The Ramblings of Rahsaan

The Trouble With Barebacking

2012-01-21T08:57:00.000-08:00

Okay, y'all. I know it's been forever and a day since I posted here, but life happens. I'm back now and that's what counts. Question for those of you who are single and actively dating, hooking up or whatever? What is your stance on unprotected, casual sex? Specifically, with a partner you haven't known that long or know that well?

I guess that's a bit of a loaded question, because in the last year, I've met several men who've asked me to engage in bareback or "raw" intercourse with them. Which I have most certainly declined. And I find it a bit alarming as that's a major vehicle for the transmission of HIV, etc. And then what's weird about it all is that these guys will swear up an down that their "negative and healthy" or "clean." The latter term being one that I don't particularly care for as it implies that people who are positive are "dirty."

So back to the issue, why would seemingly un-immunocompromised people be going around searching for unprotected sex? Granted, I know condoms do take away sensation and all, but is the minute lack of sensation really that awful that you'd risk unprotected sex with a person you don't know that well to implicitly trust that they're honest about (or even know their own status)? And seem of these men I've encountered are seemingly intelligent. Here's a recent convo I had with one that left a bad taste in my mouth. Please be warned that there is some graphic, personal content. Hence, if you're at all puritanical about public discussion of sex... let alone gay sex... you probably should stop reading here as to not have your sensibilities offended:

Me: Aren't you cocky? Lol. As for disease, I'm HIV-negative and STD/STI-free as of my last exam on Sep. 23, 2011. What about you? 12:37 PM

Me: STD-free, not STR. Typo. 12:38 PM

Guy: Im negative tested around thanks giving and super clean 12:39 PM

Guy: If we both negative we can enjoy a lot of things no? 12:44 PM

Me: Such as? 12:45 PM

Me: What do you have in mind? 12:45 PM

Me: Don't get shy now. Ha! 12:54 PM

Guy: Raw 12:55 PM

Me: Hmmm... I had a feeling you might say that. If it's a deal-breaker for you, I understand, but i don't bareback with men I fuck casually who i'm not monogamous with. It's not a risk I'm willing to take as we're both probably having sex with other people and one can never guarantee one's HIV-status. I'd love to fuck you, but if I do, it'll be with a condo, If you're only into raw sex, no judgments from me. Just not my thing... 1:02 PM

Me: for causal hooking up. Especially, as don't know one another well at all. 1:03 PM

Me: Condom; not condo. Typing too fast. 1:03 PM

Me: I know too many people who've become infected from raw sex with partners who thought they were negative. 1:04 PM

Me: Anyway, you're charismatic, handsome and seemingly intelligent. No lecture from me, but if you are barebacking with other guys, I hope you remain healthy and stay Neg. It would be a waste if something bad were to happen to you. 1:41 PM

Guy: I like raw but not doing with anyone. 1:42 PM

Me: So may I ask why you asked me about it then? 1:45 PM

Guy: Just asked. Not big deal 1:45 PM

Okay. So that may've but a bit of way personal context to share, but why shouldn't the battle against HIV and risky behaviors that perpetuate be personal to all of us? It's squeamishness about real talk and taboos that continue to perpetuate this epidemic. What boggles my mind is the sheer contradiction in this convo. (Not my contradiction as I did tell this man I wouldn't lecture him and then proceeded to anyway.) Why would someone who never barebacks propose doing so with me all of a sudden? Am I so unique and interesting that he wanted to experience the ultimate form of intimacy? Absolutely not. This is obviously game that works on some guys and why else would he try it?

By no means am I the sex police. People should enjoy sex. However, its enjoyment should always be taken in the context of each encounter. And specifically, unsafe sex with someone you're not monogamous with does pose a risk as far as infection goes. So am I illogical in assuming that there's some fallacy in thinking when a person who purports to be "super clean" and who is "not doing [raw] with anyone" wants to do the nasty sans wrapping with uniquely special me? That's a rhetorical question.

Rahsaan Chisolm vs. The World

2011-07-11T21:03:00.000-07:00

Whoa, true believers. I'm now a green belt at Anderson's Martial Arts Academy. This is so f-ing über cool. When I first started Jeet Kune Do (JKD Streetfighting), I was a hot mess. That's not hyperbole, but the god's honest truth. It's so weird, how we often overestimate our abilities. I recall one of my teachers, Gus telling us a about year back when I started:

"When it comes to fighting, almost everyone thinks he or she will rise to the occasion. In fact, what almost always happens is that you sink to your lowest level of basic training. If you have none..."

True, indeed. And I found this out in spades in the last section of my belt test. More on that later. I must tell y'all how much I dig my school, AMAA. There's such an overwhelming sense of camaraderie there. Everyone from our Sifu to our instructors to our classmates makes you feel like they care about your journey. In the year that I've been there, I've made some really cool friends. People who are not just supportive and humble, but worldly and smart and quirky and cool and people who come from all walks of life (be it the hood or the UES). Pluralistic to the nth degree. And that is total synchronicity, because we're learning that JKD Streetfighting takes from several arts which we learn and then is harnessed in a way that's all your own is a fighter. It's honed to suit your own body, your own experience and your own style.

