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,

How to Ineffectively Solve Conflicts with Cornbread

I wouldn't consider myself a pacifist. The need for me personally to resolve conflict with physical conflict is as rare as finding a Moltres or Articuno in the wild. Let's begin, 

I know people may argue that it is what wild beasts would do, as people stand around and watch two grown adults fight at a baseball game (hold the phone sideways to be professional.) but I am not sure. I don't want anyone to touch my mother or father or niece or brother or cousin or bowl of Tostitos but there are other things to do than to actually harm someone with your body parts. Which oddly enough, ends up hurting you normally.

It's just I have other stuff to do, ya' know? Like whenever I was younger and I was being bothered or teased and things got physical, it was easy to walk away. I had an Xbox and two loving parents in a home. A dog needed to be walked. Tostitos were waiting at home. If a fight were to manifest then I would get suspended. No Xbox. Get but whooped (so technically two times I get beat). Teachers would take me out of the "Student of the Month" awards. No gift card to KB Toys.

Whenever I got older and grew into my body and played sports, obviously it popped up. But using words was even more effective versus flinging a wild haymaker at someone's temple. "Sticks and stones" blah, blah, blah; words will forever and ALWAYS hurt me. What's mightier, the pen or the sword? The silver tongue laced with poison *chefs kiss* was developed throughout my childhood, even as I managed a speech impediment (shout-out to Ms. Faye!).

But also recognizing to always defend yourself. Most people have some sort of community. Whether it be personal or professional or platonic or what have you, someone looks to a person for love and commitment and support. Sometimes the homie needs you to opt-in or square up when there is conflict. There will always be conflict. There will never not be conflict. 

And that's house this life works. There's a problem and a solution happens. It may not be pretty at the end, but an end will come. Most of the time it is within someone's self. Like maybe the kids who bullied me during grade school were mad that they didn't have a father figure. Or Halo 3 on the Xbox 360. I am sorry your family's lights went off but please stop teasing me about playing the bass clarinet. I was All-District, 4th chair.

"You gonna' let him talk to you like that?"

"No! I am going to walk away, so I won't be able to hear him talk to me like that."

Again, I am the guy who will eat the food even if my order is wrong. But also the guy who will ask for a manager because they ran out of curly fries.

#knowyourworthking

 

To Grow Old in Norfolk, Virginia

I never thought about too much in the future when I was younger. But I was constantly, painstakingly reflecting on my past. My past year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, millisecond, etc. Like how could I have done that differently being aware of every time I make some sort of mistake or a quizzical choice.

But as I grow older and my mistakes become more frequent and more costly (because remember, it's literally about me at this point in my life) I do start to ponder the bigger yet more concrete things that matter. People asking what I am going to do in my life, I'm not sure. There aren't really too many big-big plans besides getting my degree and opening up a studio. But even those two things I am not obsessed with. 

I am obsessed with being a great friend and being a great teacher and being a great student and being a great coworker and being a great partner and being a great parody dancer. But I'm not doing the things to do that right now. It's as though it's okay but not really. Because remember, I am constantly reflecting on these tasks and myself. I am past the first E, I've already identified and know how to fix the problem.

Those big goals, divided into smaller, measurable attainable goals have been what keeps me going. If one of my goals is to stay joyful, that means I need to sleep 6 hours a day or eat 3 servings of leafy green vegetables or run 3-4 miles, 3 days a week. Then the big goals slowly but surely are within my grasp and I won't even know it until it's already been passed and accomplished. Fortunately reaching my goal but unfortunately not celebrating the milestone, 

But I am tired, we all are and I sometimes just want to get through my days. And that's a huge issue, there are so many cool things that happen throughout my day and I want to enjoy them. But the days and weeks and months run together and I am not able to process anything.

If you made a pie chart of my 24 hour day, 2 hours would be spent exercising, 12 hours spent working, 6-7 hours sleeping, 1 hour school work, and then the rest hopefully is decompressing but rarely. 

I did that in a space and time a while ago and I was like poorly made grilled cheese: burnt out, melted down, broken down. Just pieces, on the ground, eaten up by street rats wings. I didn't want to grow old and die in Norfolk, Virginia or Denver, Colorado. If I can't process my days and decompress, then the repeat happens then it'll be a wrap like Saran. 

But once again, this has happened and I have been able to pick up those pieces and become the best Jon or JODY that I can be. It happened twice. But I have to slow down and provide maintenance when needed. Because honestly, I need me! Jon needs me. Jonny needs me. Jonathan needs me. JODY needs me. Hell, even Jo(h)n needs me. Hopefully this weekend I can go over everything and get it going. Wait hopefully, I mean it'll get done. I don't have a choice,

I Got You Boo

 People always talk about their “authentic self” and being in a particular space for themselves. I have no idea what that means, being honest. Sometimes I feel like going for a 12 mile run because I can. Sometimes I feel like moving to a new city to try out a different area. Sometimes I’ll put on a skirt. 

I don’t know how anyone in this world can tell me if I’m being myself or fake. It’s become a competition to become unique and innovative for social media. Yeah yeah sometimes I do it for the gram but most of the time I’m like “oh I have to try it AT LEAST once” because why not? There’s literally a ba-jillion things I don’t know how to do and everyone I’ve ever met , including my students, can teach me a skill or give me a new dataset I have never considered. Isn’t that cool? A lot of kids can speak two languages , that is so freggin’ amazing.

