a policy against that for the sake of their members. They should only be allowed to eat salads and drink protein shakes. Period.
Gold’s Gym may have been overpriced and locked me into an awful contract for a couple years when I went there, but at least their staff made me want to look good on the beach. Workout World has some work to do. Their message of “It’s ok to be out of shape, just give us your money” makes me want to open a gym and a GNC and put them out of business. I just need to get that one scratch/powerball ticket to make it happen.
07.29.08
Black In America And Sorry For Slavery
The House of Representatives is passing a resolution that apologizes for slavery. Coincidentally, this comes on the heels of the “Black in America” series that recently aired on CNN. I’ll be honest, I don’t follow the news as much as I should. A significant portion of that is because it is so negative. I’m becoming a believer that if something is important enough to read about or talk about, then somebody else will tell me about it. I received emails from people telling me to tune in to the “Black in America” series, because, as a Black person in America, it was almost a requirement to watch.
Though many have complained about the negative portrayal of African Americans in the CNN special, I saw the series as a representation of what life is like for many Black people today. No, I’m not exactly happy with my current predicament, but I’m certainly not struggling to get by like a lot of the people they showed in the series. Yes, there has been progress over the years, but the achievements for the few does not compensate for the struggles of the many. Don’t worry, I’m not going to get all philosophical. I’m just making a point.
CNN timed the release of this series perfectly. What better time to put forth such a documentary than when an African American has a serious chance of becoming President of the United States, and within days of the House of Representatives pushing through a resolution that apologizes for slavery and all the damage it caused and will continue to cause for Black people. Even more interesting, and perhaps intentional, it’s as if the “Black in America” series and this resolution have a Q&A relationship. If you watched the series, whether white or black, you probably ended up saying “How has it come to this? How did we get to this point as a society?”. That’s an excellent question. It’s almost as if the CNN special wanted us to ponder. Coincidentally, the House of Representatives answered it by apologizing for Slavery and the inequalities it created that are relevant today and were displayed in the series.
I understand the purpose of the apology. Older members of my family, parents included, have felt the injustices first hand that were created because of Slavery. My father and his side of the family didn’t exactly end up in Upstate NY from Mississippi because of opportunity. When someone burns down the farm and crops where you live because they hate the color of your skin, you’re forced to change scenery a bit, so I’m sure he will appreciate this apology much more than I ever will. But the question remains, even with all that has been aired on television and acknowledged by our government…
Where do we go from here?
I Own 2 Guns. Both of them Legal.
My body hurts. I woke up this morning extremely tired and my right cheek/glute reminded me of my college track and field days when I strained muscles and laid on the track writhing in pain (Not to be confused with crying). My eyes felt like they had weights attached to ‘em. My lungs felt like they had been removed when I was sleeping and stretched and thrown around by a bunch of curious small children or an Italian guy making a pizza. What the eff was wrong with me this morning? Oh, now I remember!
Yep, I made a return to the track yesterday evening. I forgot how long it had been since I had run above jogging pace, and had stretched out my extremities for an extended amount of time. Five sprints up the football field in under 19 seconds and 30 seconds to get back down the field sounds simple. Couple that with a 1 minute rest in between each rep and a series of core exercises to follow and you have a somewhat painful workout.
I was so out of shape aerobically that a mother who was doing a workout of her own laughed at me. She saw Slim doubled over with hands on knees searching for oxygen. “It’s fun being out of shape isn’t it?” she said. “Yeah, its really wonderful”, I responded with piercing eyes from behind my Nike shades. I admired her work ethic though. She had her 2 kids sitting in the stands waiting for mommy to finish her workout. You gotta respect someone who works, has a family, and still has time to stay in shape like that. If she is married, the husband prolly has it pretty good. If she isn’t married, she prolly gets harassed by men her age looking to be married for a 2nd or 3rd time.
Anyways, I realized I have a long way to go to to bring my lungs up to speed. Its great stress relief to get on the track, especially with a job that dominates my life and often leaves me sitting at home after work wondering why I don’t feel like talking. I need to lay off the beach muscle gym workouts and enjoy this nice weather while it’s here. Then again, bicep curls (and bench press) are a man’s best friends. They allow me to own 2 guns, both of them legal.