Now for the bloody test. First off... as a good deal of you know, I'm marginally neurotic and can be a spaz when it comes to exams of any nature. Be it academic ones, medical ones or fighting ones. I just think of all the most dire, worst-case scenarios. Prior to this test though, I was doing a pretty good job of containing it all. Some of my classmates even congratulated me on it. Well, as you know, the fates almost always align to knock me down. First of all... and much to my dismay... I learned that the last section of our exam would involve fighting some of our teachers and higher-level students. I was floored. I knew that this exam for succession to Phase 2 required fighting, but I thought it'd be against my fellow orange belts. And as usual, hubris results in tragic downfall! Here I am... thinking about how I can either take or at least hold my own with most of the students on my level and feeling good... all to have my confidence deflated. I learned the week of that we'd be fighting teachers and advanced students. Curses! Blasted tarnation! Oh, well. I do what I gotta do.

Of course though, we aren't just allowed to fight first. That wouldn't be nearly difficult enough. I won't go into major detail with all that we're forced to endure, but rest assured it's not child's play. Think lots of specific drill sequences and calisthenics that total nearly an hour and a half. Then after all that's done... then true believers, that's when you fight.

The fighting is brutal. I literally felt like Scott Pilgrim. Though, I didn't know whose ex I'd taken as my own. And knew I knew there was no promise of coins if I obliterated my opponents. To be exact, I knew there was no hope of obliterating my opponents. How on Earth was I going to last during three 3-minute rounds? Oh, horror!

First up was Yeydy. Yeydy is a master at several disciplines, including Muay Thai, BJJ and Capoeira, and an ex-competitive fighter and record-holder. Oh, bloody joy! He’s a little smaller than me, but quick as all hell and agility-personified. I survived the round with him, and I'm sure that's because he was going easy. His spin kicks are quite nasty and lethal. A few of them propelled me into the padded wall several times where he then closed in for the kill. Clenching was my friend here. Next up was Dwight, a world champion at MMA and Muay Thai. I've fought Dwight before. He’s about my size, but much quicker and his strikes seem to be quadruple the power of mine. A few kicks to the solar plexus and some punches to the head, and I found myself on the floor twice during my round with him. Last up was Joel. Okay. Apparently, there was a method to the madness. The big bads were getting bigger and badder with each subsequent round. And I was getting beaten to a pulp and more tired by the second. These fights are pure interval training, but because they happen one after the other with about a minute or two of rest between, there's definitely an endurance component. In other words, you better have a decent V02 Max! Like I was seeing, bigger and badder. Joel, I think also is a champion and has fought competitively, like Yeydy and Dwight. Joel though is like 6'2" and probably at least 230 lbs. of solid muscle/pure lean mass. I recall watching him pounding the mat with his gloves and shin guards before they started the sparring portion, and think, "Fucking great. We have to fight bloody Cain Marko, the unstoppable force!" I don't recall much about my round with Joel save for my face repeatedly hitting his hands or the bricks that he's had surgically affixed to his wrists and then my face subsequently hitting the mat several times. A couple of times, I received That kicks to the head... which I blocked, but which still felt the brunt of. After the cycle of being hot in the head by the bricks and falling repeatedly, and having all the teachers yell for me to get up, I do recall that Joel did stand still and scream at me to hit him. He stood there and let me hit him in the face and body, but by this point, I was so exhausted, my hits amounted to nothing at all. Time was called. Joel gave me a huge hug, and congratulated me on surviving. Sifu ran up, hugged me and removed my gloves (, because I was so dazed I would not have been able to take them off myself).

And this, true believers was how I got to Phase 2 and my green belt. Actually, it wasn't how I got there by itself, but it was the culmination of all that I've been taught and learned up to now.

Sidebar: I was marginally happy to have a supportive partner this time versus my friend (who I really dig, actually) who partnered with me last time for the drills and ended up being more manic and neurotic than me. Imagine Peppermint Patty from Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown (And Don't Come Back!) (Watch the entire clip, especially the classroom part which starts at about 3:00 to get an idea of what I endured with my partner for orange belt testing) Not supportive or fun, in the least.

My Reviews

2011-06-02T08:15:00.001-07:00

Recent reviews by Rahsaan C.

What's this?

Daybreak

2011-05-19T07:59:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to write an entry ever since hearing the great news about Don Lemon. I absolutely respect the step he's taken for equality, justice and pluralism in coming out publicly as a black, gay American in the public eye. My brother and I were debating though if the simultaneous disclosure of his childhood molestation is also akin to an escape hatch. I don't think it is, because Don explicitly has said that he was born gay. I think he's just putting it all out there. I'll be curious to read his book, and see if he discusses how his abuse has informed his relationships. Specifically, it's done in an express way that won't allow the homophobic nature of American (and specifically black, American) culture to blame his inherent gayness on anything a pedophile did to him.

Anyway, what prompted me to finally write about this latest news was an encounter I had wile walking down Broadway to work this morning. A random one, actually. Aren’t they all though? I ran into my high school prom date. A girl, actually! Well, now, she's a grown woman. We didn't get to talk long, but she looked great and she told me that she always sees me down here in SoHo. (But never approaches me to say hi?!?!? Yeah. We had a falling-out way back in the teen years, but that's not nice! Kidding.) This got me really thinking about how different life can be once you muster the courage to step out into the light, and out of the darkness of fear. Most things are better once day breaks.