Anyways but I’ll pinpoint my quick entry to this point in time . I was with some friends having a chill night with wine. I spilled the wine on pants that didn’t agree with the color. They contrasted like Dame and Jay. For some reason my friends house didn’t contain replacement ones for a Shrek sized man. But apparently skirts apparently are one size fits all. 

We decided to go out that night and my friend took that picture in my super flamboyant sweater (that was mine and I still have/love it) and I wasn’t trying to be my “authentic self” as strutted down Hancock Street downtown. I was just Vivian vibin’, I felt comfortable.

I’m a science teacher and unnecessarily super reflective for a long time. I know for a fact when I’m being myself (me) being genuine to myself and I know when I’m doing it to be recognized. People yelling out “you’re so brave” or “you’re a (bad word)” was endearing but I just wanted to go dancing with poetry geeks and eat a chicken biscuit. Not a statement for myself but if someone else needs it as positive reinforcement, I got you boo. 

Plus skirts are super breathable and I can do super high kicks. Feels fabulous,

Please, Tell Me About Me

It's strange to think one day I wasn't here and now I am here. I have become obsessed with my own self and personal/professional relationships, that I haven't taken the stepback. Ya' know the whole thing about "gotta' backward to go forward" sort of energy. You can't build a house on a rickety foundation. Gotta' burn down the forest to get rid of all the dead matter so it can rebuild itself through different stages of succession.

Well yeah, I was priveleged enough to have a comfortable upbringing in which my parents kept on the lights and sometimes the cable. I didn't have to worry about being loved even though sometimes it didn't fit in the mold I needed. But it was there and abundant and that's where I am today.

But being the emotional truck I am, spending years and years writing into my journals, having good and bad trips, spending most mornings sorting through thoughts on my short and long runs...I still can't stop processing. It is supposed to stop, right? Even as I write on my computer at 11:36pm on a Sunday evening, my own brain continues to say "why are you not improving?" as I slowly start nodding off to street at now 11:37pm on a Sunday evening. 

I am someone who is restless, energetic, even-tempered, mellow, volatile, joyful, angry throughout most of my days. I would say joy and anger are my foundation mostly. Microaggressions eat away at me almost instantly. Like when one of the ladies I work with profiled me and a day later said "I know you". It was so interesting and unsettling; I wanted to throw up. So through all of the years and therapy and 60-minute runs and conversations I've had, you know me? Please, tell me about me because I am most genuinely confused.

If there is something you don't know then you have to speak up, you gotta'. I mean you GOTTA'. I am tired and exhausted and confused and mad yet happy and excited and eccentric and comprehend everything like, please I will pay you inexpensive Pokemon cards. I guess when I heard that comment I became upset but I am someone who likes feedback, especially from rich middle-aged white ladies "whose father will hear about this."

I am also someone who enjoys feedback and resolution and compromise. I crave it. I need it. And I won't stop until everything is at 99.9% optimal capacity for me. But I am not ready to die on that hill quite yet.

My Favorite Taco Truck

 Where in the world did I ever get the ability to earn a best friend that meets the “best friend” requirements? There have been people who I can play basketball with, talk about music with, motivate me professionally, motivate me personally, talk about “conspiracy theories” with, swap RDCworld videos, etc.

But I remember watching episodes of “Recess” and trying to wrap around my head that someone may have 5 best friends. 5. Best. Friends. My 1 best friend throughout elementary school literally was polar opposite of me and I don’t remember how we even bonded. But I know we were best friends and we would hangout together. Pizza parties and Skittles and Pokemon cards.

But like my Plumeria, as those friendships continue to grow, increasing in the amount of room they need, they need to be repotted. I am the plant, my friends supporting me are the pot. And by the time I need to be repotted, my roots have burst out from the pot and my potential of exponential growth steadily declines. From 3rd grade through my Iggy Year, 87% of my friends 

“Why young guy, why? Why are you roasting your best friends! They have given you solid years and validation and warmth and love!” Most definitely yes! But ‘imma keep it going.

Every time I have been with a bestie (most people know them as ‘Tier 1s’ or as the retired Tier 1s, I deem ‘Tier 2s’) I notice a modified or perhaps a change in mindset. Not sure if its my mentality or there’s but it happens. But as I begin to make friends in late 20s, those are people who are just going to be with (they say). But people don’t know, I will drop a friend like a bad habit. Well I don’t always drop bad habits. I will drop a friend like a spoiled avocado. I don’t care how old I am.

Back to the topic, I actually didn’t forget about it. 5 best friends. At one time.  When I think about 5 best friends, I think about 5 direct, intentional, assertive, present energies. Okay, let’s ponder that I have school and my 120 or so kids, their families, my own family and cousins and aunties and uncles, my old best friends, my yoga clients, my social media following, and me. Well more or less, I have all of these relationships. Cool. Yes. Now I am going to put my vibes into at least 5 people and be my very, very best around them. My VERY best. 

