Family is like a cast from a play. Everyone has a role to act out. There is the protagonist, the good guy, or central character or group of characters for which the audience is meant to feel most sympathetic; there are supporting characters, cast members who assist in the progression of a story; and then there are the antagonists who operate in direct opposition to the protagonist(s); and so on. The major difference between a family and a play’s cast, aside from the obvious real vs. fiction distinction, is the fact that members of a family seem to swap roles from time to time. The father is sometimes the protagonist, toiling away at work and fighting to bring home the proverbial “bacon.” Sometimes, the father is a supporting character assisting the mother in her tireless efforts to provide for the children, as she assumes the protagonist role. Then other times, the father becomes the antagonist, doing things that are counter to the ultimate goals of the family unit. Our role in the cast of family is dictated not only by the branch we occupy in the family tree, i.e. are we the youngest brother, the father, or the oldest daughter, but also by the kinds of choices we make in life.
Despite my agnosticism, I have always felt that our family was incredibly blessed; like there was an angel on the top of our family tree. As the oldest, you have operated in close proximity to her. You have been a role model for your siblings and their children, many of whom have wanted to follow your lead and become lawyers, as have Kamilah and Nkem (and perhaps me, one day), attend Carlton, as did my father, and attend Northwestern, as has Michael (and perhaps me, one day, hehe). From your position on our family tree, you have been able to have a profound impact on what kinds of choices other branches were making. Because of you, other branches have flowered in your image. Presumptuous as it may sound to assume that I can start playing casting director here, but I am taking it upon myself to grant you a spot on the security council, as one of very few permanent members of our family’s “board of protagonists”… not just because you are the oldest child of a great man, but also because you have been a great man yourself. To 40 more years!!!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
An ode to my uncle... Turning 60.
Family is like a cast from a play. Everyone has a role to act out. There is the protagonist, the good guy, or central character or group of characters for which the audience is meant to feel most sympathetic; there are supporting characters, cast members who assist in the progression of a story; and then there are the antagonists who operate in direct opposition to the protagonist(s); and so on. The major difference between a family and a play’s cast, aside from the obvious real vs. fiction distinction, is the fact that members of a family seem to swap roles from time to time. The father is sometimes the protagonist, toiling away at work and fighting to bring home the proverbial “bacon.” Sometimes, the father is a supporting character assisting the mother in her tireless efforts to provide for the children, as she assumes the protagonist role. Then other times, the father becomes the antagonist, doing things that are counter to the ultimate goals of the family unit. Our role in the cast of family is dictated not only by the branch we occupy in the family tree, i.e. are we the youngest brother, the father, or the oldest daughter, but also by the kinds of choices we make in life.
Despite my agnosticism, I have always felt that our family was incredibly blessed; like there was an angel on the top of our family tree. As the oldest, you have operated in close proximity to her. You have been a role model for your siblings and their children, many of whom have wanted to follow your lead and become lawyers, as have Kamilah and Nkem (and perhaps me, one day), attend Carlton, as did my father, and attend Northwestern, as has Michael (and perhaps me, one day, hehe). From your position on our family tree, you have been able to have a profound impact on what kinds of choices other branches were making. Because of you, other branches have flowered in your image. Presumptuous as it may sound to assume that I can start playing casting director here, but I am taking it upon myself to grant you a spot on the security council, as one of very few permanent members of our family’s “board of protagonists”… not just because you are the oldest child of a great man, but also because you have been a great man yourself. To 40 more years!!!
Despite my agnosticism, I have always felt that our family was incredibly blessed; like there was an angel on the top of our family tree. As the oldest, you have operated in close proximity to her. You have been a role model for your siblings and their children, many of whom have wanted to follow your lead and become lawyers, as have Kamilah and Nkem (and perhaps me, one day), attend Carlton, as did my father, and attend Northwestern, as has Michael (and perhaps me, one day, hehe). From your position on our family tree, you have been able to have a profound impact on what kinds of choices other branches were making. Because of you, other branches have flowered in your image. Presumptuous as it may sound to assume that I can start playing casting director here, but I am taking it upon myself to grant you a spot on the security council, as one of very few permanent members of our family’s “board of protagonists”… not just because you are the oldest child of a great man, but also because you have been a great man yourself. To 40 more years!!!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Thoughts from Memory Lane
This past weekend, I drove down to Charlottesville to meet up with an old college friend. As soon as I got to my college home, I felt this tidal wave of nostalgia grip me in it's undertow... I felt like I was drowning in it all weekend. "DROWNING???" you may ask. Well, drowning is a helpless, out of control feeling brought on by immersion in water. I was immersed in memories and, frankly, old habits. It was, at once, a reminder of how far I've come, and how much further along I should be...