07.26.08
Street Urchins in the Streets of Boston
Last night could have been a rap video, a real gutter and grimey rap video filmed in the streets of Boston. I’ve never really walked downtown (Or in this case Chinatown) late at night. After hopping a couple of bars and heading to the Roxy for Latin Night, where I made absolutely no attempt to get my salsa or merengue on, me and a few of the fellas ventured into the streets for a visit to a chinese food spot that served unpleasantly cold boneless spareribs and semi salty chicken wings. After stuffing ourselves, we took to the streets for the adventure back to the car. This was an adventure that suburban Slim Jackson had not expected to take.
Within a couple hundred feet of us, I noticed something scurrying under a park bench. As we got closer and the tail got larger, it became apparent that it was a Roger Clemens/Barry Bonds-sized rat nibbling away at what appeared to be the remnants of a cheeseburger. I’ve seen rats before, but never one that had bicep muscles and took an interest in keeping up its protein intake. We kept trekking and I thought that would be the end of it. I was weirded out, but became even more weirded out when I took a step over a sewage grate/air vent/thing that women in heels can’t walk over or they will bust their ass. I looked down and noticed enormous cockroaches coming up out of the ground into the night similar to a Sci Fi channel horror movie. I high-stepped like I was running into the end zone for a touch down and immediately began shaking off my clothes. I knew there were no roaches crawling on me, but I was absolutely disgusted/horrified/appalled. Had I stepped on one of those behemoths, I would have been traumatized. I’d be hearing that distinct crunch for days. *shiver shiver shutter shutter*
The excitement didn’t stop there. We walked a bit more and I noticed a man posting up/standing somewhat suspiciously and a woman huddled in a corner of a storefront behind him. I looked closely and realized she was smoking crack. I was shocked. The street urchins were out. I had never seen a person smoking crack before. It was like I was at the zoo or some urban street exhibition. I still see the image of her huddled in the corner with that plastic pipe in her hand. But what was the grand finale of the night as we finished our tour? What hadn’t we seen so far in our trip back to the car? The answer to this was on the corner in a short tight dress with a cigarette in her hand. The red light specialist was workin’ the block, looking for that gwap.
I don’t know what else I could have seen that night, at least that wasn’t of a violent nature. I’ve seen some of the great things about Boston and the city during the day and when the nightlife is buzzing. But this…this was an eye-opener. After 330am, it transforms into something ugly that I don’t want to see again. The late night streets really do have a life of their own.
07.24.08
Articulate Black Guy Goes to Court…Again
There comes a point in every black man’s life where he needs to go to court, whether it be for his own legal affairs (or lack thereof) or to support somebody else who is involved in some type of legal proceeding. Ok, so maybe not every black man. That’s a bit dramatic, but I got you to read thus far right? Right…
Today was my day. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been in court, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a case dismissed. I guess I just enhanced my street credibility. Someone pass me a Mic and and a blunt. Ya boy beats charges! I’m your next favorite rapper… or not. Run a background check on me and you’ll find nothing. I know someone out there will be curious enough to try. But seriously, run a background check on Slim Jackson and you’ll find nothing. I guarantee it.
The thing that always gets me about court is the type of people that surround me. I have this thought of “why am I here for such trivial matters?”, when I’m listening to people being charged with all sorts of crimes that require someone to really break the law. Today I heard the arraignment of a woman who beat up the elderly, and a young Cape Verdian fellow that sped away from cops because of existing warrants. I also heard the arraignment of someone involved in a hit and run. Why was I there? Oh yeah, I forgot to renew my driver’s registration a few months ago, and I hadn’t switched over my driver’s license to the state I live in. Real street credibility intensive offenses. I guess me and DMX have at least one thing in common.
Shockingly, I was the only person with the decency to wear a suit. Well, me and an articulate black woman with the same “offenses”. As we waited in the hall, we were both asked “are you my lawyer” by individuals who actually committed crimes. Even a couple of the court officials were surprised when they saw I didn’t have my legal badge and that I was indeed amongst the many with infractions. All I could do was smile and hope they passed the word to the Judge so that she wouldn’t give me a hard time. She didn’t. Case dismissed, though my insurance will probably go up at the time I renew…further complicating my financials. Arg.
And as I arrive at work, I’m anticipating the “how was your morning *insert real name*?” by the inquisitive co-workers. Perhaps I will make them feel awkward and say something like “It was great. Just had to handle some black man business.” How can someone respond to that without walking on eggshells?
I bet they won’t ask any questions after that.