My best friends are different than any of those other people because they are not as confined to time. I won’t allow my students to call me super late crying about relationship issues or I won’t allow a yoga client to crash on my couch because they lost their job. I’m going to tend and help those folks out but within an allotted time. I check in on everyone regardless. But my BEST friends, you best believe 2am and couch are available, sometimes, I mean normally reluctantly.

And I as I get older and wiser, I want to be with folks and give me the energy back. I need it reciprocated. I want to be in debt to my friends because they’re that inspiring and heavenly to me. I talk about my best friends like they’re my All-Time starting 5 NBA lineup. I talk about them like they’re my favorite movie.

I hope as I continue with my journey in San Antonio those 5 (at the most) are cemented. I don’t have to have 5 but that’ll be cool. I am hoping they don’t feel pressured when they read this but maybe I want them too. Because that’ll make diamonds.

The Off-Season

The Off-Season is upon us. Two months of recalibration, remediation, relaxation, recovering or what have you. It's a time not to be taken lightly as expired sweet peppers and avocadoes sit patiently in my vegetable drawer, waiting for me to take them out behind the barn to end their misery. I was going to throw them out and clean out my fridge during the winter, but I had to get disfectant spray on layaway on the Dollar Tree. I'm definitely taking time now to reevaluate my close personal and professional relationships. My social, emotional, physical, spiritual simulations, needs, wants, and desires. As soon as I left school today, I felt that exhale finally happen like I was Loretta Devine trying out new swimsuits after a BBQ. I did get through the last school year with a relative smoothness but still fell into my vices quite easily, as they tend to send out false vibrations, playing with my emotions. I feel like for every 1 vice I have (let's call them Tom Cruises), I need about 10-15 positive things (let's call them Bill Murrays) to only REDUCE the effectiveness of the Tom Cruises. Not eliminate, just reduce. And not doing those vices isn't very helpful because then there's a fear I'll fall back into them and just dive deeply into it more when I get back to that level. I always come back to them, like a deadbeat dad after their son makes it to the NBA. For example: Tom Cruises: Overeating, Overdrinking, Maintaining a failed relationship, Undersleeping, Overexercising, Over Social-Mediaing, Not Drinking Enough Water, Ignoring Warning Signs of Anxiety, Saying Yes, Stealing disinfectant spary from the Dollar Treem, Not expressing Needs from a relationship because it's "inconvienent" Bill Murrays: Eating vegetables, checking in with friends, Hydrating, Running, Yoga, Meditating, Listening to (informational) podcasts, Calling parentseekly, Keeping up with my sleep pattern, Burning incense or sage, Getting/receiving hugs, Making my bed in the morning, Petting dogs, Cursing positive affirmations at my plants, Saying No, Writing this blog that only my mom and Dee reads, Listening to Hans Zimmer when I am doing mundane activities, Dancing awkwardly around people I love, High fiving people until their hands hurt, Making up secret handshakes with people, Knowing when to go home, Performing entries from this blog only my mom and Dee reads, (TBC) And I feel it more, ya' know? I feel this over indulgence as I round to my 28th birthday, I feel the uneasiness of it all. It's there and always ready to serve to medicate me but I needed to meditate. Yes there's Jon, Jonny, JODY, and Jonathan but there is really only one Jon. And I need to take care of him, I need to take care of me. Whether I am wearing a wig or not. And damn that fridge needed to be cleaned out so long ago So how does the Off-Season going to effect my Tom Cruise-Bill Murray conundrum this year? It won't unless I sent some intentions soon. Like right now. I think it's important to see everything from the lense on how it effects not only other people but me. It's all about me when it comes down to it. I came into this world with my parents, a brother, probably some white dude slapping me on sight, and oversized heads. But ultimate-ultimately I was alone. And I will die alone. My intro and outro. But that middle, juicy, meaty part between those things is where I get excited. I'm overworked, overanxious, underslept, sometimes more sad than not but I am here with a lot of joy and a lot of faith, which I need to extend to myself. I am and will continue to turn up. I don't have a choice in the matter. But I need to breathe. I need to slow down and be with myself and in this sh*t or I'm never going going to attain the 5th and final Jon. #savethetostitos

I Love You Too, Jo(h)n Whiting

 "Who am I becoming as a teacher?"

I love talking about myself. I mean I love talking about myself. I am a black man, college educated born from a middle class family who loved me who always seems to have something new to reflect on every two seconds. And it is lovely because I have been unpacking “who I am” since I was young JODY. But throughout middle school, the grade I have been teaching since 2017, has opened up a magnitude of suppressed memories and feelings throughout my entire life. More specifically, my career as a teacher.

I was a “B+” student in school; I did my work at a fairly high level, I loved to read, loved to learn new things, loved that I had two, hardworking college-educated parents, loved to earn and give respect to my teachers and colleagues. I was bullied higher than average in reference to my peers, as I attributed to my geeky yet shy personality. My middle school was a nice pool of diversity, with mixed socioeconomic status and sociocultural differences (until a new school opened up years later, making it a low SES). My friends included a band geek, basketball player, low achieving student, book lover, a physically handicapped friend, and mentally handicapped friend. Not plural but all singular, as I had one of each. School was good to me and I reciprocated those feelings.