It may seem trivial, but a high school prom is a major deal when you're seventeen or eighteen. Along with graduation, it's the culmination of so much from your adolescence. It's part of the portal that we've all stepped through on our first strides toward that journey that'll take us onto adulthood. However, for many of us who are gay... prom was time of great anxiety. At least for me, it was. If I'd had my druthers, I would've taken one of the guys I'd had crushes on back then as opposed to a girl. However, that so was not going to happen. What I mean to say is that I didn't have the courage to try to make it happen. And I went to a more progressive school, mind you. We actually had 10 Percent Club!

And while there were some gay kids I knew of, I don't really recall any same-sex couples attending prom. And there definitely weren't any black, gay guys dancing together there. It's funny, because now I work a few blocks from the Puck Building where my prom was, and I'd have no problem taking another man to dance there if he could put up with my two left feet. (Shut it. I've heard every joke in the world imaginable about the fact that that I'm doubly paradoxical as a black and gay who has little to no rhythm. Doesn't matter. I can still kick all your asses if I have to.) I digress. It feels literally, like a lifetime ago when I was so very afraid of anyone having any inkling that I so wasn't trying to score with my prom date. I even packed condoms that night in case something unexpected (and undesired on both ends, because I think she knew I was gay and so wasn't in to me like that) might happen. Laughable.

What was I afraid of? I was afraid that my peers... all of them, but specifically, the black and Latin kids would completely ostracize me if I openly acknowledged I was gay. They used to already sometimes josh me about being gay, because I was into comic books instead of sports and because I never dated girls. I think one of the reasons back then that they never completely dissed me was because I was masculine (along with the fact that they were smart kids too and had a concept of right and wrong despite what could be bullying at times). Even I... in my own cowardice and attempts to deflect (coupled with a degree of self-loathing) would make fun of the "gay guys." And what I mean by that is the guys who were obviously effeminate (some of them weren't even gay, I think), and had no issues with it.

Basically, I was running scared. And I continued to run scared up until I was 23. While I did try to come out to my parents when I was 14, that didn't take and I basically allowed them to allow me to talk myself into not being openly gay until adulthood. However, when I look back at all the bigotry within the community I grew up in; in Brooklyn... on some level, my parents may have been literally saving my life. That may sound histrionic, but there's a truth to it. While part of my spirit was being broken down, my body had to survive. And it wasn't as if, gay bashings were an unknown thing in pre-gentrified Fort Greene. Hell. It’s not like they're unknown today and gentrified Brooklyn or the other boroughs.

I was doing what I needed to survive, I guess. I'm not proud of all the forms of disingenuousness I displayed back then. Especially, since most who know me can tell you that forthrightness for the most part is one of my hallmarks, but I did what I did until I got to a point when I grew tired of running. A point when I knew I could be my full-on self and be all right. That point when day breaks.

It's a curious thing to be on the other side of that now, and look back. It's interesting, because I've evolved in certain ways. For instance, I've never been a "closet snob" or man who's thought that being gay was the sum totality of his persona versus a heritable trait influenced by both nature and nurture that goes into the multifaceted array of characteristics that make me me, but I've lately been experiencing a shift in my disposition and stances on certain issues. Namely, phoniness.

Phoniness is an oversimplification of what I mean, but I really cannot think of another word to convey what I’m about to get at. In my experiences, here in New York City, I've met quite a few grown men who are well past the age of 21 and who are still closeted. And as I go further along in my journey, I find myself feeling increasingly separate from them. That's not to say that I don't recall the anguish, repression and fear that they're most certainly feeling, but there's something else I feel too. And I can't quite put my finger on it. I guess, it's a feeling of bewilderment. Especially, in a blace like New York that is the literal antithesis of backwater and provincial, where everyone can be whoever the hell they want to be. As I grow older, I'm finding that many of these "phonies” for lack of a better word (I guess I could use "closeted") are only further perpetuating stigma, because many of them continue to go on and fake what they think is "straightness." Whether it is something as minute as calling themselves "straight-acting" or something as major as being married to a woman while trying to hook up with men on the side.

Not only does remaining in those dark places only hurt them, but it hurts all of us a society of people, homo and hetero alike. It enables continued apathy from the hetero component of our society and perpetuates self-hatred and anger amongst the homo component. It's like an albatross on our backs or an elephant that everyone in the room continually tip toes on egg shells around.

Once again, I'm rambling. Sorry about that. I somehow always do that. I hope Don Lemon's experience and the experiences of others... black, gay, black and gay or whatever color and sexuality combo... will continue to help others and all of us as a collective whole continue to see day break.

And now I'm going to to totally undo the gravity of that all with this. Well, not undo. Just reinforce.

Breakthrough

2011-04-06T08:30:00.000-07:00

Hi, true believers.

It's been an egregiously disgusting long time since I've been here to update. I'm sorry, y'all. And I'm sorry, self. Writing is something I enjoy doing and I've been remiss.

Anyway, I'm writing today to exclaim that I'm hopeful at approximately half a day until my actually birthday which is at 1:22 a.m. on the 7th of April. Why am I hopeful? Does life not still suck? At times, yes. It most certainly does. However, there are an equal amount of times if not more... as of late... that life is... well, awesome.

