Category Archives: random

That’s That Sh*t I Do Like…Even Though No One Else Does

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The Cruel Summer album

So what if no one—not even the biggest, most diehard Ye fans—loved this album. (Some people liked it. But, no one loved it) So what if it was titled Cruel Summer even though it was released two weeks before the first day of fall. So what if I still kinda think this album was just a very elaborate 401k for Pusha T. So what if my two favorite songs on it (Higher and Sin City) happen to be the two songs that the seven people who actually like it always skip through. So what if one of these songs (Sin City) features two verses from my least favorite rapper. And, so what if one of those verses happens to be my favorite verse on the album. For reasons I’ll probably address sometime later this year, no album is more connected to a year to me than Cruel Summer is to 2012. (I realize that last sentence was unnecessarily cryptic, but it’s Friday and, well, f*ck you, it’s Friday.)

Derrick Rose sitting out until he feels ready to come back and play

If you disagree, if you think that since he was “cleared” to play a couple months ago, Rose is basically just being a spoiled little bitch who needs to put away those big-ass Coogi neckties and get back on the court, you are an intentional idiot, and since intentional idiots need to die, you need to die.

Tyler The Creator doing the things Tyler The Creator does when he’s not making music

(If only because “Proud of that nigga cause I know that shit is difficult or whatever. Anyway. I’m a toilet.” is, all things considered, the best tweet I’ve ever seen.)

Cheese-less sandwiches

***My reaction to the next person to ask me if I’m sure when I tell them I don’t want any cheese on my sandwich***

Standardized tests

I have nothing particularly witty or insightful to say about this. I liked taking them while in school. I like the fact that students still have to take them. I even like the fact that while the rest of the world embraces technological advancement, standardized test results are somehow rendered completely obsolete if not completed with a number two pencil. (BTW, has anyone ever used or even seen a number one pencil? How about number three? Or four?)

***Spoiler Alert!!!***

The way Omar was killed on The Wire

For a series that prided itself on its stark realness, Omar’s character just got progressively more fantastical and contrived as the seasons passed, and although it seems like everyone was waiting for a showdown between him and Marlo, getting got by a 10 year old restored the natural order of the show.

That’s it for me today. People of VSB, I’m curious: Name some sh*t you do like even though no one else seems to share your opinion. 

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

How To Be A Pseudo-Celebrity Like A Motherlover

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Rottenecards_34892250_3m37wvsm23Hello.

My name is Panama Dontavious Jackson and I’m kind of a f*cking big deal. People stop me in the streets and ask me for directions. Almost every day, somebody looks at me. Sometimes it happens twice in one day. What is it? I don’t know. But I got it. Whose is it? Even Michael wasn’t sure.

MJ gone. Our n-word dead.

The reason my apartment reeks of mahogany and is filled with leather-bound books is because I’m a pseudo-celebrity aka 40 percent of the time people know me all of the time.

What is a pseudo-celebrity you ask? Good question. Pseudo-celebrity is what happens when a few people know who you are and everybody else is like who the f*ck are you when the few people who know who you are say things like, “hey you’re XYZ!”

Or even better. You know how famous people get free things? Not pseudo-celebrities. Sure, pseudos get into places free as long as they either know a manager or a bouncer, but if neither are present at the bar, he’s paying for that drink. Basically, there are no free drinks. Even if somebody wants to get you a free drink, they’re paying for that drink first. You know why?

Because you’re only pseudo famous. If you was famous famous nobody would have to buy you a drink…

…you’d already have one.

This is my life. Now this isn’t a complaint at all. I actually rather enjoy the times when I see people out and they say things like, “hey, its Panama! Oh my gosh, I didn’t expect to see you out and about like that! You’re not nearly as hot as I thought you were in that picture where I can’t see your face but I do see you smoking!”

That’s the funny part about pseudo-celebrity. Some people think you’re famous, others couldn’t care less. I mean it looks cool when you’re out in these streets and people stop you to say they read the site (I think most bloggers with a good readership go through this) or when you’re out of town and folks randomly recognize you and make it seem like you’re a big deal. But you know how real bad boys move in silence? Your highness?