I began journaling privately in 7th grade, as I started to find my identity amongst my peers. I loved talking and reflecting about everything in that journal.  I played basketball, loved reading, loved playing my bass clarinet; I loved doing hobbies. My parents continuously (somewhat forcibly) encouraged me to follow different pursuits and numerous activities and I even have somewhat of an interest in. I liked them but not necessarily loved them. But I wanted to know the how of everything due to my eagerness to try new things and learn new things from my peers.. This was an ideal that is now extremely important and relevant to me as a 27 year-old, as my amount of interests only increased as time went on. 

Fast forward to my college years, the same amount of energy came up. Wanting to know how things work and how I could possibly make the world a better place through education. I wanted to hold that space for folks who may not have a group they belonged too because I couldn’t find one either. College gave me this platform to finally be a facilitator of information for anyone who wanted to learn. I was a part of running club, clean-up club, gardening up, environmental science club, dance club; anything that would prescribe me this piece of mind of me finding this identity. But as I people found these loves and passions in college, I became discouraged. How was I going to find what I was looking for and become this high-level professional adult in my career?

My teaching career started primarily due to me trying to figure out what I wanted to do post-college life.  All of these skills and talents I had and learned from working as a biologist, tour guide, recreational assistant, etc. had gotten me nowhere. I did not know what to do with my college education and my vast amount of knowledge and experience for someone who was 22 years-old. And I went into my first year of teaching, tiptoeing and I got exposed. Heavily. Terribly. I wasn’t a trained teacher when I first walked into a room full of 7th graders. I was a scared 12 year-old who used to get bullied by EJ and them boy and only talked to a bunch of weirdos. Whether I was 5’3, 130 pounds or 6’4 200 pounds, I walked into my first year of teaching 7th grade like I walked in my first year into 7th grade, as 7th grader. And I cried a lot those first couple of years I taught. Not because of the kids, mostly because I had an identity crisis. If I love teaching and love these kids and can’t teach these kids then who else is going to do it? 

  So I continued to teach without any regards to my emotions to a point I was gently asked to leave my career. The career that exemplified all of amazing attributes was exemplifying all my insecurities. I didn’t know how to talk to 7th graders, I didn’t know how to talk to my black 7th graders. It’s because I was the kid who talked to all of my teachers or read during lunch break. I was not going all in with little bit of gas but constantly going full-speed. All I had to do was push it to a gas station and gently drive off. 

The feeling of not being the best or not fitting in was a common trend. Yes, I had a wave and pool of friends but I only chose those outliers who helped me learn that specific skill. Managing and holding a space for groups of people became a talent I didn’t know I had until my current year in teaching, as my culture-setting for each of my classes is now beautifully executed. My family is a big deal to me and rarely do I like something but I always love something. The glory and pain of failure is a driving force for me. All of the teasing and isolation really hurt me growing up, especially from my black peers, especially from peers that I know are hurting as well. Sometimes I took it too personally but I always knew that if someone made even the smallest attempt to connect with me, whether it be as a peer or as a teacher, they were going to have a safe space to be in. Even if it was only for 5 minutes at the bus stop.

When It's Over

I have to remember, remind myself constantly that things don't last forever. Maybe elongated, like the Elongated Man but not forever. Circumstances come up, things change, but I never thought things change. I always thought that was a lie. Things just...reveal themselves.

I've spoken about this on numerous occasions, but my time in Colorado was some of the best years and more tragic years of my 27-year-old life. I was able to be in a space that allowed my creativity and high-functional self, ergh, function but with consequences of not maintaining my social or emotional well-being. And one of my growing points is to sustain my joy/happiness/what-have-you after relationships with friends, coworkers, romantic entanglements meet their end.

Relationships ended so often in Colorado, I just kept to my dogs that I ran on the weekends. I always resented that "coworkers are family" relationship, I never thought it was real. Well until recently. But even with that, I have to learn to move forward after loss. If I don't then I won't be able to deal with something that really is dissipated or more so extinct from my life forever.

But that revolving door of friends and sometimes family isn't healthy for anyone and that definitely affected me in my childhood in which transferred to my adulthood. I can't imagine any other primary school child verbally ending friendships are unreconcilable differences. I know exactly what I have earned and deserved, and San Antonio is the first city to begin to offer me everything I thought was impossible to attain. My life quote "You can try to change but that's just the top layer, you was who you was before you got here" resonates with me a lot. 

So if you ever hear me say "I don't care" or the more vulgar alternative, I do. I do a lot. And you have no idea how much it takes me to say that it's over.

The Minstrel Show: Pt. 3

Call it a little fear of thunder and lightning when I didn't jump off the top rope.

If I ever told you I don't give a duck, I probably give two ducks

I still owe my Uncle the $5

Still can't get right, 

Still giving old ladies rides to HEB to get their Prilosec

I used to make brownies for my bullies

Because they needed a father figure,

And I've been in the basement with Big Tigger

After too many Bobcats casually whispered in my ear "n*gger"

When I came out to you, you responded with "faggot" 

But I was hoping I needed to swab my ears out or you froze like lag switch, 

She built like BBQ kettle chips, so I took her on a date to Sweet Yams

Took her to Dollar Tree and gave her the $20 and said you can get 19

They told me I could get my black card back after I develop HBP and stop gentrifying my cornbread

He said he's half-American, half- Italian, so I called him homemade olive oil mayonnaise

And vegan food is delicious, wait, wait, Noname Jonny said vegan food is delicious!