Last night, for the first time in eleven years I saw a glimpse of the old Nita. Nita! That's right, my mom. As many of you know my mom has been dealing with some major tribulations for a long time now. Those troubles have been a black hole for all of us who love her. Namely, Latrice and me. A black hole in the cosmological sense, really. With a gravitational pull so intense that not even light can escape it... or hopes and dreams for that matter.

Well, my mom... in the frankest and most candid and most loving and definitely sanest conversation we've had in really the last eleven years told me that she realizes that she still has dreams and aspirations. In fact, my mom admitted to me that she just in the last couple of months has begun to recall her dreams (when my dad died back in '99 she stopped recalling her dreams. She even stopped all the sleep-talking and sleep-laughing and sleep-crying that she had been infamous for her entire life and that I recall vividly from my childhood.

I'd actually gone over to her house after work to help her with some housing stuff, and somehow we got into a very real talk. A talk that was not oppositional or adversarial or incendiary. One of just honest feelings. No histrionics or anything.

She told me how much she loves my sister, Trice and me and how she realizes that for the fist time in forever that she is letting go of her sadness. That something has shifted... We talked for hours and discussed a lot. My mother was fully lucid and fully accountable. When I asked her if she thought the vivacious woman she was in her 20s and 30s (who overcame poverty, a broken home, no real familial support, poor education and being a single mom to my sister to put herself through nursing school, raise my sister and support my dad for years) would be horrified at who she was right now, she said "Yes." Her affirmation was definitive, resolute and unwavering. And while she had tears in her eyes, it wasn't the usual dramatics that I've grown use to it. In fact, we went on to discuss a lot. A lot of the poor decisions she's made, and how her own mental illness along with the dysfunctional relationship she had with my father and his own coercion of her helped to propel her descent into almost ruin.

Almost, indeed, because she told me last night... with a light and gleam in her eyes I haven't seen since before my father died... probably since before my teens that she's going to find a way to pull herself back up. She told me that she said a prayer that other night, and told God that she wants help.... she thanked him for all that she has and for all that she's attained. She's cognizant of all that she's lost, and how she even let her husband, as well as herself cast her aspirations and dreams (her exact words) aside. However, she realizes she's still alive and still has people who love her and told God that if he (you know I'm quoting here, because I have problems with the whole patriarchal and anthropomorphically genderized depiction of a deity... I digress) will recognize that she is going to start taking control again in her life and that her mind has once again awakened from being shut down and now she's dreaming... and will help her, she's willing to give it her all.

I literally haven't been this happy in my whole adult life. And that, true believers is a true statement. The god's honest truth, in fact.

This night of revelations was illuminating for me too. I've always been aware of it... but never to its true magnitude, but forever now... I've been extremely angry with my mother. I've felt abandoned. My dad died when I was on the crux of adulthood, and she pretty much checked out. I've had to literally learn every adult lesson on my own with no kind of compass or support. And I've unleashed an awful lot... probably, almost all of it... on my mother. While she was hurting, I've hurt her even further. I've been non-sympathetic a major amount of times. I've been hostile and hideously rude to her. I've treated her like she's a child who isn't on my level of sophistication or understanding. I've been an abusive parent for all intents and purposes. Taking out his frustrations on the child asking for help. I told my mother just how sorry I am for what I've done to her. How I've demoralized her, and made her feel undeserving of my respect and compassion and love. My mom apologized to me last night for the first time for that. She said that she'd never quite realized how consumed she was by her own demons that she'd left her child to feel all these things and she admitted that she had not been a parent to me at some of my most crucial times in life. For the first time in forever, I felt like the roles had reversed back. That I do have a parent again. Though, I'm about to be 33 and it may sound silly, it's nice not to feel orphaned today.

For so long, so may people have told me not to expect my mother to change. That was the biggest part of my frustration… think that hope was completely lost. If there was no hope for her, then there was no hope for my sister, for me or for what remains of my family. No hope that any of us could change. To all of you who said that… in the politest way possible, of course… screw you. You were wrong. And we’re gonna show you so.

The Tough Mudder

2010-10-11T20:56:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling lazy and mentally exhausted, so I thought I'd re-share another from the now-defunct RahTrainsforLife blogspot. Enjoy or don't, but I sincerely hope you will do the former as opposed to the latter:

Here's an article: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/29/sports/29mudder.html

My own personal thoughts. There's a lot of hiking, running and walking between each obstacle. I actually didn't train for this at all. If you recall, I did it after about a month and a half or so of hiatus from working out from the last week in February to about week two of April. Another observation that I made from my own experiences of largely eating a Paleolithic diet was that copious amounts of carbohydrates are unnecessary. Once the body re-adapts to calling on its fat stored for energy, those are quite efficient. I actually did the event in a fasted state (started at 11 a.m. and finished at 12:20 p.m., and in the day before had only eaten meat and animal fat... one meal at 5 p.m. and the other at 10 p.m.). The creators' estimated, average completion time was 2.5 hours if memory serves me well. It wasn't about time though. For me, it was about completing every single obstacle and finishing the event intact.

