Take The Chicken Out The Freezer

Talking to myself like I am Nina Simone's Inner Nina Simone but also talking to myself like I am Carl Wheezer's inner Carl Wheezer

It's 2022 and I got 3 bags of Tostitos scoops and a maxed-out credit card to my name,

Complete with sweater vests and bass clarinets, like when I used to be asthmatic.

I had my first epiphany when I was 17 and I was like "I'm out here epiphanying"

Whether the name is Jon, JODY, Jonny, or Jonathan,

My words stutter and get twisted like I was a twizzler caught in a twister.

Being my authentic self, but not that way ya' weirdo

She half white, half latina so her name in my contacts is Sriracha Mayo

Complete with

Sweet shea butter kisses, tastes so good like some cornbread with the pig feets collard greens and the sweet, SWEET yams, I wanna' smack ya' Momma Donna

Watching Kung Fu Panda, crying like my Auntie when they first elected Obama,

Just a wee-bit narcissistic, so my haters wanna' turn me into a llama

Raised my voice like when my momma' told me "take the chicken out the freezer"

They say the universe works in mysterious ways, 

So I guess the boys chasing me down in their dad's lifted pick up truck is adding double XP to my character development, 

But all I wanted was some chicken nuggies and Rebecca Black on vinyl. And maybe world domination so I can student loans and take like 3,000 naps but

Seems like all I got was a broken knee, microaggressions, and a binder full of Pokemon cards.

Maybe you’re the one Morgan Freeman sent to me and I’m the man Tilda Swinton wanted me to be!

Just thought if there were a little more Spicy Nacho Doritos and a little less Cool Ranch Doritos, it would fix what is wrong and right in the world.

So 2.27 billion seconds I'm expected to be in this galaxy. Like Chuck E. Cheese tokens, gotta make them count, 

So I gotta' show up to show out to show off!

Now I may not be shit to you, but my momma' think I made it

So don't touch me, I'm famous,

Punched By An Angel

I've only been punched in the face once. It was by my brother, as I threw water in his face after I lost a game of basketball. I might have been 10. I have never been the one to initiate a fight and sometimes I have been the one to shy away from one. It's not that I am afraid to throw hands in the unlikely event someone's face will receive them, it's just a waste of my time, normally. There was always so many things to do as a child at Carver Middle: practice for All-District tryouts, reading for book club AND general pleasure, baking brownies for my classmates and my crush(es), figuring out a sick playlist for my neighborhood jogs. Completely swamped all the time with little time to waste something that would get my nose broken, or worse, suspended. All of the Randalls and Malfoys and Jo(h)ns more than likely came from a disfunctional family, and younger me didn't want to add $4.99 for an icepack their child would have needed after they were trying sqaure up my Jonathan "Juve-NYLES" Whiting. But as I got older the energy to scrap unveiled itself. It was this energy I had felt a few times towards my teammates in high school when I sincerely wanted to take someone's head off. The feeling of -violence- rose from the seedlings of anger that had been planted, but I had never given it sunlight. I did have some sort of fury but truly did not want to fight. Not the type of 'oh you didn't let me into the club because the men-to-women ratio' sort of fight; I am too old and not-stupid for that. I wanted to fight against the patriachy, discrimatory housing practices, my own insecurities, Michael Buble Christmas songs. Of course there comes an anger when someone doesn't wear their mask even when prompted and I want to take a brick to their five-head but I digress. Anywho anyway, anything that got in the way of my happiness or anyone else's prosperity needs to halted and reflected and modified. Yes my job is in education but it is everyone's duty to teach and everyone's duty to continue to learn. From the 6 year-old butt sniffer to the 86 year-old butt sniffer. The amount of times I have been harassed by security or police or white people in general, they're not receiving a black 'n' mild Jon anymore. the issue of me not wanting to fight is not there anymore. I may be a full-time teacher, yoga instructor, and in grad school but just like Booster Gold, I will make time. My ancestors have powers, having to deal with all this boo-boo that's been put in their way. You best believe black people did not have wait to have their powers until December 21st, 2020. They were amplified. Oh. One more thing. Yes, if needed, I will slap a buster or two when needed. Rest easy Tiny Lister 

It Wasn't A Dream, It Wrulleeappen'd

Basketball will forever and always be in my life. Whether it be me as a little 10 year-old collecting any and every basketball card from the trading card aisles in Target; starting altercations during AAU tournaments because it was stimulating to me; or being in this whole separate community of potential JUCO all-stars that just wanted to waste time during those long summers in grade school.

Well let me be honest, I was never cut out to be a true basketball player. Yes I was mainly 6'2, 6'3 and had a firm muscular frame and Dennis Rodman-type caliber player, during most of high school but mentally I was out of it.

Basketball in high school for me was firmly about being accepted in a social circle. My first crush played on the girl's team, I wanted to be invited to parties, I wanted my brother (who was a D1 athlete) and dad to be proud of me, I wanted something to go back and relate to when I talk to other nigglets and my dad's brothers when we were just sitting around. And none of those things panned out how I wanted too because I honestly didn't want or need them to pan out in that way. I honestly had given up my dog so I could go hangout with people I don't even have as Facebook friends anymore.

But some of the more miraculous things happened from this sport. For years and years I recorded stats on every basketball player I could stuff in my little Jonny brain and would update them on my basketball video games on player's attributes and accolades. Surely enough, basketball was not the one thing my brother and dad wanted me to talk about all the time (of course we still gotta' talk our stuff). I met some of my favorite players like Ben Wallace, George Gervin, and Jeff Capel. I found my voice as a leader being the defensive anchor on my teams.

This seemingly simple-minded sport became a storybook to me, full of tales and heroes and villains. All of my jerseys, action figures, trading cards, ProAm games; missed dunks, completed dunks, game winners, broken ankles, broken bones, size-ups; long nights, long days, long weekends, long practices, long car rides...it is just a game. Nothing more, nothing less.

You may be born at a Level 98 Wizard basketball player or work hours and hours off and remain at a Level 2 Peasant basketball player. And if you are a Level 2 Peasant in basketball, you may easily enough re-imagine yourself as a Level 98 Wizard on an entire simulation made by other Level 2 Peasant basketball players that are Level 98 Wizard game developers.

Whatever happened on a basketball court for me was so impersonal and I didn't feel it on a spiritual or emotional plane at all. If I was getting after it on the offensive glass and pushing and shoving all of these massive players, getting dunked on by people 5, 6 inches taller than me, talking into their ear about their mommas', I turned that off instantly as soon as I put my slides back on. But you can imagine the culture that this game built that gives everyone dreams, hopes, stability, and a form of escapism. The passion that burns in their eyes, it may not burn in my mines.There was a passion of just trying hard and giving almost everything I had. If I gave everything I had to the game, what would I leftover for everything else?

Regardless, I will dunk on you.

"Basketball Jones" by various artists on Space Jam reminds me of the hoop dreams I never had,