I told them check the science, them and Ted Cruz told me they would if they could

But they can't read...boycott the SATs and the GRE

New Girl is on the TV and I'm already on my second stout,

So Ima finna pass out 

The Autobiography of My Dead Dog Pt. 2

As stated a few years ago I only have one regret in my life. Full of the ups and downs of being a teacher, almost leaving college,  moving over 30 times in less than a decade, multiple relatives contracting cancer, getting tens of thousands of dollars into debt, shattering parts of leg when I was child; there's only one. Just the one,

In Denver I worked for this organization that let me run people's dogs. For money. Running. Dogs. Money. Wowzers.

This was the place where I met all of my friends from my brief 2-year stint in Denver; running huskies, shepherds, collies, malamutes, those two German dogs, and  that one pictured below. Which reminds me of red panda and an angel who liked to take naps every other mile.

This was my safe space in a city which I had troubling adjusting too. These were my friends and I needed them.

Back in 2009 I played basketball for my high school. I had finally recovered from my knee surgery the year prior and I was hoopin'. My dog, who had been with me during the turbulent 4 years at the time, waited for me everyday after school and/or practice. As soon as I would get home, he knew I was going to run him. No matter what. At the time, he was a chiseled little demigod, mixture of shar pei and mountain curr. Enough skin to be a chicken thigh at Popeye's enough muscle to be in a english-dub anime. Whenever he got amped up, he could clear me. Easily.

But he's dead now. He died a couple of years ago. Fat, depressed, and without me. As I played basketball and my popularity rose with the jocks and ladies, he was given away to a family. My father told me in the car after practice. I called his bluff. I would have lost a hand.

As that school year went on, I quit basketball. I forgot that I hated high school at the time. And I wanted my dog back but he was hundreds of miles away, making some other kid happy, which I didn't give two ducks about. 

Giving away my dog for absolutely nothing still looms on my mind, as it was the first time I gave away a friend for notoriety and to go on the dates with the Gina's of the world. And that date sucked. It was the first time I gave up a friend and the last time.

After logging in over 2,500 miles with dogs between 2017-2019, and building those relationships with them it meant the world to me. I laughed, cried, got pulled along black ice slabs, jumped into alleyways, with these dogs. I felt like I was trying to rebuild my dogs final moments, the moments I never had with him. Even when I shattered my leg and I couldn't run with him, he would walk with me. 

Slave Feet 10ks

I got negroes in very, very high places.

I remember because I was there, you were there, and you was there, I mean we all were

Wolfing down on hog maws a with the cornbread burnt on the sides like the back of Forest Whitaker's neck.

 

Then we heard Winchester rifles blooming,  blooming like some leopard orchids

Up along Greenwood District,

With no group chat to let y'all know we were free to go to Lennox Mall after dark.

I was going to drive us but he took the UPS.

And she was walking down Hancock, on some Tuesday morning.

I forget her name but she had fist comb up and a fist in the air, rattling off about the prison industrial complex and such.

But I was going to put my fist up, but I needed two hands to eat my fried chicken sandwich and I wasn't done yet.

While mayonnaise folks always wondered why we walked around with a built-in frown.

What a niggy know

When a niggy still get splinters from the ride over here, and still pissed off from the water casserole after waiting for a fortnight  or two or six or 12 or ten thousand

Ruby said they had better food at home, so she sent it back to Paula Deen

As I said, I have negroes in very high places.

Like John Witherspoon and Uncle Beaver

You had to be an angel in the next life to make catfish taste the most heavenly.

They keep reminding me that we ain't them, and I don't think like me

Chasing and yelling out "WHAT A NIGGY KNOW" as the Drake & Josh laugh track plays in the background

I didn't pay attention, I got 10ks to win with these slave feet

I won't bothering no one, massa' I was jus' chuckin' jivin' down MLK Boulevard suh'

Asking 'who that nigga' in dem Asics!'

And I let them borrow my stapler.

Nina Simone’s Inner Nina Simone

Sometimes you need to hear that you’re doing a good job and somehow KNOW you’re not wasting your potential. And be kind of a dick about it, 

The Jons and I were listening to “Igor” by Tyler and one of my favorite comedians Jerrod Carmichael referenced the concept of ‘wasted potential being detrimental to the soul’ (paraphrasing) which is not to be taken as a radial ideal. N*ggas continuously waste their potential every single day. Like most of the people I know in my Tier 1 and Tier 2 friendship will quickly take opportunities and then just as quick toss them in the garbage. The amount of people who loved doing activities or skills that are now lost for one reason or the other,

Why do people do that? Why do the Jons do that? Everyone does that sh*t.

One may look at self confidence and self esteem and self anything, really. You’re working a job and you’re doing great job and you’re numbers are high and you’re efficient and blah, blah, blah. At a certain point, nobody cares. People take that greatness for granted. Could you imagine be so proficient at something and people not acknowledging that you’re the lifeblood of a company. You’re probably putting minimum effort into it and you being more efficient than a heat pump. And nobody saying a thank you or a please or anything. 