As I drove to my buddy's new house on the outskirts of Charlottesville, we passed by the Charlottesville Jail, which I had spent some time in a few years back. As we pulled up to the house and walked on in, I was impressed by the house, how well put-together and how well-kept it was. John had really done something with himself.
I settled in a bit and then we started to talk about John's business, my work, Dean's work, life in Charlottesville, life for us who'd moved back to D.C., and other regular let's-catch-up topics. As the pleasantries concluded, our conversation drifted to how we've changed and grown up quite a bit. We would be having kids soon, we all agreed, and we'd be getting married. With those changes on the horizon, we would have to make of our lives a stage, with all the appropriate props, for the scenes of our adulthood to take place. There would be no smoking, no binge drinking, no excessive cursing... at least not on stage, right. And this eerie conversation seemed to set the stage itself, in a way, for a night of drinking and smoking... somehow, us acknowledging that we would have to grow up soon was like an excuse shielding us from those responsibilities for the night...
Or maybe it was another kind of stage-setting altogether; the development of another sideshow that all men need... a place where youth can be reenacted. This stage is adorned with stripper poles, neon lights, call girls, alcohol, drugs, and only one rule: what happens on-stage stays there.
Sometimes I feel like the gender divide is as simple as this: women live to look young again, and men live to feel young again...(Ellipsis)
As I drove to my buddy's new house on the outskirts of Charlottesville, we passed by the Charlottesville Jail, which I had spent some time in a few years back. As we pulled up to the house and walked on in, I was impressed by the house, how well put-together and how well-kept it was. John had really done something with himself.
I settled in a bit and then we started to talk about John's business, my work, Dean's work, life in Charlottesville, life for us who'd moved back to D.C., and other regular let's-catch-up topics. As the pleasantries concluded, our conversation drifted to how we've changed and grown up quite a bit. We would be having kids soon, we all agreed, and we'd be getting married. With those changes on the horizon, we would have to make of our lives a stage, with all the appropriate props, for the scenes of our adulthood to take place. There would be no smoking, no binge drinking, no excessive cursing... at least not on stage, right. And this eerie conversation seemed to set the stage itself, in a way, for a night of drinking and smoking... somehow, us acknowledging that we would have to grow up soon was like an excuse shielding us from those responsibilities for the night...
Or maybe it was another kind of stage-setting altogether; the development of another sideshow that all men need... a place where youth can be reenacted. This stage is adorned with stripper poles, neon lights, call girls, alcohol, drugs, and only one rule: what happens on-stage stays there.
Sometimes I feel like the gender divide is as simple as this: women live to look young again, and men live to feel young again...(Ellipsis)
In Treatment
That's the title of the mixtape I'm currently working on, to be released right here for your download... (Ellipsis)
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
KOBE'S A DIVA
The strangest moment of the NBA playoffs took place during Game 3 of the Lakers-Rockets series, when Kobe Bryant hit an 18-foot turnaround jumper from the left elbow with Shane Battier's right hand in his face. Bryant immediately began shaking his head with a look that indicated he smelled something really bad. This -- as you know -- is Kobe's dismissive face, the one he now makes after nearly every basket.
But that wasn't the strange part -- after all, how can something be strange when it happens anywhere from 10 to 25 times a game? The strange part came afterward, when he started back downcourt and turned to the TNT broadcasters at center court and yelled toward commentator Doug Collins.
[+] Enlarge
Ronald Martinez/Getty ImagesWe get it Kobe, no one can guard you. Now keep quiet and play the game.
"He can't guard me," Bryant said. Shaking his head, his mouth curled downward in a semicircle of disgust, he stared down Collins and said it again, "He can't guard me."