Yeah, pseudo-celebs are total bad boys. Nobody moves out the way when we come thru. In fact, unless you’re a tall person, nobody moves period. I have to push through the crowd like everybody else. Of course that time somebody yelled out Panama and somebody else yelled out Noriega was funny. There’s no story there.

Well, as the pseudo-celebrity motherlover that I am, and seeing as so many of you who venture here are clearly famous in your own right (even if nobody knows your real name, which is like, totes coo, since most folks don’t know my real name either! AS IF!), I know its hard out here for a pimp. So I figured I’d drop a little knowledge. Knowledge my brothers and sisters; use it or lose it.

So you wanna be a gangsta, all that sh*t smoke any motherf*cker don’t even trip and be hard as hell and say whatever you want, punk suckers wanna front…

Or here are some on how to be a pseudo-celebrity like a motherf*cker.

1. Be super f*cking fly

Not a little fly. Leave that tsetse fly sh*t at the door, whoadie. Naw. Big dog it. When you walk into a building, dap people up, especially people you don’t know. This gives you the chance to seem more important than you are. Somebody will say, do you know who that its? Most people will say no, but one person who is totes in the know will say, “hey, that was Panama Jackson and he’s one fly motherf*cker.”

2. Be super f*cking cool while being super f*cking fly

Basically its the same sh*t as 1.

3. Wear sunglasses when it rains

Before you can be out here dapping up people you don’t know, you need to LOOK like somebody that should be dapping up people. You can’t pointdexter the sh*t, my ninja. You have to rock the stunna shades and pop your collar. Don’t pop your collar. But like wear Jordans or something. Pseudo-celebs totally rock Jordans. And really expensive tank tops. In the winter.

4. Always respond to anonymous shoutouts

You ever been out and somebody yells for their friend across the street. Always assume they’re yelling for you. Say you hear a “HEY! HO! HEY! HO!” like you’re a Lumineer my ninja. Well, you bet’ yell back “WHATS UP BRO! STAY SWAGGY!” Then keep on walking I ain’t talking to you anymore.

5. Tell people you’re a promoter

In fact, create a Linkedin account with your sole job as promoter. That way when people google you (you are pseudo-famous remember) they’ll see that you ain’t lying. On paper. Promoters are famous people. You are kind of famous, so you promote happy hours. Especially the one you’re at where you dapped up all the people you didn’t know. HEY HO. HEY HO.

6. Always walk to the VIP line and be surprised when you can’t get in…in the VIP line.

This has never happened to me. I’m not only pseudo-famous, I’m the pseudo-famous president. I got a card. It’s like one of those punch-cards for so many free coach entries and you get a free VIP entry. Totally rocks.

Do dat do dat do do dat dat dat.

You know what, this is how motherf*cking pseudo famous I am….I’m spent.

You do the heavy lifting. How would you advise somebody to get their fake celebrity on. Like Panama Jackson. I’m your client. Help me be famous.

Happy Friday.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. WHAT THE F*CK DID I JUST WRITE? aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

The Moments of Impact

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water-dropI have a confession. I like the movie The Vow. I’ve watched it a million times via cable movie channels. Part of my like of it is from the soundtrack. I’m one of those folks who latches onto the movie playing in the background. That can make or break a movie for me. Picking the right music makes all of the difference.

Think (if you’ve seen it) the first episode of The Game this season and the closing music while Derwin was leaving the show forever as Miguel’s “Don’t Look Back” played. While the song has nothing to do with parting ways – it’s actually a song telling a woman to leave and not look back if her man doesn’t make it home because he’s outchea cheating – it sounded great in that scene and brought it all together. For a moment, I felt like they got it right. For a moment.

Back to The Vow. You know the story. Car accident. Wife loses memory. Can’t remember husband. He tries to win her back. He loses. Until he wins. The end. Nothing remarkable there.

But what does stand out to me are two sets of quotes about moments of impact:

My theory is about moments, moments of impact. My theory is that these moments of impact, these flashes of high intensity that completely turn our lives upside down actually end up defining who we are. The thing is each one of us is the sum total of every moment that we’ve ever experienced with all the people we’ve ever known. And it’s these moments that become our history. Like our own personal greatest hits of memories that we play and replay in our minds over and over again.