At a certain point, free company yoga during a lunch break or a pizza party coddles you and suppresses you’re freewill cognitive ability. People over here in a cubicle selling paper in bulk and they can juggle knives with their tongue. Leaving no fingerprints,

Older people talk about working at a job for 25 years or talking about having kids and being married to their high school sweet heart. Some may call it consistency. Which is great and important but there’s also (I’ll call this a radical notion) that people don’t want to do those things. Sometimes people talk to Jonathan like making dance videos are embarrassing and “wait until I get older”. If I’m 48 and don’t love making dance videos over these past few years, please take my legs. Not everyone wants to be as miserable as you are,

The Master

I started running one morning. It was a Tuesday, I think. So it was 5-mile intervals. Everything always hurts, and I am always tired or confused. My body, mind, and soul have continued to grow and expand, sometimes at an exponential rate at times. 1 foot down, 1 knee up my arm pumped, one arm straight. I recall the dramatic knee pains that left my left knee shattered and almost useless in sophomore year in high school. I still had yet to figure out what had left me almost severely crippled. I recalled my speech impediment that halted any cyphers I was to join in on during pep rallies for marching band. I hurdled over a dead cat, bloated on the side of the road. I've longed for the opportunity to show the full extent of my intellectual knowledge and physical prowess to own self but to no avail. There's so many external factors that people my age deal with: societal pressure through social media accounts and such. Using those sort of underlying themes from Myspace and Instagram and sometimes LinkedIn, I wanted to become the greatest person I could be. The real J.O.D.Y. I've always wanted to show myself off to the 1st grade version of me, so I can be like "look at me" to me Even getting my M.A.T. in Secondary Science or my RYT 500 won't mean much to me; will just be another notch on the belt. I want to be 'The Master" in everything, always, all time. I want to learn how to dance like Josephine Baker and fight without fear like Nawi. I want to be The Master . On my own plane of existence, of course This doesn't have anything to do with titles or ranks anymore. I was done with that years ago. If I were Sicily and I baked bread like my hands were crafted by Young Jeezy then that's just what I do. Forever. And always. I want to make great bread. I hit a stop temporarily, unsure if a car could see my reflectors as I peeked around a stop sign. They did not. They barely ever did. I want to become a great yoga teacher. I want to be a great science educator. I want to be run really really really fast. I want to entertain and bring joy to people's lives. I want to learn every single hobby and skill and trait and quirk of everything, ever. Why would someone not want to live their life to the fullest and make themselves full of joy and happiness by delivering top tier work? But what does that mean to someone like the boys who reminded me I was stupid and a faggot everyday in grade school. What reference boy point does an 11 year-old boy have to ensure the world doesn't hate him, his skin, his mind...what reference point does a 27 year-old man have to know the world doesn't hate him, his skin, his mind... But who I am kidding, there's always a reference point. There was Freddy Adu then there was Kyle Massey and now there's that one guy off of Instagram. There's always someone who seemingly exemplifies these traits then ultimately fails to impress the world. If only they ate more cornbread when they were a kid. I had continued running and shuffled to the next song,

101 Ways They Call You The N-Word

They cheered when he won. Chanted too. Cried tears of joy. Laughed. You would have thought they had just won a Vince Lombardi trophy. Would have thought someone just got down on one knee and proposed in the middle of a skating ice rink. Everyone stopping to stare at the lovely couple. So much energy, so much constant energy, (Apologies, I didn't even somewhat re-read this for edits!) I mean I cried too. You would have thought I was a Squirtle on how hard I cried. And I am a beautiful crier, as elegant as Michael Jordan with the right-left switch back in '91. I had so much energy. So much energy I ran for 5 miles at 10pm on a Tuesday night. Can you imagine having your friends tell you how racist their parents are and then just not correcting them? These are people who may hire me or at least insult me before they fire me. Correct them every single time, like how I correct myself when prompted. That was a few years ago when I lived in racist couple's garage in Portsmouth. I remember they were racist because on how they cried when he won and how quickly they asked me to leave because I repeatedly insulted their president. I wasn't trying to be rude, it's just my coworker had told me "he would have killed me if I was Trayvon and he was Zimmerman" about two days after that election. I remember when he told me, it was so natural; like the same tone and confidence when you order a Zaxby's Club from Zaxby's. Almost effortless. I am fast forward two months later, a property manager sued me for $6,500 in rent, after I refused to be pay $650 in rent for two months. Not that I know much about housing discrimantory practices, but the tub above mine fell threw my own tub. I had to shower at planet fitness. I wished the roaches would chip in on rent, they were running up my electricity bill. My coworkers at the time ranged from a white guy who just graduated Tech to some other guy who graduated from UVA and I didn't like talking them. Like never ever. They spoke of all these political issues and such like it didn't directly affect minorities. It was, uh, disgusting. They spoke about Flint like it was a tissue filled with wadded-up gum. They spoke about the school "which I eventually ended up working at" as though it was discounted Skechers. Like those people who do mission trips to remote parts of the world to go do selfies but aren't allies for anyone who doesn't look like they shop at Target exclusively. Excuse me, I believe it's Tarjay, I am not sure of where politics began and but I do know that people talk with a little bass in their voice when they are wrong. Especially when they are super duper wrong. It's weird right? Some people be backpeddling like Aaron Glenn when they're wrong, straight off into a cliff. Some people will throw them a rope but they start digging a hole like they are diglett, wondering why everyone is "attacking them". If someone says you offended them, it is not up to you to decide if they're right. It is up to you to shut up and listen, Terry Crews. And sometimes it is too late Carolyn Bryant. I wonder if that is why I love horror films so much. It's almost satire on how I think I'm the protagonist of my own movie and that I will not be the first person to be killed in the first part of the movie. THe intro is all nice and go-lucky and heart-warming then everything gets taken away from me. Because someone and some curse, yadda-yadda and I'm that missing kid from the flier or taken from my family unexpectedly. I was minding my own business, now some demonic spirit has recarnated itself into my body and now I'm somehow the bag guy off of what someone else did. Funny, right? Right?