There was a pause on the broadcast. OK, that was meant for us, you could almost hear them thinking. So ... what do we say now? They couldn't ignore it, because it was clear to everyone watching that they were taken aback and that Kobe was the reason. Kevin Harlan acknowledged that Kobe was targeting Collins, one of the most even and knowledgeable minds in the game. When Harlan asked his partner what it was all about, Collins sounded genuinely perplexed. "I'm not sure," he said, and they quickly and quietly moved on.
And that's the deal about Kobe: None of us is sure. How can a guy with that much talent play with such little joy? Why does he feel he has to put on that phony tough-guy show all the time? Underneath all that pre-fab armor, who is he? Does he even know?
It's sad, maybe, but Kobe will never be appreciated in a manner commensurate with his ability. He's in the process of turning himself into an antihero. (In many respects, he is similar to Alex Rodriguez, another tin-eared superstar.) Everything he does reeks of insecurity, which is a really weird trait for a guy who -- along with LeBron James -- is a once-a-decade basketball talent.
Unlike LeBron, though, Kobe can't let his game speak for him. He has to accentuate everything with the facial expressions and the dismissiveness. It's not enough for him to beat someone; he feels compelled to belittle that person in the process. That's why one of the best things about the Lakers-Rockets series -- and, really, it's turning into a 700-page novel -- has been Shane Battier's reaction to Kobe's antics. And that reaction is this: zero. None. He acts as though he can't hear or see any of it.
Hey, Kobe, we know you're great. You know you're great. Shane Battier knows you're great. How about letting someone else say it first every once in a while? The way it works now, you're telling us so often that we're getting tired of it. Let us be the judge of whether someone can or cannot guard you. It's pretty self-explanatory, to Doug Collins and everybody else.
You see, I want to be able to enjoy Kobe's talent. I want to see it the way I see LeBron's: transcendent, mostly pure and emanating outward. It probably will never happen, though. Kobe won't let it.
For a guy with such a constant flow of creativity running through his game, it's amazing to see how calculated he is about his image. He comes across as though he's reading a script, and he's all wrong for the part (maybe Alan Alda reading a part meant for Harvey Keitel). There are just too many false notes, and the worst part is, he actually seems to believe this is what people want from him. This is the persona he has cultivated, and he's going with it no matter what. It's really kind of sad.
And this is where Kobe veers from the arrogant antihero routine perfected by someone such as Barry Bonds. Bonds didn't care what you thought about him. He thrived off the anger he generated. But this preening, jaw-jutting, head-shaking character is what Kobe believes people want.
Maybe it's his attempt to answer the questions of the Lakers' toughness. I don't know, but in the playoffs, his performances generally follow one of two themes: (1) He takes over the game and taunts everybody in sight, demanding that all acknowledge his greatness or (2) he steps back and intentionally doesn't take over a game, in which case his attitude seems to be, "See what they look like without me?" Either way, it's a tough act to embrace.
In the wake of Sunday's Game 4 disaster, when Battier and Ron Artest did guard Kobe -- and after which Magic Johnson said the Lakers defiled the team's honor -- it's a good bet Kobe will be at his contrived best in Tuesday night's Game 5. He'll probably dominate, and he'll undoubtedly let us know.
But here's a radical idea: Stop with the smugness and the arrogance. Play your game and let your talent speak for itself. You might not know this, but it does a much better job than you do. And if you're not going to enjoy what you bring to the court, at least give us half a chance.
ESPN The Magazine senior writer Tim Keown co-wrote Josh Hamilton's autobiography, "Beyond Belief: Finding the Strength to Come Back," which is available on Amazon.com. Sound off to Tim here.
But that wasn't the strange part -- after all, how can something be strange when it happens anywhere from 10 to 25 times a game? The strange part came afterward, when he started back downcourt and turned to the TNT broadcasters at center court and yelled toward commentator Doug Collins.
[+] Enlarge
Ronald Martinez/Getty ImagesWe get it Kobe, no one can guard you. Now keep quiet and play the game.
"He can't guard me," Bryant said. Shaking his head, his mouth curled downward in a semicircle of disgust, he stared down Collins and said it again, "He can't guard me."
