I Almost Shot Mic Geronimo

Halloween. 1994. Sophomore year of college. Don’t know how or why exactly, but I am the treasurer of the Black Student Union. This was my brief foray into student government politics, and I still have my Robert Rules of Order to prove it. More importantly, I am the check writer! Any and all funding for student events must be sanctioned by the President, Vice President, and myself. The president of the Black Student Union was a TRINIDADIAN-American woman, so President Obama isn’t really that ground breaking. It is also quite convenient that my comrades and I happen to deejay parties, so I wonder who is going to get the no bid contract for all events that semester? All student government organizations receive a budget that needs to be spent in it’s entirety or it may be reduced the following year, so we proceeded with a Brewster’s Millions mentality (I wonder if that’s why congress buys 1,350 screwdrivers?). Needless to say, I was cutting $1,200 checks for an hour’s worth of deejay services and violating all sorts of Generally Accepted Accounting Principles (GAAP). Easy to talk shit about Halliburton until you wield all the power and your cousin Vinny owns the bidding company. It’s not just a cute saying- Absolute power corrupts absolutely!

Extracurricular activities on campus leave something to be desired and we are trying our damnedest to bolster some sort of “this is the place to be” reputation. It ain’t happening. I have a brilliant idea to throw a party and have Mic Geronimo and Cash Money Click perform @ Crystals, or was it the Que Club? There weren’t that many clubs in Queens at that point, so pick one (whichever one was close to the library and across the street from the bus stop). Mic Geronimo is my boy’s cousin somehow so it wasn’t too hard to pull off. I met the manager, worked out the logistics, booked the venue, printed out some pumpkin colored fliers and we were off to the races . . . And I wonder who we can overpay to deejay the party?

Imagine if you will, a small group of barley post pubescent 19-year-old’s running around New York City with thousands of dollars of equipment in a U-haul truck. Does the phrase “Tourist in Time Square with expensive cameras around his neck” mean anything to you? We are basically begging to be robbed just for being progressive entrepreneurs. Needless to say, we also had a mini arsenal in the truck, but only for preventative measures. This is the early 1990’s after all, and Brooklyn was still the Wild Wild West. No one was a thug but no one was trying to lose all we had worked for either (like guns somehow prevented that if someone really wanted our equipment). Where we got the kind of firepower we had I will never know, nor did I ask, but we had some serious moose hunting side canons at our disposal. I distinctly recall the Desert Eagle that was so heavy , I could barely lift it, the Tech Nine, and the cute little .32 caliber revolver reminiscent of the innocuous pee shooter fired in Harlem Nights after the Tommy gun discharge would subside (“Don’t shoot that little motherf*cker no mo!”). It’s so crazy to me that I was in any vehicle ridin’ that dirty, but who really thinks rationally at that age? And yes, that is my piss poor excuse for bad decision-making, as this could’ve easily been a prison memoir had we been pulled over on the wrong day.

It’s party time! Oh it’s party time! Having a party! Doesn’t matter that there is a another party going on simultaneously upstairs in the same club and half our crowd could potentially be at the right venue but the wrong party (thanks for the heads up dick face club owner). Doesn’t matter that the rappers are running late (I’m as shocked as you.) Doesn’t matter that our crowd basically consist of the deejays a.k.a. my boys, the student union delegation a.k.a. my boys, 3 special invited guest who seemed to be the only ones who saw the ORANGE fliers a.k.a. our girlfriends, and I believe a cockeyed bartender with a parrot on her shoulder and hair growing out of the unicorn shaped mole on her chest, to give you an example of how paltry our venue seemed. And I am certain there were problems with our deejay equipment. Although I cannot recollect specifically, I can most definitively attest that EVERY party taking place in the five boroughs between the years of 1979 –1997 had equipment issues. The staggering amounts of non-union reggae deejays and “Trevor the ’Lectrician pon de weekend” audio technicians had reached endemic levels.

