Tag Archives: No such thing as half way crooks

The Pursuit of Happiness (I’ll be fine once I get it, I’ll be good.)

Why don't the voices in your head ever tell you to do nice things for people?

” Men hide their emotions. You bury yours, Keith Marcus” Charlene (as portrayed by Joy Bryant in “Get Rich or Die Tryin'”)  

I’ve been blogging off and on for about five years now and I covered a wide range of topics. I’ve talked about arguments between homophobic crackheads on the train in Charlotte, numerous postings about my random thoughts, and even my issues with church. You name it and I’ve blogged about it. There is one topic that I’ve never touched. One thing that scares me.  

 It’s M.E. I have no idea how to handle my emotions or feelings so I choose to keep them to myself. I’m honestly somewhat of a mess upstairs and I have no idea why. I simply do not have the ability to emote my deepest feelings.  

 *Scene from “Get Rich or Die Tryin'”* I’ll paraphrase b/c I only watched this crap once.  

 Charlene (Joy Bryant’s talentless a**)  speaking to Marcus (50 Cent) So this is how it’s gonna be now?  

 Marcus: Sits silently and makes the 50 Cent Face while desperately trying to convey emotion.  

 Charlene (Raising voice): So this is how it’s gonna be now Marcus?  

 Marcus: Sits silently and makes the 50 Cent Face again while desperately trying to convey emotion.  

Well folks that’s pretty much how a conversation about my emotions would go, goes, has went, and so on, well that is if I could talk about my emotions.  

Long story short your friendly neighborhood Agent of M.E. has some deep-rooted mental blocks when it comes to talking about the important sh*t between my ears. The things that matter most in the minds of adults. The things you share with the person you’re in love with. Quite frankly (no Stephen A.) it’s a hinderance to my future and I think it’s time I deal with “it” before I go any further.  

 “Let me start from the beginning, at the top of the list. Know what I mean, have a situation like this…”  

Sorry about that, I flashed back to ’95. So I’m 30 years old and I’ve only shed tears approximately three or four times since October of 1996. This was at the funeral of my first cousin who died the fall of our senior year of high school. She passed away that October and we were up for parole going to graduate in May of the next year. My cousin’s funeral was on a Sunday and I honestly think I cried enough that day that I ran out of tears. I can’t explain why but it would be years before I could bring myself to shed tears again. I never gave it much thought and simply choked it up to “I have nothing to cry about.” From the time of my cousins funeral to my next shedding of tears, I attended the funerals of two grandparents, dealt parental illness, juggled the random stresses of being a black man in South Carolina, and not a single drop.  

It wasn’t until I was experiencing a bit of domestic strife that my next tears were shed. They were brief and heart-felt, but I actually managed to cry in front of Miss Moneypenny for the first time. I actually think this came as much of a shock to her as it did to me. In the back of my mind I was thinking “Oh sh*t, this is actually happening.” This was a rare moment for me, but unfortunately not any sort of break through.  

It was also during this time that I realized that I do have issues with depression. I wouldn’t call them major, but depression is depression in my book. I just can’t fathom being a little bit depressed. (I guess this is like being a half-way crook or being a little pregnant.)  

So what’s my point?  

I’m just cold. Sure I laugh. I smile. I get sad. I feel anger, not James Evans mad, but regular everyday mad. Still, after all the emotions my feelings always seem to be limited. In moderation to a point that they don’t really come out.  

The other night I was asked a series of questions. All of the questions were about me. Questions about my emotions, feelings, and other sh*t that for some reason that I’m not equipped to deal with. With each question asked all I could do is just sit there, just like 50’s non-acting a**. I’m searching withing myself for what to say, how to feel, and I can’t come up with sh*t. I struggled to form my mouth to say what’s on my mind, but nothing came out. I like to refer to this as a state of emotional paralysis: sure the feelings are happening, but you cannot act upon them. You’re just there. How do you wake up from that? How do you emotionally take your first step after being frozen?  

Why? What in the hell is wrong with me that I can’t carry out a basic human function? If I were to say what’s actually going on in my large-a** skull would I be perceived as nuts? Angry? Weird? I don’t have a single answer to any of these question. Hell, I’m still been trying to figure out where to begin. Needless to say I really need to start figuring this sh*t out because I’ve got to much to lose if I don’t.

Advertisements

Snobbery, Everybody’s Doing It.

During the course of my work day I find myself stuck at my desk  causing my 7.5 hours to seem longer than they actually are. To make things worse I have this thing about complete silence that drives me crazy. To alleviate the loud silences I listen to ESPN Radio, NPR, or whatever crap any of the local mafia radio stations are playing at the time. To be safe and not have to explain a song to 50 something housewives who loiter  in my area  for to long I usually just listen to ESPN.