There was a pause on the broadcast. OK, that was meant for us, you could almost hear them thinking. So ... what do we say now? They couldn't ignore it, because it was clear to everyone watching that they were taken aback and that Kobe was the reason. Kevin Harlan acknowledged that Kobe was targeting Collins, one of the most even and knowledgeable minds in the game. When Harlan asked his partner what it was all about, Collins sounded genuinely perplexed. "I'm not sure," he said, and they quickly and quietly moved on.
And that's the deal about Kobe: None of us is sure. How can a guy with that much talent play with such little joy? Why does he feel he has to put on that phony tough-guy show all the time? Underneath all that pre-fab armor, who is he? Does he even know?
It's sad, maybe, but Kobe will never be appreciated in a manner commensurate with his ability. He's in the process of turning himself into an antihero. (In many respects, he is similar to Alex Rodriguez, another tin-eared superstar.) Everything he does reeks of insecurity, which is a really weird trait for a guy who -- along with LeBron James -- is a once-a-decade basketball talent.
Unlike LeBron, though, Kobe can't let his game speak for him. He has to accentuate everything with the facial expressions and the dismissiveness. It's not enough for him to beat someone; he feels compelled to belittle that person in the process. That's why one of the best things about the Lakers-Rockets series -- and, really, it's turning into a 700-page novel -- has been Shane Battier's reaction to Kobe's antics. And that reaction is this: zero. None. He acts as though he can't hear or see any of it.
Hey, Kobe, we know you're great. You know you're great. Shane Battier knows you're great. How about letting someone else say it first every once in a while? The way it works now, you're telling us so often that we're getting tired of it. Let us be the judge of whether someone can or cannot guard you. It's pretty self-explanatory, to Doug Collins and everybody else.
You see, I want to be able to enjoy Kobe's talent. I want to see it the way I see LeBron's: transcendent, mostly pure and emanating outward. It probably will never happen, though. Kobe won't let it.
For a guy with such a constant flow of creativity running through his game, it's amazing to see how calculated he is about his image. He comes across as though he's reading a script, and he's all wrong for the part (maybe Alan Alda reading a part meant for Harvey Keitel). There are just too many false notes, and the worst part is, he actually seems to believe this is what people want from him. This is the persona he has cultivated, and he's going with it no matter what. It's really kind of sad.
And this is where Kobe veers from the arrogant antihero routine perfected by someone such as Barry Bonds. Bonds didn't care what you thought about him. He thrived off the anger he generated. But this preening, jaw-jutting, head-shaking character is what Kobe believes people want.
Maybe it's his attempt to answer the questions of the Lakers' toughness. I don't know, but in the playoffs, his performances generally follow one of two themes: (1) He takes over the game and taunts everybody in sight, demanding that all acknowledge his greatness or (2) he steps back and intentionally doesn't take over a game, in which case his attitude seems to be, "See what they look like without me?" Either way, it's a tough act to embrace.
In the wake of Sunday's Game 4 disaster, when Battier and Ron Artest did guard Kobe -- and after which Magic Johnson said the Lakers defiled the team's honor -- it's a good bet Kobe will be at his contrived best in Tuesday night's Game 5. He'll probably dominate, and he'll undoubtedly let us know.
But here's a radical idea: Stop with the smugness and the arrogance. Play your game and let your talent speak for itself. You might not know this, but it does a much better job than you do. And if you're not going to enjoy what you bring to the court, at least give us half a chance.
ESPN The Magazine senior writer Tim Keown co-wrote Josh Hamilton's autobiography, "Beyond Belief: Finding the Strength to Come Back," which is available on Amazon.com. Sound off to Tim here.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Friggin' Divas...
Divas... Oh how I hate to harbor the disdain I have for you... but I harbor it anyways, and I can't help it.