The talent has finally arrived and not a moment too soon. Mic Geronimo, as did all rappers at that time, came fully equipped with the Menacing Entourage Limited Edition Hip Hop Package (“new and improved with 25% more thuggin!”). Thank God they were ALL late too because that gave the crowd an opportunity to swell from a meager 12 individuals to a fire code violating 14, creating an optimal performance environment for egotistical artists. I hope Marshall Bill isn’t too busy tonight for he may have to break all this up… using only his inside voice. In any event, it’s basically now or never and it’s time to get on with it. Lights, camera, “What?! What do you mean they don’t want to go on?” Apparently, Mic Geronimo and friends (mainly his manager) felt that it was a waste of their time to perform for the 14 people in attendance, but still felt that they required payment for services not rendered. Madame President of the student union felt that they could all kiss her ass and without saying so, basically said so. So in one corner we have the student union college kids who really have no idea how individuals from different “urban” backgrounds can react when money and entitlement is involved. In the other corner we have “Give me my Fucking Money” Rappers. In the middle we have, yes you guessed it, yours truly. I literally have the check in my possession and although I am merely the treasurer, I booked the talent and I am the dominant male here so the decision is somehow ultimately mine (notice how I was P. Diddy in the beginning and now I am "merely" the treasurer.

Amidst the escalating tension, I had managed to break away to the U-haul, retrieve said .32 revolver from the glove compartment and made my way back into the club, unnoticed. No one ever searches the promoter after you’ve gone in and out about 30 times. Plaxico would’ve been proud. And off course, the gun was for preventative purposes only. After all, these rapper savages may have guns and I am a mere college student. Lord knows what kind of shady backgrounds and broken families they come from. I will not fall victim to the ignorance of these firearm-toting hooligans (insert sarcasm here). Voices are escalating in larger increments, shoulder blades are tensing up and it’s looking like it’s about to be that time of the night. All my boys who would’ve supported whatever decision I made, violent or non-violent, just happen to be present for better or worse, and they are ready to support whatever decision I make. Everyone is yelling at me from all directions and after about 15 more minutes of all this posturing, I had had enough. I reached into my right coat pocket, pulled out the burner, pointed it directly at Mic’s head, screamed “Thug life!” and pulled the trigger . . . . Not buying that story huh? Ok. What REALLY happened was, I reached into my left coat pocket, pulled out the check and handed it to the manager. We all chalked it up to a terrible fucking night and lived happily ever after.

And I can’t believe you really wanted me to shoot him. Ya’ll are so violent! Read the title again. I said “ALMOST”. Sheesh!

I definitely felt like a pussy for: a) paying for services not rendered, b) succumbing to fear of the unknown, c) succumbing to fear in general. However, I was: a) 19 years old, b) it wasn’t that unknown what would have happened if I opted to take the “go fuck yourself” route, c) I knew I was in the Death Wish phase of my life, hence the choice to even retrieve the gun from the car, so I was even more conscious of my actions, d) Fuck principalities; It wasn’t my money, e) they did show up ready and willing to perform and f) how would my ego feel if had to perform in front of only 14 people (probably about as bad as throwing a party and having only 14 people show).

The funny thing about is, through all that excitement, all my close friends would’ve probably voted me “Least Likely to Ever See the Inside of a Prison Let Alone Brandish a Firearm”, and they would be right. I have never been arrested or even seen the inside of a precinct let alone a holding cell or jail (so much for my street cred). But you never know who is in the wrong frame of mind on any given day, so it is probably always best to just take it the fuck easy! The moral of the story here is Don’t ever book Mic Geronimo for your Halloween parties!

Sidebar: Would I have really shot him if we all started fighting? Honestly, who knows? If you asked me if I‘d be in a position to shoot a rapper in the first place, I would’ve probably chased your crazy bald head out town, but ain’t life grand? All I know is that guns change options, and if you live long enough, you learn the answers to all sorts of questions you never imagined the universe would ask in your wildest dreams. Sidebar complete.

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What Men Need!

Fellas, What up?