07.22.08
My Degree Has Failed Me Miserably
The economy is in a crunch. I’ve been in denial about it until now. I was told by older people that this day would come. As I sit and ponder my financial situation and life in general, I’m wondering what I’ve really accomplished since graduating from college. It’s nice to throw around my university’s name and occasionally get surprised looks, or more commonly jokes from people who struggle to compensate for their inferiority complex. It’s nice for people to stop by my apartment and notice my shiny diploma frame hanging evenly on the wall. As a matter a fact, it’s probably the only thing in my living room that I dust reguarly. But that piece of paper between the glass and the wood…what does it really mean?
Being that I opted not to go to graduate school, where I hear having this piece of paper is helpful in admissions, I’m finding out how little it’s worth when the economy is tough like it is now. A degree from *insert Ivy League school other than Harvard, Yale, or Princeton* does not guarantee that you will have your dream job or be raking in the dough. Some of us have been fortunate enough to beat the odds; but for the rest of us, we toil on in our daily drudgery. A degree from an Ivy in this economy is on the same piece of paper as a degree from Shucka Jive College in Sanbow, NM. Though I am employed full time, my degree doesn’t allow me to magically leap away from my current job and into the new position of my dreams. There’s a lot of competition out there nowadays. Then again, I guess there’s always been a lot of competition. I just never really noticed it until now. A recession definitely levels the playing field.
I look at my degree, and where I was supposed to be according to the expectations of myself and everyone else. My major indicates that I should’ve been a lawyer. Oops, gotta go to grad school for that. Or maybe, just maybe I could’ve been an arbitrator or sports agent, or something else cool…oops, gotta go to grad school for that stuff too. Either that or have the ultimate connection to pull me up the ladder. Anyway, maybe I should have went into the financial services field..then again, I wouldn’t want someone to have to clean the bloody mess off my desk after beating my head against it on the day that I finally snapped.
I could’ve went a few other ways as well, but somehow I ended up in sales and then in the field of recruiting (which is somehow related to my major). I feel like I’ve done a lot of stuff right over the years. I’ve put on the sharp suit. I’ve presented myself as articulate, polished, and highly intelligent. I’ve taken many of the steps that were “supposed” to lead me to success beyond graduating from college. Yet, I feel pretty unaccomplished and somewhat unhappy with my current predicament (Blogging is merely an outlet to stop one of my talents from going to waste). Of course things could be worse, but that doesn’t mitigate the significance of my personal circumstances. I see people making less money that are a lot happier. I see people chasing their dreams, whether it be music or running their own popular website. I see people making filthy bucks that appear to be on this earth solely to be miserable. I guess at times, I feel like I fall somewhere in between. People have said “you only live once”, and I have spent money according to that statement since graduation. It may have brought me temporary happiness at the time, but as I continue to dip into my account for expenses I’d rather not deal with, I find myself using the same words that my parents and other older folks use when trying to instill some knowledge…
“Only if I had the chance to go back and do it again.”
Whoever believes that the “live once” logic is a good excuse to blow your cash must have a trust fund or some financial cushion lurking in the shadows. I sure as hell wish I hadn’t taken that approach. Even if tomorrow is not promised, I wanna be able to live stress free when it becomes today. Lord willin’ of course.
And no, I’m not broke. But after having to dip into my savings a few times as of recent, I’ve realized I’m far from where I expected to be. And I’m even further away from where others expected me to be. As much as I’d like to pass the blame elsewhere for my circumstances, the reality is that I can only blame myself. Had I paid attention to what would make me happy from the beginning and been a bit more calculating, I probably wouldn’t be feeling the way I do now. I certainly wouldn’t be wearing a suit everyday. Perhaps I would have rode the initial blogging wave, and I’d be paid to sit in my apartment in my boxers writing about whatever feels good. Maybe I should be more optimistic despite the downward spiral of the economy and it’s effect on my life. Maybe the line between dream and reality isn’t so distinct. A dream is what you strive to achieve. And reality…well, that’s just what you accept. Strangely enough, many people base reality on the perception of others, which adds to the stress people place on themselves. Perhaps that’s why people are so miserable. Then again, misery does love company, and I figured I’d be kind enough to share mine with you. Go figure…
It always takes a tragedy or a series of unpleasant occurrences to give someone a “reality check”. I’m getting one everyday that I drive by the financially back-breaking gas station, and every month when I cut that crippling rent check that has surged an additional 100 bux per month. I sometimes feel like a college student all over again. I do kinda wish I could go back. Where would I go? You already know…right to that point before I got this seemingly worthless degree.