The moment of impact. The moment of impact provides potential for change. It has ripple effects far beyond what we can predict. Sending some particles crashing together. Making them closer than before, while sending others spinning off into great ventures. Landing them where you’ve never thought you’d find them. That’s the thing about moments like these. You can’t, no matter how hard you try, control how it’s gonna affect you. You just gotta let the colliding parts go where they may. And wait. For the next collision.

#realn*ggatalkinshutthef*ckupho

If we are to view life as one big set of collisions inspiring a million tiny changes and every so often monumental, epic change, then all of life is about the crash. The moment you meet that woman who inspires you to become somebody you didn’t even know you could be. Or that man who makes you realize that it’s okay to trust. The person who lets you take off your cool. But Newton’s Third Law of Motion states that for every action is an equal opposite reaction. Now technically its supposed to be to the actual forces colliding – kind of like Iyanla and DMX – but living within the spirit of the law, you’re meeting you husband means that collision possibly sent somebody waiting in the wings on the love they feel to be returned off into a tailspin they don’t even know exists. They’re the train heading towards the blown bridge. And they won’t know until its too late.

Well the interesting part of these collisions is that from the ashes often arises a fire-y bird. I shall call it a Phoenix. I’ve seen change have various affects on people. But the most common – though often ill-inspired – is the change that pushes somebody towards new heights. I’ve seen a woman who lost her man because he cheated become the beauty queen we all saw. Not to say she went out and got him back or immediately got another man, but I witnessed her become free and beautiful in her own existence, set adrift on memories bliss while realizing that new memories are but a short walk on the sidewalk.

I’ve seen some of my best friends face adversity after experiencing some huge loss and restructuring their life to never lose that way again, sometimes for better, sometimes for the worse.

I’ve personally altered my mentality after going through, at the time, what would be the most significant collision I’d ever experienced.

But these collisions were necessary to help shape the personal narrative of all involved. Some people need change to grow. I remember years ago my daughter’s mother suggesting that I needed to be fired from my job in order to realize my full potential. She felt as if I’ve been to able to rely on stability to make it through life and the resulting contentment stopped me from truly becoming who she felt I could be. By the way, there is no force stronger than a supportive woman. I truly believe this. A woman who believes in you enough to think you need to LOSE a job to become a great? But has no doubt in your ability to dust yourself off? I’m not sure I ever said thank you for that. I probably should.

Either way, moments of impact that change your life. I look forward to those. Nearly every day I wake up I realize that something could change my life that day, good or bad. I’ve prepared myself if its my time to go. Seriously. But I also know that the possibility for greatness is right around the corner. I just need to find the right set of buildings. But it’s there. The person I’ll bump into. The idea I’ll happen upon. The impact that’s waiting on me to show up so the energy can finally be woman-thou-art-loosed.

I’ve experienced some already. But there’s more.

What about you? Have you experienced that person, place or thing that altered your world? Has there been any collision that sent you into the great abyss of greatness?

Let’s collide.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. IMPACTION JACKSON aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

My Tyler Perry Problem (Hint: It Has Nothing To Do With Tyler Perry)

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One of the great paradoxes in life is the fact that the more cable channels you have, the less there seems to be to actually watch on TV. I experienced this a few months back while at my parents, simultaneously amazed by the 700+ channels they have and flabbergasted by the fact that there was literally nothing attractive to watch.

Dejected and still possessing a few hours I needed to kill, I finally decided on Daddy’s Little Girls—the Tyler Perry vehicle starring Idris Elba, Gabrielle Union, and a dozen or so ONs (“Other N*ggas”) with their own Wiki pages. I’d seen bits and pieces of it before, but never had the opportunity to watch it from the beginning to the end.

Now, before I continue, I have to disclose something. You know those self-righteous, uber-Bougie Black people who don’t “hate” Tyler Perry, but kind of sort of think he’s the bane of Black filmmaking? The type that would write a 2000 word long blog post decrying his work, and might shake his head and sigh loudly if his name happened to be brought up in a positive manner while he was at brunch with friends? Well, I am one of those people.