The obstacles: http://toughmudder.com/events/bear-creek/bear-creek-map/

1. Braveheart Challenge. The very start. Just a run down one of the ski slopes. Not challenging.
2. Sweaty Yet. The site above lists this as number three, but unless my memories are jumbled, it was the second. After running Braveheart and then through some assorted rocks and stones, most had already become overheated and this crawl through ice was a short reprieve.
3. Death March. This, by far was the most hideous of the obstacles. The hike up this mountain was absolutely disgusting. Initially quite a few of us (me included) thought it may a good idea to sprint it. You know… run, stop and walk, run, stop and walk. Not happening. As the incline increases, this becomes a complete nightmare. And exacerbating the whole ordeal is the fact that the midday sun is high in the air beating solar rays down on your person… and of course being the braniac that I am I wore all black. The steepness is staggering. So much so, that as you go higher, you can’t even see the top and your ears begin popping. I’m not being flip. At one point, I was going to do a crawl up as my poor legs and ass felt like they were going to turn into amorphous jelly right under me. As I started to get own into a crawl, one horrified participant shrieked, “Be careful, everyone! There’s poison ivy!” To my horror, I looked down and then around to see the entire mountainside was sprinkled with ivy patches. Again, I can be admittedly like Brainy Smurf, a know-it-all whose hubris gets him into calamity. So though I considered for a milli-sec to just crawl anyway as I’d surmount the obstacle faster and told myself, I’d be careful at spotting the Ivy patches and avoiding them… I imagined getting to the top and then without a care rubbing the sweat from my face with ivy-coated hands. That would not have been cute or fun at all. I’ve done something similar when cooking with habañeros sand gloves. (Was it pretentious of me to use the tilde there? I like to pronounce things correctly.) So, it was a slow and hellish trudge upward. The trick is to lean forward so that gravity propels you some versus standing completely erect. At the top, one woman immediately began to collapse from what appeared to be heat stroke and the medics pulled her to the side tent, and fitted her with oxygen masked. I took one second glance and hoped that she would live and hoped that I would not succumb to a similar fate, because knowing me I would die of embarrassment. Have to live up to the hubris. Admittedly though. Fear began setting in as this was only obstacle three, and I felt slammed. I knew that swimming at some point would come up, and I’m not a strong swimmer.
4. Devil’s Beard. This one was annoying as all fuck. After just being drop-kicked by Death March, it was really tiresome to have to traverse backward down a hill with like 100 other people backwards. The hill is slippery and muddy and everyone is falling backward on top of one another. Some people just rolled all the way down. I feel twice, but got my footing and made it.
5. Hold Your Wood. Lascivious name. I know. What is it with these fuckers and hiking up steep-ass hills? This time, we hand to carry a log each. And none of them were particularly small. I was still very much spent from that damn Death March. After you get to the top, you don’t just drop the log, but break it back down to the pile from where you got it. Again, everyone looks tore up from the floor up as they do this. Imagine a bunch of dogs that just finished running through Death Valley… all panting in unison as if in stereo. Comparable imagery.
6. Cliffhanger. At this point, I still haven’t quite gotten a second wind. Oh dear, should I had some sugar? To be honest, I remember slipping on a patch of mud, and that’s it. I really don’t recall this obstacle at all, but know I didn’t skip it as I followed the trail and did very one. I think I had dissociated into a fugue at this point.
7. Boa Constrictor. After leaving the last obstacle and sprinting through the forest some more, I’d started to finally get that second boost. (Aha! Now my body was probably tapping into its usable fat stores and I was feeling revved.) On our course, medal piping was used instead of tires. I can see why it’s named after a serpent though, as the piping is too tight and confined to crawl through. Literally had to slide on my belly with my arms out in front, pulling myself out the other side.
8. Swamp stop. Running through waist-high mud and is well, not easy. However, this was wonderful. It was deep in the forest and covered by the tree shade and I think we all felt like pigs that needed to wallow, and the cool stuff felt good. Some guys even dove in head first. I felt that was a bit extra though, so I made my way through with all the splashing and fanfare.
9. Kiss of Mud. Exited the forest again after running through mud and on Ewok Village like planks through the forest. 9there were also times when I felt like I was being chased by a black pillar of smoke and would end up “caught in a net.”)
By the way, I must mention there’s a lot of forest to run through, and jagged twigs and rocks galore. Bless my teammates, John and Levi’s heart. John took off his Five Fingers and started the forest leg of the race truly barefoot. I could feel every branch, stone, twig and rock through my own Five Finger Footwear, so he was truly getting the real experience. Rock on, John. Levi is also straight-up made of steel. He did the entire course in a kilt. Seriously. I kept expecting to see him rip the kilt off out of overheating or it slipping off continually and be bare assed, like the one guy from the team of loincloths who had no loincloth. After exiting the forest, and running down slope filled with potholes and craters that one could easily trip and twist their ankle and fall over if not exceedingly careful, we reach Kiss of Mud. It’s wiring you have to crawl under on. There’s a volunteer who kept scolding everyone to keep their butts down as that made it easier. No shit, Sherlock! If your ass is in the air, it gets caught in the wiring. However, she was needed as plenty of people seemed to not grasp this concept! This obstacle was filthy, as your literally crawling through mud and grass and the wiring turns and twists in a jagged etching pattern down the slope; not a straight line. By the time we made it out, this pretty blonde exclaimed, “She kept yelling for me to keep my but down. And I’m yelling back at her that I am, but I just have a big ass.” I laughed and told her that big asses rock. She was quite fit and did have a nice behind. Jessica Biel-types are the shit, no? I also laughed to myself as I recalled one of my black, female friends exclaiming, "The white girls are giving us a run for our money these days. I'm seeing some asses on them! We better watch out!" I'm an ass-man. Granted, I prefer them on men. However, most certainly appreciate them on women too. Tough, the ass can't just be any. Has to be proprotioned, powerful and shapely. Stopping now. Promise.