I checked the room and ain’t no women in here, so I figured we could have some real talk. Remember that post a while back about What Men Want ? Yeah, the shit about food, sex and beer? I caught some lip for that shit, but I had to tell these chicks how to get some Act Right. Can’t have them running around not fulfilling our needs and shit - nam sayin’? Nah mean? Even if they don’t listen, at least they can’t say we ain’t tell them how we felt. But I can’t even front, we’ve been on some bullshit for a minute too, and every time I try to talk to y’all about it, y’all ain’t so receptive so I figured I would write this.

We’ve been through a lot of shit my dudes. Remember when we were struggling to find our place in the world and just decided to stop trying after a while and enjoy the ride? From elementary school until now, it was always a bit shaky but we always managed to get to the next stage. Whether we were sneaking Garbage Pail Kids in class, playing with Transformers in the lunchroom, playing basketball ‘til the sun came up, making up excuses for turning in term papers late as hell, burning it down right before finals and still getting that A, stealing toasted almond ice cream bars out of the lunch room freezer, having to tell you that your girl was a ho and I got proof, beefing with each other for wearing sneakers when the dress code specifically said “Shoes only”, being shitty God parents (do your kids even know who I am?), fighting every single one of them niggas so many times that we ended up being cool with them eventually, being in that strip club that was so nasty, you aint even wanna touch the door handles so you used your feet, knowing that Mike wasn’t shot and killed by accident but not being able to say a word, getting that call about your brother in the middle of the night and wondering what the fuck am I supposed to say to that shit. We’ve been through a lot of shit! and always made it through.

Through all that, I always had your back. But I can’t let you keep fucking up and not say anything about it. You my nigga, and I would hope you do the same for me. What the fuck is you doing son? If you wanna bang mad chicks, smoke, hustle, drink, or whatever, then do you ‘cause truth be told, you aint doing nothin’ the free world ain’t already engaging in. All I’m saying is: where are you going with all that and what are you doing for yourself? Just coasting aint cutting it no more. I don’t know if going back to school is the solution, but I just get the feeling that all the shit we do is for enjoyment purposes and involves spending our bread to make other Niggas rich (even the white Niggas.) I know you got a job, but we both know that 9-5 ain’t you. And if it ain’t what you want to be doing, and you ain’t got no love for it, it is beneath you. If it is what you want to be doing and you are good at it, you should own that bitch! Don’t settle. Find a way out like we did every other situation we came across.

We can do better son. We sat in the park buildin’ on million dollar ideas while rolling gorilla finger sized blunts like it ain’t nothin’. Remember when I said I wanted a helicopter and you said you wanted a car manufacturing company? Not a dealership but a fucking plant! Who the fuck thinks that big? And it ain’t nothin’ but leg work. I’m getting kinda tired of laziness being the only reason we ain’t doing what we said we was gonna do. Not intelligence, not opportunity, laziness. A black man is president. A black man is the highest paid actor in Hollywood. We can’t even blame the establishment no more. WE ARE THE FUCKING ESTABLISHMENT! I know them Niggas ain’t normal but them Niggas ain’t special either!

As for your kids, my dude, what’s really good with that? You really not gonna handle your B.I.? If you invested half the time you spent chasing bitches to handle the kids you made from chasing bitches, trust me, the world would be a better place. Specifically because your kids would stand a better chance in life by having a father present in this fucked up, capitalist, racist, sexist, totalitarian barrio we made for them. 80 percent of boys who ain’t have their pops around end up in the clink at some point. 80 percent! You remember how all them angry dudes in the hood just happen to not have their pops around, but we could never figure out why they was so angry? Your pops was wild and was hardly ever there either, and you hated that shit. Remember?