07.21.08
Can You Help a Brother Out by Seattle Washington
Before this weekend I never had a problem with that question. I would drop some coins in the hand of whoever was asking and keep it moving. On those days I had an extra bop in my step I would drop a single if I had one handy and if I liked the gentlemen that posed the question. But for some reason, after hearing “Can You Help a Brother Out…?” again this past week; something changed in me. I tweaked. I was smacked in the face with a revelation that was always there, gnawing at my subconscious, and all it took was hearing that one question for the billionth time to push it to the forefront.
On this particular occasion, I was walking down the sidewalk on a balmy summer day and a middle-aged gentlemen was standing next to his 90’s Nissan SUV, searching his pockets for change to feed to the meter. Once he saw me, he quickly approached and asked, “Hey man, do you have change for a dollar? Can you help a Brother out?” Unfortunately, no balloons dropped from the sky, no streamers were thrown and no one ran out with an oversized cardboard check to celebrate the billionth time someone uttered that question to me. The only thing I was awarded with frustration, confusion and the immediate thought of “Why the fuck do I need to be reminded that I am a Brother in order to help you?”
So like a whorish girlfriend, that guy has ruined me for future experiences. I now am immediately turned off when I hear that particular question. Sorry guy in need, but that blatant reminder that we are of the same race is not really urging me to do anything for you, even if I do have 50 cents in my pocket. And just to clarify, I have no problem helping people in need. Actually, I’m often criticized because I’m that somewhat optimistic dude who gives money to homeless people. I also help blind people when they stray off path, rescue cats from trees, walk old ladies across the street and stop thugs from stealing women’s purses. One of those is actually true, but I’ll leave that to your imagination. So it’s not the asking, it’s the delivery. Why do I need to be reminded that I’m also Black to help you out? Man if you need change for a dollar, for a brew, a blunt or to catch that bus, just ask me. Keep it funky.
From what I know, African Americans are the only people to ask that question to each other. I highly doubt that in Africa, when two men see each other and one needs something he asks “Hey, can you help a brother out?” And maybe they do it behind closed doors, but I’ve never heard a White, Hispanic or Asian guy ask another dude of their race, “Can you help a [insert colloquial term for their race here] out?” Shoot, I know we’re always on the forefront for culture, but I don’t think America is going to pick this term up. Although I would’ve rather heard white suburban kids saying this than “nigga”, but that’s a different conversation.
So as of July 21st, 2008 I’m instituting a new rule, let’s call it “Seattle’s Law of Blackness, No. 1″. And it states, the “help a brother out…” question will from here on out be stricken from the Black man’s vocabulary. Why? Well, for a couple of reasons. First, if you’re truly a Black man you won’t need to ask me in that way, remind me that we’re both Black and guilt me into giving you something. Only pathetic men, of any race, do that. In addition, all shaming when it comes to race or ethnicity should be saved for the White man. You can say that’s “Seattle’s Law of Blackness, No. 2″. Second, if the man you’re asking has any moral character and is truly a Brother, he won’t need to be reminded.
A real Black man will help a Brother out because he is his one.
07.20.08
DMX. I’m Going to Help You Find a Job…
C’mon Earl. You gotta get it together. Over the last few months you have been in court for a variety of new and old offenses. You don’t even dress yourself in clean clothes. I know you’re 37 years old, and you haven’t made a rap song in what seems like forever. You still need to take care of yourself so that you don’t look like a bum in all your mugshots. Seriously Earl, you look like one of the individuals I see sleeping in the park everyday on the way to work. How do you go from this…
Crisp and Clean DMX
To this…
Bum Ass DMX
I couldn’t even help you get a manual labor job with you looking like that. I know you gotta have some money left. I find it hard to believe that after all the CD sales and movies you’ve appeared in, that you’re more broke than MC Hammer. I mean, did you really spend all your money on houses, drugs, and pit bulls? We know you didn’t spend it all on your entourage. You seem to only be getting arrested by yourself. And now I gotta read that you just used a fake name and skipped out on a medical bill at a hospital! What’s going on with you?! I knew something was off with the way you used to be all angry and bark recklessly (Nothing is wrong with barking though. I do it sometimes myself for a pretty well-known reason.). I hope you haven’t resorted to doing that for money in the streets. I’m sure people wouldn’t even recognize you if you did. Do you have any explanation for yourself?
Sometimes I get a lil confused Slim...sniffle.
Confused? Will you stop staring at me with that blank ass look on your face! Shower, shave, put on some deodorant and clean clothes, and a very small amount of cologne. Earl, we are going to turn your life around. We need to get you back on the right track before you end up on a VH-1 celeb-reality show. Perhaps you already have. Nonetheless, get dressed Earl! Today we are going to find you a job!