10. Ball Shrinker. I lied there was more running through the forest to be had. The Tough Mudder organization warned us to wear ankle braces or ankle tap. I’d bought some from Paragon, but after consensus with teammates, Darnell and Grant decided against wearing it. Running barefoot or in Vibram Five Fingers, there’s not nearly as much twisting of the ankles as with sneakers and boots and whatever else people were wearing. All the running felt quite natural and being that we had no padding on our feet, we felt every sensation and movement, and human biomechanics and proprioception being the wonders that they are, the gait adjusts itself appropriately. So happy that I wear these everyday and walk most places throughout the city in them. (Even on the subway, I’ve noticed that I really don’t have to hold onto the railing while standing like others as my posture and balance have improved greatly with these barefoot shoes) Anyway, after running over more rocks, twigs and ewok planks, exit the forest to meet Ball Shrinker. What an appetizing name! This is hard, because while you’re trying to traverse the parallel ropes, there are other individuals behind and in front. All goes well if you all balance with fantastic synchronicity. Now you know, that would not be the case with the people I happened to be on the ropes with. We all kept twisting and winding thanks to this one lady who was at the front end of our rope and about to finish. As she was twisting the ropes and sent us all forward and backward in the water with our feet on the bottom rope and hands on the top one, trying not to fall off. Finally, I (and the men behind me) used my feet as water propellers and used my hands to grab onto the lower rope and pulled myself across the pond with upper body, while feet swam and propelled simultaneously.
11. Underwater Tunnels. Sprinted and walked some more hills to discover these. Why is it that all the swimming is bunched together toward the end of the course? Don’t most endurance things put swimming first? A deliberate sabotage! Swimming while fatigued is very exhausting. However, I am brainy and brawny and running on ketone bodies. I’m unstoppable. Despite, not learning to swim until college. I did this with no problem. Came up for air between each barrel, but this was good. The water was very murky and I could see anything while in it.
12. Walk The Plank. Now this was the crucial moment of do-or-die. You see, dear reader… in my zeal to register for this event when fellow Paleolithic Man, John got our team in at the eleventh hour, I was in complete dunce mode and forgot to inquire about swimming requirements. Two days before the event, I read the FAQ section on their site, and was horrified to learn they warned you against coming if you can’t swim. I had a mini-anxiety attack. They did say that the shallower swim points (which I’d just done) were okay for people who were not extremely proficient swimmers. But this plank exercise seemed to be calling me into wherever dead people go when they die (you know I’m agnostic). Not helping matters, I began to recall the umpteen signposts along the entire challenge reminding us at different times that we’d singed a disclaimer in the unfortunate event of death. Had I not had enough of all this signing of life away last month with skydiving? Anyway, my teammates reminded me that they’d help me if I couldn’t get my footing in the lake. Curiously, though teammates, Matt, Levi and John who offered to swim me to shore were either ahead of or behind me on the course. It was just Darnell, Grant and me at this point. And neither of these two gentlemen had extended the offer in advance to carry my ass through the water. Nice. (I froze time to stop and give my disappointed and disgusted expression to the studio aundience, and then unfroze everthing.) They both went first. I asked them how deep it was. They told me to NOT jump off the plank and in, because they could not feel the bottom. Dang! You know I hate to feel like a p-word (ladies, sorry for the misogynistic language, but nothing else quite conveys would I’d feel like if I skipped any of the obstacles). So I looked at them and said I was jumping in. Grant assured me he’d be nearby to aid me if I needed assistance. I made a huge splash. Uses what? They weren’t lying. I couldn’t feel the bottom. I was hoping that, because Darnell is short that only HE couldn’t feel the bottom. “Oh, dear,” I thought, “I think I may’ve overestimated my prowess this time.” I could not see the water’s surface in the murk, put swam and swam up until I emerged from the murk. I felt like Jean Grey bursting out Of Jamaica Bay, proclaiming that she as no longer the woman that the X-Men once knew, but this all-new and different cosmically-powered entity. Of course, in the masculine form and sans the late 70s/early 80s style John Byrne artwork and a radiation filled spaceship that crashed me and my other super hero teammates into the water upon reentry. Yes. I am geek and proud of it! Mad props to anyone who actually gets that reference. You must be intelligent and cool individuals… at least, by my standards. Okay. Snapping back to reality. Grant swam over and grabbed me. I assured him I was fine and that I was treading water and just needed a moment to collect myself. He did help me swim in a little toward the shore, but let go when he saw I was capable. A diver volunteer jumped in and insisted on walking me. I assured him I was fine, despite him yelling, “Relax and calm down!” I’m like, “Dude! Histrionic much?” He then exclaimed after grabbing me that I was fine. I thanked him, and swam my way to shore slowly. He yelled at me to sit down on the shore and to rest. And commanded his shore goons to ensure that I follow instruction. Then he went on to instruct some other diver as to how to manhandle a drowner, 'so they won't break your hand." I was like, "Okay. I wasn't drowning and wasn't going to break your hand. Drama Queen. Hands won't be broken if bitches don't interrupt my flow. Unstoppable force." (Okay I didn't really say that to him, but I most certainly thought it.) I can swim you all. Just not well. I can survive in a 20 foot pool with no problem. I think I will finally take intermediate swimming classes now as I want to be awesome at it. Interesting hypothesis for you all. You8 know the stereotype that American blacks can’t swim? You even see it in many sports events like the Olympics. Some argue that it’s due to socioeconomic stratification and many blacks not having access to pools regularly for instruction. (I actually was enrolled at swim classes at the local Y as a small child, but was deathly afraid of drowning and refused to submerge myself. The instructors urged my parents to remove me until I was ready. Imagine, a bunch of 4 and 5 year olds playing Ring Around The Rosey at the end of each class. At “Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down, “imagine little Rahsaan in his yellow swim cap (name written in black, permanent marker on the side... which still didn’t stop some little scoundrel from stealing it from my locker one day) furiously holding the entire chained circle up as our hands were linked, because he was so afraid to go under the water. Even at five, I knew that drowning was one of the most excruciating ways to die. Okay. Sorry. Rambling and digressing. I was saying, that there’s a theory as well about many black kids, especially boys not learning to swim out of fear due to lack of buoyancy. I think there may be some merit to this. Especially, as black boys reach their teens. On average, blacks Americans (not sure about black Africans)
have fifteen (I think that figure is correct) percent more muscle mass and denser
bones than people of other colors. While this may add to overall sturdiness, it
most certainly would impede buoyancy. I know if you put me in a 20 foot pool and I do nothing to fight it or if I just relax, I sink right to the bottom like a rock. Thus, some theorists argue this lack of buoyancy may fuel a fear of swimming in black boys who did not learn early. Especially, post puberty and into adulthood. I did overcome that fear in my freshman year of college and took a spring semester beginner’s class. Time to get better. Sorry. Tangent. Had to though.