10 Things I Hate About Jo(h)n P.

I am one of those people from my childhood that secretly hope their bullies are slightly inconvienced for the rest of their lives. I am one of those people from their childhood that would be too afraid of thunder and lightning and go sleep in their brother's bed then went the bed. I am one of those people from their childhood that only believed in two main ideas: hate and fear. Everything else was secondary or tertiary. Love, faith, friends, family, hot pockets, education, bass clarinet, video games were the foundation of my life back then but the feelings . Well based off of my childhood journals, that is how I came to this conclusion. My childhood journals started when I was 7 and I wrote in different ones, on and off until now. It seemed liked I was afraid that people would not like me so I would bake them goodies, help them with classwork, play with the one kid no one cared about, etc. From my writings it seemed like I did not enjoy these tasks, at least as the intentional way I do them now. I also despised the way people seemed to hate one another, it seemed like a waste of energy. Hearing my family argue, hearing how much people do not like each other, hearing kids from my childhood call me any name they could think of. Reading through my journals I, like I do but not so much now, try to find a reason behind everything. "Why would they do something that I told them that makes me feel bad over and over again?" Jo(h)n P. wasn't the meanest person I encountered during my childhood but the most consistent. From 3rd grade to 9th grade, he found some way to make me, his 'friends', his teachers, and his own family feel bad. I remembered he would do these awful things and I would read everyone's reactions to his actions. They were just...disappointed. Like when he stole my bike and blamed it on his little brother and I had to go to his house and ask his mom for it back. When he would make my 8th grade World Studies teacher roast because he would not stop talking during tests. Being the first person to call me the 'n' word and being the only person I have attempted to punch outside my family. I am not in the energy to dwell on things and somehow also not the one to forgive people. Me and him had the almost identical titles and he was making me look bad. Whether it be running XCountry or living in the same neighborhood or being in the same classes or being in the same band, why would I ever accept mediocrity from someone Jo(h)n? So being the healthy adult human man I am at the age of 27, I take all of those childhood insecurities and negative energy and put it to a ball of rubberbands and put it as my foundation. All of the laughs and cries and police harrassment and miles ran and cocoa butter kisses and matchmaking on Halo 3, I through it into who I am, put some soil on it and use it to help me grow. Along with Jo(h)n P. Without him I wouldn't have learned how to manage energy or deal with growing emotions or interact with humans who are hollow casts. I am not going to be able to eliminate those terrible things that happen but I can remember how many wonderful things came out from being bullied and harrassed in my childhood. Maybe fear and hate do not motivate me quite as much but it still there. Without him or Thomas B. or Edward P. I would be this big mass role of cotton candy all fluffly and naive. Now I am just cornbread,

Life After Blackface Pt. 2 (Revised)

I think it's important to note that I feel almost everything. My foot striking the pavement when I run, the saxophone melodies off of Jay-Z's American Gangster, my Papa's excitement when I pick up the phone, the gaze on the back of my neck when I enter specific stores, etc. With that amount of feels, there comes an amount of cares. I know I am using that word incorrectly, please give me a minute. On average, the most average person interacts with trillions or ka-billions of molecules every minute of every day. That's the most mayonnaise, basic, carbon copy Joe-Smoe just existing in any space on this planet. This person more than likely ignores most of these interactions between single and compound molecules because in all actuality, who is going to intentionally interact with a ka-billy-jilly-ion particles every single minute. Who would care? Now does Jody interact with all the oxygens I breathe per minute or sodium chlorides I consume at every meal? Heck naw. What am I, a psychopath? Do I think about interacting with those molecules? Heckers nopers. Do I look like a 7th-year senior on a trust fund at Penn State? Do I feel even one atom? I don't think so. When I meet people I tend to put them into 2 categories. A human or an empty vessel. I interact with numerous people so often, whether it be through teaching kiddos, teaching yoga, telling people not to touch me, Zoom sessions, graduate school cohort, etc. I think I do snap judgements and it's not fair of me. But also being fair is subjective. People doing pro-racist things whether it be disacknowledging BLM or doing blackface o supporting the orange or not udnerstanding sarcasm (I have a point, let me finish!) just throws me for a loop. I think I am a nice guy but why do people take their mask off to seize? That's brain neutral energy, Sometimes I am drawn to a certain energy. But sometimes I am always draw a certain energy. It is as though that energy immediately needs to be handled and maintained properly even if that energy has literally no connection or tie to me. And what happens when a battery is powering a flashlight and runs out of chemicals and molecules and such to power this source of illumination? What happens when you're supposed to be the light to guide souls to a beautiful-land but runneth out of wax? Where does the candle get its wax when the wax maker hasn't shown up to work, but the candle still has to light the way? I don't know And I don't know if wax maker is a word,