We don’t even play ball anymore. Aside from the fact that that we don’t visit the doctor, ball was the only exercise we was getting. The court was actually our version of the country club (only they let us in). Plus you know we die early, so we need all the cardio we can get. You know how many jewels we picked up by listening and watching the older cats in the park? Now we are the older cats and what are we doing? We moved out and spend all our time and money in the clubs and the motels. If we took the money spent on 2 flat screens and a Playstation 3, we could probably rent out a gym, run our own youth basketball tournament, & have chicks chase us for being in better shape (and then buy us flat screens and Play station 3’s for Christmas.) I’m just sayin’.

Trust me when I say this, I am not talking to just you. I am talking to me too. You know I got my fair share of shit to deal with. Like I said, we got history so you know I’m fucked up too. Sometimes the best anti-drug message can come from the friendly neighborhood crack head. So take this personally, but don’t take offense. Plus, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t keep it 100 with you? Now stop looking all sad Nigga. Pass me a peanut butter and crack sandwich and tuck those big ass lips in before they get caught in your zipper. We got work to do!

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The Take Over / Barack is in Da Buildin’!

January 20th, 2009

Ladies and Gentleman, in the greatest breach of national security ever documented, Emperor Barack Obama has declared immediately after being sworn in, that he is in fact a terrorist and will be assuming full control of all U.S affairs. Who knew? Using funds generated by t-shirts, “Obama Black” brand marijuana (formally known as Maui Waui), commemorative plates, limited edition Obama Sporks, and minimally circulated Barack half dollars & Michelle Obama dimes, Lord Obama has been able to finance a military led by General Montel Balday Al Medical Marijuana Williams Shabazz, aka “Chemical Baldy”. In the largest recruiter drive the history of any armed forces has ever witnessed, tickets to the movie “Notorious” were given to anyone who enlisted in Obama’s Army. Needless to say, the entire African American populace, including myself, is now a sworn minion. When I, Travis Smiley (no relation to Tavis), questioned his Excellency on his intentions for the now defunct United States of America, Obama’s response was simple, “Ha ha ya punk bitches. Y’all should’a listened to McCain & Fox News. Now I run this bee-yotch! First order of business, Biggie Smalls’ birthday is a holiday! Secondly, I have replaced my entire Cabinet and key members of government with individuals of my choosing and they are as follows:


Vice President – Willy “Sweet Sax” Clinton
Someone is going to have to take the rap for all the hoes up in the Oval office. Michelle will whoop my mulatto monkey ass (again) if she catches me wildin’ out. I caught a half nelson last week just for leaving the fridge door open. I ain’t messing with her. In addition, Willy has a mean jump shot and we have formulated all sorts of “White Men Can’t Jump” scenarios to stimulate the economy. I am truly honored to be elected the second black president, but first dictator, of America.


Speaker of The House – Oprah “ E.F. Hutton” Winfrey
How y’all fools think I got here in the first place? When Oprah talks, people listen! A couple of years ago, I was chillin’ on Oprah Island (located everywhere) with Spike Lee, Denzel, T.I. 50 Cent, Will Smith, and Gail. T.I bet O in a high stakes of game of Taboo that if she lost, we could have whatever we like! Who knew T.I. was nice with the word association? Needless to say, we won and I asked to be President. Denzel asked for an Oscar. Will Smith wanted a spouse who beats him (Will is a freak). I never understood why T.I. asked Oprah for a car with “so much trunk space, I could fit a motherf*ckin’ canon in there!” at that point, but that worked itself out eventually. (“You get a car and you get a car!”)


Secretary Treasury – Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson
In my “new and improved” economic stimulus package titled “Get Rich or Get Shot Trying”, 50 Cent will be routed to your place of residence to shoot you as many times as it takes so you can muster up the courage necessary to pursue your dreams. Once you realize that funding for Social Security will be thoroughly depleted in the next 15 minutes, and you and all corporate CEO’s will soon be replaced by Harvard educated, 15 year old Indian boys who grew up in Slum Dog Millionaire - like conditions, you may abandon your hopes on government and a prosperous retirement (if one at all) and get on your grind! Given the current state of affairs, I am estimating that I will need to retire with at least $1.5 million in the bank to sustain any existence in NYC past ten years. What’s your 401K & Individual Retirement Annuity (IRA) balance looking like these days? Thought so. GGG GGG G Unit!