Actually, that’s a bit misleading. I was one of those people until Daddy’s Little Girls showed me exactly why I was one of those people.

The movie itself was unremarkable and ultimately forgettable. This is not an insult, though. Most movies are unremarkable and forgettable. I kinda chuckled at a couple scenes and cringed at some others. On that scale, there is literally no difference between Daddy’s Little Girls and hundreds of other movies I’ve watched during lazy weekends.

I then thought about every other Tyler Perry movie I’ve seen. All (in my opinion) vacillated between “eh” and “eh, this sucks.” These feelings are far from ringing endorsements, but I didn’t hate any of his movies, either.

(Now, I have to say that I haven’t seen Temptation, a movie that may actually be the worst reviewed movie ever. I mean, there have been bad movies before, shitty, awful, cinematic train wrecks, but how many were so bad that people thought they were f*cking dangerous?)

Again, though, this particular form of ambivalence isn’t new for me. I have the same feelings towards dozens of different actors, movies, producers, and directors. That’s just human nature. You’re going to like some things and dislike some other things, but most things are going to fall somewhere in the middle. But I haven’t written articles and blogs about all of those people. I have about Tyler Perry, and the amount of effort I’ve put into thinking about him—someone who falls in the low end of my middle—just doesn’t equal how I actually feel about his work.

It then dawned on me: My “dislike” of Tyler Perry had nothing to do with his work and everything to do with the fact that there aren’t really any alternatives. Yes, you have your Spike Lees and your Ava DuVernays and whoever else you want to mention, but no other Black filmmaker is as prolific and popular. Basically, if he was just another popular Black filmmaker in a sea of popular Black filmmakers, I wouldn’t have thought so badly of him. I probably wouldn’t have thought much about him at all. I was allowing his lack of competition—and how he was received by other people—to not just influence but determine how I felt about him.

I suspect I’m not alone in feeling this way. Not just about Tyler Perry, but other movies, songs, artists, and even people. Basically, the principle—how we think a product should be received in relation to its competition—has a tendency to matter more than our feelings about the product itself.

Even looking back in my own history, I went through the same mental gymnastics a decade ago when formulating an opinion about 50 Cent. I hated what 50 “represented” (Don’t ask me to define that), hated that he was the undisputed king of hip-hop for a three or four year span, hated the fact that he ruined Ja Rule’s career and then turned around and made the exact same type of songs he clowned Ja Rule for, and hated that no one seemed to care about any of that. But…I liked his music (and disliked Ja Rule’s music). What Up Gangsta? is still one of my favorite rap songs.

Just as with Tyler Perry, my feelings about 50 had more to do with his prominence than the actual art he was producing. I actually thought he was “good,” but because he was so popular, too many people thought he was “great,” and this changed my “good” to “bad.”

Although the tone of this piece so far may suggest otherwise, I don’t necessarily think this is a bad thing. We don’t live in vacuums, and sometimes the principle does matter more than the product. At the same time, its unfair to project your own hangups on how art should be on a person who clearly isn’t interested in creating the type of art you think they need to create, and this is exactly what I’d been doing with Tyler Perry. As I stated earlier, if he was merely the 3rd or 13th most popular and prolific Black filmmaker, I wouldn’t have given him any extra (or negative) thought, and it’s not his fault that no one is currently there to counterbalance him.

I’m glad I got over that, though. Now, when done watching Daddy’s Little Girls or Why Did I Get Married again I can finally do what I should have been doing the entire time: Forget about it.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

***We ended last week with a bit of roll call. Continuing that theme, I’m going to go down the list and name each of the VSB-ers I met at our 5th anniversary party Saturday. I might forget a name or two, but since my blood-alcohol content level was probably 16 times the legal limit, it’s not my fault.

Wild Cougar (Who engaged me in the deepest drunk conversation about Bougie Black People and Tyler Perry that anyone has ever had)

Tx10inch (Who I refused to introduce to others by his VSB handle. Not secure enough in my masculinity to refer to another man as “10 Inch.” According to me, his name was just “Texas.”)