Sports radio hosts are just like other disc jockeys “on air personalities” (I honestly think there should be more disc jockeys. Then maybe, just maybe the radio wouldn’t sound like a broken record. Seriously, have you ever heard anyone sing “Last night an on air personality saved my life from a broken heart”? Come the f*ck on.) have their quirks to draw in the listeners. One personality on ESPN, Colin Cowherd’s schtick is that he intentionally comes off as an elitist deuce/shock jock. During the three-hour time length of his show Cowherd usually draws the ire of a few of his listeners because he has no problem disagreeing with them. Once he disagrees with them he will, in the most condescending way possible tell them that he knows more about the topic du jour than they do because of the extensive research that he and his staff does. He is fond of using the motto “I am research.”  When his audience reacts to declarations like this via e-mail or phone call, it’s almost guaranteed that someone will call Colin Cowherd a snob. When this happens he then retorts with “Well, everybody is a snob about something.”

For someone who looks like the ShamWow guy he nailed it. Every single homo sapiens on the planet is a snob about something that they hold near and dear to them. Sure you may partake in something if your options are limited but if Joe and Jane Public had their druther the would remain as inflexible as possible about their choices. Me, myself, personally have several things that I’m a snob about. Why? Because that’s why?

Here are three things that I will turn my nose up at if I don’t feel they meet my standards:

College Football

I’m a very southern man and we southerners are really into football. We watch all types but there’s nothing better than watching college football on a Saturday. That being said, I prefer to watch team from the south or the southwest play. More specifically, teams from the SEC. Sure the Southern California’s of the world play at a high level, but it isn’t the same. I’m such a snob about college football that I have tiers or southern football teams that I will spend time watching. If I were given the choice of watching two lower-rung SEC teams like Mississippi State and South Carolina play each or watching two top-ranked ACC teams like Georgia Tech and Clemson play I’m probably going to watch the Bulldogs and the Thunder Chickens. It just feels more like football. The Big Ten game that ESPN shoves down the throats of the rest of the nation at noon on Saturdays will promptly be switched to another channel. Minnesota Golden Gophers… the Big Ten teams might as well wear sweaters and leather helmets when then play.  Anything other than southern college football just seems pedestrian.

Coffee

My name is Wu Young, and I’m an addict. I don’t have very many vices. I curse and I enjoy a nice, strong, black woman cup of coffee every morning. (I almost got side-tracked for a moment there.) Just like any other addict, I prefer the best hit possible. I absolutely abhor weak-a** coffee. I’ll drink it if I have too, (We’ve got to keep the anger birds away.) but I view weak coffee as a survival mechanism. That’s right, no gas station coffee for me. Give me the darkest blends possible and I’m a happy man. It doesn’t matter if it’s from Avon Barksdale and Stringer Bell (Maxwell House and Folders), Tony Montana (Duncan Donuts), or Nino Brown (Starbucks)  the inner-beast is immediately calmed with the first steaming hot sip. I love it, I need it, I fiend for it,  and I rarely accept any substitutes. Good coffee is an essential part of my life. I like to have  the coffee that Jules and Jimmy were drinking while they were discussing dead n***er storage.

Hip Hop

To the surprise of many, I listen to many genres of music, but at heart I’m a hip hop head. (This may be the beginnings of an old man rant.) Due to the fact that I was a teen in the 1990’s I was blessed to have witnessed and listened to what some may call hip hop’s golden age. During that time I listened to tons of hip hop from all across the map, but I was really a fan of  East Coast and Southern hip hop. I just wasn’t feeling Deathrow like that. (Sure, I can name a lot of great west coast hip hop songs, but I would start to stray from my point.) Because there was so many dope artists and music at the time hip hop was easy to listen to. The Dungeon Family, Gangstarr, The Roots, Wu-Tang, Scarface (Shout out to my little big sister Dale for narcing the fellas and I out about that Ghetto Boys tape.), Biggie Smalls, Nas, The Native Tongues, and Mobb Deep furnished a big part of the soundtrack for my teenage years. Boom bap, jazz samples, that tick followed by that bump, and Premo scratching the living hell out of  chorus has made an absolute snob  out of your friendly neighborhood Agent of M.E. when it comes to rap music. Granted I’m not as bad as KRS-One but I’m pretty judgemental when it comes to rappers and mc’s. Err time I hear or read about MC Next Big Name, I scoff and shake my fist Abe Simpson style.  I guess this is same as my pops comparing all baseball players  to Willie Mays and Hank Aaron.

So those are three of the things that I’m a complete snob about. What are yours?

*Tune in next time for “Dear Love, It’s me Superhead” or “Why Sarah Palin is the most ghetto person in America? “*