13. Berlin Walls. This actually was quite easy to me. And I know everyone that pointed and laugh at our Vibram shoes was smarting as they as they made gripping the wall’s surface with the toes and thumb mound totally doable. Versus, clunky sneakers or other footwear. What was illuminated to me during this obstacle was the fact that overdeveloped physiques are often not functional. This challenge was a huge bottleneck. So many conventionally “diesel” guys could not hoist themselves over these walls. However, I’m not surprised as ,many had that typical look that you can find at the gym of huge pecs, biceps and six-pack abs (which is only the surface sheath of the abdominal wall as it’s the rectus abdominis and not the deep muscle, like the transverse abdominis… both are important though) and skinny legs and no butt. Thank goodness that they had four walls and all you had to do was two. I skipped the ones where the were lines of guys trying to no avail. You literally have to jump up using your legs, glutes and hips grab on with your hands, use your feet to climb and then your entire core (above kneecaps to below chest) to hoist yourself up. Arms , back and chest help you propel yourself over the top and down. Next.
14. Grease Lightening. Of course, it would be too simple to have us arrive at this without climbing another muddy, slippery hill. Making matters more difficult, the course was specifically outlined with wiring, so it was like they choose the most insane parts of the hill to thread the course through. But I’m still on my second wind. I’m unstoppable. The slide is hosed down by two men and spits you out into the lake to swim and then walk back to another shoreline. All this water is great as now most of the mud has been washed away. However, the slide is extremely unwieldy and it’s hard to steer yourself and of course the water it spits you out on is over a bed of rocks. Nice, indeed. I loved it. And I’m not being facetious.
15. The Killa Gorilla. If you can’t tell already, these hills are insane. They really wear a motherfucker out. And it seems like whenever you think the coast is clear, some other dangblasted incline is presented just to tear you down again. However, I’m still unstoppable and this point and you know what they say about unstoppable forces. Well, until they meet an immovable object that is. Luckily, I was fortunate not to.
16. Fire Walker. As I approached this I happened upon this poor soul from another team who'd told me he was starting to cramp back on Killa Gorilla. Alas, he was laid out and it appeared that his teammates were trying to draw and quarter him, but they called it stretching. The pain looked excruciating for him. As I passed, I came upon some more of his team further ahead... and through the brush... who'd just realized that the others were back there "stretching" this ill-starred guy. They were cursing him and screaming as they ran back toward him to declare that he'd make it across the finish if they had to carry him! I hope they didn't ream him out too badly. However, I had bigger fish to fry, literally. Ain’t it great to have to run through a valley of kerosene and burning hay when you can’t even say, because the air is blurring, your eyes are watery and you’re choking on whatever carcinogens you’re inhaling? However, if you’ve made it this far you’ve already separated yourself from the boys and girls.