Because... Lying to yourself about your self-worth is downright damnable. These divas and their shameless cognitive dissonance... at once, so self obsessed that they notice all of their flaws and have become conscious enough of them to get all wobbly-headed and finger-shaking whenever anyone such as seems to notice one of them, yet so over-the-top about how awesome they are that they, and the legions like them who have fallen in love with the makeup that these two syllables (Di-Va) provide, actually say stuff like, "I'm a Diva"... even when they can't sing. How many of you know what a diva really is. 'A diva is a celebrated female singer. The Italian term is used to describe a woman of rare, outstanding talent in the world of opera. ' Forget the real meaning, most of you chicks aren't even cool... and, your proclamation of divahood makes you much worse. The self obsession that points out your flaws and makes you self-conscious is the same general self-centered-ness that engenders these hollow diva claims. Choose one, self-conscious or conceited. All the nonsense has me dizzy as a Salvadore Dali painting. You're a diva huh? DESPITE YOURSELF...
But (and we all know that all great arguments are like good women in that they have massive, uningnorable but(t)s) perhaps this is not such a bad thing... at least not at first glance. It is when you give that diva a chance to tell you about themselves that the good evaporates.
In our transient world... where so many people we come in contact with, we never see again, makeup motivates people to improve themselves. The makeup that we all wear, man and woman alike, be it the stuff we put on our faces to hide blemishes, the clothes we wear that 'compliment' our figure, the way we have taught ourselves to walk or shake hands to exude confidence, or how we have altered our speaking voice to make ourselves more attractive/professional, serves as an advertisement for our understanding of perfection. When I see someone's bright red LV shoes that I like, I might go out and get some just like it. When I see someone's abs (I think this is when I'm supposed to say 'no homo'), I might hit the gym harder so I can get mine like that. Negative things can have the same effect. Seeing the fat dude coming out of mcdonald's could send me to the gym just as quick as an underarmour commercial (no homo again?). But... there is definitely a difference between the subtlety of wearing, speaking, or walking in a way that we think is attractive and the brash act of announcing one's diva (or "the man") status from the hilltops.
I suggest that we all be fly in silence... (ellipsis)
Because... Lying to yourself about your self-worth is downright damnable. These divas and their shameless cognitive dissonance... at once, so self obsessed that they notice all of their flaws and have become conscious enough of them to get all wobbly-headed and finger-shaking whenever anyone such as seems to notice one of them, yet so over-the-top about how awesome they are that they, and the legions like them who have fallen in love with the makeup that these two syllables (Di-Va) provide, actually say stuff like, "I'm a Diva"... even when they can't sing. How many of you know what a diva really is. 'A diva is a celebrated female singer. The Italian term is used to describe a woman of rare, outstanding talent in the world of opera. ' Forget the real meaning, most of you chicks aren't even cool... and, your proclamation of divahood makes you much worse. The self obsession that points out your flaws and makes you self-conscious is the same general self-centered-ness that engenders these hollow diva claims. Choose one, self-conscious or conceited. All the nonsense has me dizzy as a Salvadore Dali painting. You're a diva huh? DESPITE YOURSELF...
But (and we all know that all great arguments are like good women in that they have massive, uningnorable but(t)s) perhaps this is not such a bad thing... at least not at first glance. It is when you give that diva a chance to tell you about themselves that the good evaporates.
In our transient world... where so many people we come in contact with, we never see again, makeup motivates people to improve themselves. The makeup that we all wear, man and woman alike, be it the stuff we put on our faces to hide blemishes, the clothes we wear that 'compliment' our figure, the way we have taught ourselves to walk or shake hands to exude confidence, or how we have altered our speaking voice to make ourselves more attractive/professional, serves as an advertisement for our understanding of perfection. When I see someone's bright red LV shoes that I like, I might go out and get some just like it. When I see someone's abs (I think this is when I'm supposed to say 'no homo'), I might hit the gym harder so I can get mine like that. Negative things can have the same effect. Seeing the fat dude coming out of mcdonald's could send me to the gym just as quick as an underarmour commercial (no homo again?). But... there is definitely a difference between the subtlety of wearing, speaking, or walking in a way that we think is attractive and the brash act of announcing one's diva (or "the man") status from the hilltops.
I suggest that we all be fly in silence... (ellipsis)
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Origin of AIDS
Firstly, I'd like to recommend the website www.documentary-film.net. It's great; it has a ton of interesting documentaries on it.
If the origin of AIDS is of any interest to you, check out the following documentary: http://www.documentary-film.net/search/watch-now.php?&ref=5
... (ellipsis)
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