2.82

I graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree from Georgia College (formerly known as Georgia College & State University) on December 15th, 2015. I majored in Environmental Science with a concentration in geography/geology. My coursework includes hydrology, hydrogeology, ecology, agroecology, independent research on groundwater contamination, chemistry, blah, blah, science. 

Upon completion of my courses, I received a 2.82 GPA, about 80-82 average or a B- scale. Now, do I believe my intelligence over 4.5 years is a B- overall as an adult? No. Did I believe that during my undergrad program? Duh. Let's dive into it,

College is hard. It's probably the hardest thing I have done since pretending I care about Tyler Perry movies. To me, I was an intellectually sound Jonny and I could comprehend things at a high level when my interest was strong enough. And the strong interest in science was such a huge deal and it was overwhelming what one could do with a degree in environmental science. It seemed like the opportunities were limitless. 

All of the times I badgered my peers for study groups, worked in your underground geology lair, stood at my professor's door clutching my marked up tests, asking graduate students about how to fix our broken spectrometers that are always broken, taking mental breaks at permaculture farms, nothing can take away from how beautiful everything was during that time.

Freshmen year wasn't the greatest for me, as I navigated the regular party scene, sleeping in a tiny room across with some yt dude I never met before, and my low appetite to do either one of those things. I went out every once in a while and tried to be social but did not care much. I was most notably known for going to the library at 3pm on Fridays and renting out every DVD from the circulation desk.

My school was tiny, so minute that I knew who was going to be in my class and who to sit with for labs. In my junior and senior(s) year, my 3 professors for (all) my upper level courses knew of me and I felt they did not believe in me. For my senior capstone when putting "eradicating invasive plant species on federal land" was dulled down to "mowing lawns"and got rejected by my advisor, I was not in the best of modes. Sometimes I think they saw me as a custodian, my side job in school. Of course nothing wrong with being a custodian but there is something wrong with someone who doesn't want to be seen as a custodian who is trying to become a hydrologist.

 But during those formative years and post-formative years, it took intentional minutes to convince myself I am smart enough and that I am an extra-ordinary negro. Sometimes I wish my professors sat and talked with me but there was never time for them to get to know me over lunch. I knew all about them, I wanted to emulate them. Just a little. As I became older and (sort of) wiser, I realized that I have my own path and own intelligences that may not show up on the stat-sheet. That may be a reason teaching has come to fluid to me and why my graduate program has been so much smoother than undergrad and why I pride myself off of helping students reach their full potential. Even if they think they're only Drew Gooden. You may not be LeBron James but I would like them to carry themselves like they are. Ya' know?

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,

Throw The Whole Jon Away

Sitting on the edge of the universe, we were eating black-eyed peas, collard greens, and gentrified cornbread.

As our feet hung down into the cosmos, she calmly yet quickly asked me:

"Do you love me?"

I told her only "partly", I only love my Jon, and my JODY, I'm sorry, not sorry. I mean who's "Jon is it anyways"; I wish I had a best friend like Jon; like 'oh my Jon, oh my Jon'; if I were a recipe I would be half Jonathan, half Jonny, half cornbread, half JODY and 100% that Jon; that's the Jon of all trades remember when I was using Jon with a 'H', but now I'm back at it;

1,2,3, the JODY's after Jonny, 4,5,6, Jon's always throwing bricks, 7,8,9, Jon misses every time...

I wished I could love me like how Jon loves JODY; Wait if Jonny is on second, Jon is on third...who's on first; I gotta' bundle of Jon's ready go off like a Jon in a China store; you showed up to my show two hours too late, and the show was only two hours, that's how to lose a Jon in 2 days.

Jo(h)n Jonny JODY-heimer Jonathan-Schmidt, his Jon was my Jon tooooooooo,

I only run from high blood pressure and all of Jonathan's problems; Jo(h)n Witherspoon is dead, Jo(h)n Marston is dead, Jon Favreau won't pick up my calls, and I still haven't found Jonathan Livingston Seagull to fly me home. The eternal sunshine of the spotless Jon, I erased you like Ben Wallaces would and took you off as an contributed author to my Wikipedia.  

Pec-popping like Jonny Bravo and gotta imaginary friend like Jonny 2x4 and say everything twice like I'm Jonny two-times. Because I'm the Jon, and I'm AWE-SO-ME

I glanced back at her pools of big eyes filled with a bountiful of brown that reflected my appearance. Which at this point looked exhausted and hunched over after my Jonny-laced soliloquy. She gently replied:

"throw the whole Jon away"

"Wikipedia" By Jean Deaux put me in a vibe of what I think about what I might be like to other people in my own mind. Yes