Soula Powa (Who ended up doing the exact same thing with me he did the first time I met him—at our #threedeez book party two years ago—watching and debating basketball)

CNotes (Whose hair makes me feel like a White woman. Ok. That didn’t come out right. Lemme try again. According to many Black women, White women love to touch their hair. I felt the same way)

Shay D Lady (Who, considering how drunk she was, may not actually be alive right now. 11:14am edit: Shay D Lady has informed me that she is, in fact, alive. Since she’s alive, I have to say that she definitely wins the award for “VSS Most Likely To, By The End Of The Night, Either Have You Saying ‘That Was The Best Night Ever’ or ‘How The Hell Did I End Up In Prison?’…Or Both”)

Cheekie (Percolate deez)

The Sunk (Who gave me beard envy)

Aly (Who doesn’t think I’m very funny. To her credit, I’m not)

Yoles (Who made me see why she seems to be everyone’s favorite VSS)

Keisha Brown (Who I was pleasantly surprised to see again. Didn’t realize she was coming in)

Medium Meech (Who, along with Texas, seemed to make it a personal duty to grind for at least three songs with every VSS. They were definitely the hardest working men at Liv that night, pun intended)

Mad Scientist (Who I think I saw but didn’t get a chance to speak to)

Esa (Who had on some very nice pants)

Sweet Ga Brown (Who helped create a Champ sandwich with Wild Cougar)

Kema (Who was cheery as a motherf*cker)

Again, I was in a Smirnoff-induced haze, so some names will come to me as the day goes on and my memory continues to come back. So, if we met and your name is not here right now, there’s at least a 17% chance that it will be when you hit refresh***

Roll Call.

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So today is the last day of this week we (mostly) dedicated to our 5-year anniversary. Every so often we do this here on VSB. It seems like we’ve been fortunate to still have new folks come into the fold on occasion and establish themselves in the comments or just lurk and enjoy the show.

But, sometimes, its good to know who you’re talking to. Y’all know what it is. Since it’s really not just about what you’re talking about but who you’re talking to, I figure that to round out the week, we should do a roll call…

So here’s how we’re gonna do it.

Drop your locale (if you want to…this stalker sh*t is real outchea), and perhaps a couple interesting facts about yourself. We all pretend we’re friends in our heads anyway, so ain’t no thang but a chicken wang. Some of y’all have done this before…some of y’all are too cool to do this…

…but, even with all of the stuff some folks put out there, there are still some thangs we could all learn.

Like…I’m Panama and y’all all know I’m in the District and that I’ve got a descendent. But you may not know that I have enough siblings to make Mormons jealous. I also…

…you know what…I’m trippin.

How about just like 5 interesting things about yourself. How about that.

I’d drop them here but I think I’ve shared them all on this site. But I’ll attempt to come up with some anyway tomorrow.

That’s how much I love you all. And that’s just the kind of guy I am.

Because I loooooooooooooooooove you.

Wait…I got some…facts.

1. I used to iron my money. Seriously. #drugdealerswag

2. I was once an unknowing accomplice in a Valentine’s Day robbery of a grocery store by one of my best friends as she shoplifted her boyfriend’s gifts. I didn’t know until she got back in the car, opened up her coat and unloaded about $100 worth of items from our local grocery store. And, she didn’t offer me anything. Lesson? Never trust a chick who tells you she needs some pads but asks you to wait in the car.

3. Y’all remember when folks were buying jerseys? Yeah. I got about 20 throwbacks. None of which I’ve worn more than like twice. I’m sure I’m one of those folks with a jersey of somebody who didn’t exist. I need to get rid of them. Anybody want a Magic Johnson MSU jersey?

4. I have not one piercing nor a tattoo. I want to get my ears pierced and I want a sleeve. I just work for one of those places that would frown upon either. I’M STIFLED. GIVE US FREE.

5. Speaking of ironing money, being a southerner, I actually used to get my pants creased to high hell. All the SoCal and southern folks remember the creased Dickies. Yeah, that was me. I’ve come a long way.

Y’all got five random facts.

Tell us about you.

The floor is yours.

You too lurkers.

-VSB P