Secretary of Agriculture - Cordozar Calvin “Snoop Doggy Dogg” Broadus, Jr.
Marijuana is now legal! Don’t y’all trick ass marks read? Almost $30 billion in illegal revenue was generated by chronic sales alone in the top 5 states in 2006. California was # 1 with $14 billion, of which, $7.9 billion, was purchased in Long Beach County at an undisclosed location (Snoop’s crib). I think we could use the taxes on $30 billion in annual revenue, don’t you? I know Ford Motors could have sure used some of that green in the last few months (either one). Plus when I get hizzle, I see all types of shizzle more clizzle. There are so many wizzles we could grizzle and harvest crizzles without harming the ozone lizzle or using illegal immagrizzles. Don’t you aggrizzle? Fa shizzle!”


Secretary of Defense - Marion “Suge” Knight
“In the news today, Kim Jong Il and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad were gunned down in a series of unsolved drive by shootings.” And that’s all I got’s to say about that.” Obama said.



Secretary of Homeland Security – Dudes From Any and All Projects in America
“Have you ever heard of anyone trying to get INTO the projects? Al Queda ain’t messin’ with Al Cabrini Green!”




This may either be the saddest day in the history of democracy or the dawning of a new totalitarian but effective method of governance. Only time will tell. This is Travis Smiley reporting. Good night, God speed and please support Channel 13!"

Final thought -

A couple of blogs back, I suggested that Barack’s victory would be one in “symbolism only”. I gravely underestimated the power of symbolism as all things are defined, codified, and categorized by symbols; right down to the very alphabet we use to communicate. A symbolic victory is about as actual, if not more actual, than actual reality for it determines present and future realities; just ask your friendly neighborhood crucifix.

For the next four years, Democrats will support virtually every decision made by President - no longer elect - Barack Hussien Obama (damn it feels good to say that shit!), much like Republicans did for Bush’s first four. We, as Democrats, will find ways to rationalize a majority of his decisions, lest they be openly and obviously egregious. Just keep in mind that unilateral, misguided idealism leads to the abuse of power and most of America’s ailments, currently, historically, and always.

I am elated that Obama won the election, for the collective jubilance exuded by the free world would’ve been equally disparaging had the outcome been unfavorable, and who needs that amount of depression during a recession? I am however not boarding any planes, trains or automobiles to celebrate Obamafest 2009 in our nation’s capital. Economic charity begins at home and for only $9.95, I can instruct you on how to recreate the entire inaugural experience, and right here in Brooklyn too! Just drive your car to the entrance of the Brooklyn Bridge and turn the ignition off for 3 days if you so relish traffic and angry mobs. If it’s all the same to you. I’m good! I have already proven my blackness. I have no further desire to generate “where were you when Barack was . . .?” anecdotes for his swearing in. I actually proved my blackness a while ago in the KFC Annual Extra Crispy Cross Country Relay and Freestyle Competition (came in second). Those Obamalicious (patent pending) bbq wings never stood a chance!

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Reasonably Doubting Illmatic

Many moons ago, my compadres and I would envision our favorite Hollywood, sports, and television heroes engaged in all sorts of mortal combat scenarios (finish him). Godzilla vs. King Kong, Freddy vs. Jason, Dr. J vs. MJ, Pam Grier vs. Halle Berry, etc . . . Any cultural icon at the height of notoriety would be eventually sentenced to a Celebrity Death Match (we never got royalties btw). Who imagined these epic struggles would materialize, let alone resolve our fabricated logistical inconsistencies? Inconsistencies such as how could Freddy Kruger possibly fight Jason Voorhees when Jason is deceased and last I checked, the dead suffered from a terrible affliction called “Death”, rendering rapid eye movement (REM) improbable? Our unsolved but phenomenally superior plot lines were immortalized and revered for years, that is until Gen X’ers garnered influence in Hollywood’s boardroom. All those “What if” scenarios debated in many a schoolyard began to actualize. The strobe light was turned off and we were granted the misfortune of viewing these cinematic robeasts first hand (yes, Voltron.) Not only did these attempts seldom live up to the hype machine that is “Childhood Imagination”, they lacked the possibility of ever actually occurring. Enter Sean Corey Carter p.k.a. Jay-Z & Nasir Jones p.k.a Nas.

For the unfamiliar, there had been underlying grumblings for years surrounding which of these two hip-hop artists was more adept as it related to lyrical skill, album sales, oozing machismo, swagger, street credibility, and basically all activities comprising a pissing contest. The drama finally culminated in a series of songs (“Takeover” for Jay-Z and “Ether” for Nas) that would allegedly determine an undisputed representative of the hip-hop delegation. Not since Ali / Frazier has there been such clamoring for one black man to whoop another black man’s ass! According to popular consensus aka “da streets”, Nas would emerge the heavily contended victor of said verbal joustmanship. Some argue that Nas’s victory was attributed solely to his ability to withstand and rebut the acrimony spewed on Jay’s offering, but then again, those presenting that argument are most likely Jay fans. There remains evidence however that although Jay stumbled, he may have retained the self professed, interim, “King of the Hill” position left vacant by his predecessor Biggie Smalls, left vacant by his predecessor Big Daddy Kane, left vacant by his predecessor Rakim da God Allah. It’s all muddy waters and extremely super ugly.

All hip-hop aficionados have undoubtedly forged allegiances to either Nas or Jay -Z at this juncture. My intent today is not to sway anyone’s preference, for I have eternally aligned myself with Jay and will not undulate (if Nas would’ve just used the track, maybe things would be different.) I am merely here to inform you that you may be ingesting hallucinogens if you believe Esco can hold a scented candle to Hov’s catalog. Come on now. Brooklyn, please brush your shoulders off and stand up (and do some jumping jacks too Brooklyn, you’re looking kinda chubby these days)! Do not be alarmed Queens (I share dual citizenship with Queens - so I am torn) for Nas may have a shot in the near future, and I mean this, man!

Most Nas fans are lyric junkies and will readily present Nas’s magnum opus, Illmatic, as living testament to his supremacy. As lyrically gifted as Nas is (and he is in fact, a monster), Illmatic is only one album and we are not judging on lyrical content alone. If Emcee or “MC” truly means move the crowd, then Jay-Z is the consummate MC’s Emcee, while Nas leaves the dance floor scene empty (I rap on weekends). Jay also has a more comprehensive catalog. Lyrical merit gets you but so far. It may be fundamentally sound but it can also be fundamentally boring. This is why we hate Duke Basketball. This is why we hate the San Antonio Spurs. If technical merit were the only requisite for entertainers then we would all have on Diana Turasi basketball jerseys. Who? Exactly.

On several albums, Nas was left screaming, “Are you not entertained?” amidst a deafeningly silent audience (and some Queensbridge crickets). Even with all that lyrical potency, delivery has always been of equal relevance in any oratory profession. To further illustrate this point, whose speech would you rather listen to, Ben Stein or Barack Obama (And I love voodoo economics)? Nas has gotten very adept however at presenting comprehensive albums as of late (Hip Hop is Dead & Untitled), which is why I say he still may have a shot. Seems he does better when he has a Main Idea (yes, Weekly Reader).

Although a fan, I approach Nas and Jay’s lyrics from a self-proclaimed producer’s point of view (this is after all hip hop, it is all self proclaimed.) Lyrics absolutely matter but staunch attention must also be levied to iambic pentameter, inflection, cadence, algorithmic composition, syncopation and a slew of other words you didn’t think a producer could spell. As I was remixing Jay’s “99 Problems” for my own amusement (jeez, get a hobby), it dawned on me that one of the reasons I am such a fan is because Jay makes my tracks sound like the shiznit, @ least to me. “What’s your opinion? We’d like to know” (yes, WPIX).

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