By the time, I finished I was flying as high as zooming kite on endorphins! This was such a splendidly-challenging opportunity. I highly recommend! Maybe next time, some of you will be man or woman enough to be on our team. Until next time…

Down The Rabbit Hole, And into Purgatory

2010-09-17T10:39:00.000-07:00

"I hope you rot in hell!" Yeah. That's what my mom said to me when I left Woodhull Psychiatric Emergency on Tuesday evening. What a nightmare that day was. In her defense, she's clearly unbalanced and unstable. And she feels like I've betrayed her in the worst way possible... even going as far as to tell me, the police and the EMTs that she "expects this from her enemies; not [my] son." And honestly, I feel awful. Not guilt, but awful.

I feel like crap, because I had to trick her into being taken into custody. I feel like crap, because she actually had bought me a card and written a note in it apologizing for her most recent behavior and had it waiting for me at her home when I came with the authorities. I feel like crap, because I had to watch my mom break down and cry and plead with us not take her. I feel like crap, because that breakdown was preceded by the horror that I'd done this to her. She initially thought that someone else had gotten the EMTs and police and that I was contacted by them! To see her face change from disbelief to horror to pure anger and indignation broke my heart.

Then to have to ride in a patrol car with her to then having to basically argue against her defense attorney and then win... and to see the pure scorn and absolute disgust with which she looked at me. Nice. And then to be with her in the car ride to the hospital where she had to be handcuffed and listen to her alternate between crying and telling me that I was pretty much the lowest life form on Earth. And then to have to sit with her in psychiatric emergency room surrounded by a host of other disturbed people and still have her yelling and screaming at me about how I betrayed her by believing the lies of those in cahoots against her....

As some of you know my mother has been diagnosed twice as suffering from bipolar disorder. This diagnosis was later in life. Her 50s to be exact, but that actually is not implausible. I learned from one of her most recent doctors that the onset of this disorder tends to happen at one of two periods in life. Either in one's late teens/early 20s, but also in one's 50s/60s. The latter group is far more under-diagnosed, because most people by that point attribute peculiar behavior to just personality and because people incorrectly assume that such a diagnosis would have to have been readily obvious prior to that time. Wrong. And it would seem that the trauma of my dad’s death has only propelled her into complete downward spiral. Also, not uncommon for a huge trauma like that to totally derail a person who already is genetically prone to a chemical imbalance. (And this is all not to mention that one of my mom’s sisters suffered from diagnoses paranoid schizophrenia which ultimately lead to her making a lifestyle that resulted in her going from professional modeling to drugs... which many mentally ill people eventually turn to escape the feelings the disturbances caused by their illnesses, hooking, AIDS and death.)

That being said, my mom has exhibited signs of mental illness since my teens from what I distinctly recall. Simple disagreements that a teenager would have with a parent over chores and general angst (though, I was not that angst-ridden) would escalate to situations where I'd have to restrain my mom from stabbing me with kitchen knives or burning me with an iron which she had been using to steam a blouse or ducking from flying canned goods. And while, it may read as comedic, I'm deadly serious about all of this. I did tell family members (namely my dad and siblings), but it was always discounted as "You know your mother is high-strung and excitable." Long story short, it appears my mom has a somatic malady that manifests as increasingly erratic behavior that makes her a danger to herself and possibly others.

At one point, I felt like I was going to write about all the specific things that have happened in the last two years up until now just as a way of venting them. That kind of detail is a bit too much for me to expound on right now. In summary, my mom has had quite her share of legal challenges now... all stemming from her illness. Her last episode a few weeks back resulted in prescription overdose, hospitalization, assault and arrest and arraignment. Not necessarily in that exact order. Also, I might add I just had to give her doctor a very unsettling note I found on her bed next to a bible she apparently was reading with a magnifying glass. Coupled with her bipolar disorder, she also displays what I see as signs of a borderline personality disorder. And the most recent doctor at Woodhull confirmed my lay diagnosis actually!

Several individuals have tried to tell me you can't hold others responsible for inaction. I vehemently disagree. In my mother's instance, pretty much all her friends and family have ignored her descent into madness. They claim they didn't see. Sorry. That's complete bullshit. You can't tell me that someone you've known for 50 years or more is showing obvious signs of mental illness, and you didn't notice. Oddly enough, people who've known my mom in passing acquaintance have confided to me that they were concerned by behavior. So, basically... I'm starting to think all these relatives and friends of my family's are completely obtuse. That may sound harsh, but it's nothing less than what I feel. I know if something really really tragic were to happen all these people... relatives, her fellow parishioners, her clergy, her old friends and colleagues would all be like "I had no idea. How sad. I wish we'd known." Well, some of these people do know. I know that for a fact, because I've explicitly told some of them and asked for their help. Almost none of them have been of any help. Period. I'd never want friends, like these. Ever. Maybe I'll go into her address book, and send them all a copy of this soliloquy.

Seriously. That's another emotion I have to now try to reconcile... growing anger with these people. Not to mention all the anger I feel towards my dead father whom I told... as a child... that I saw signs of illness, and he did nothing, but I guess he had other things to worry about. And then there's the anger I feel toward my mother, the sick party. Anger that's been building for at least a decade and a half. I may need to have my own head shrunk when all's said and done.

So while I'm not rotting in hell (as I am trying to be hopeful), it seems I (along with my mom and my sister) am biding my time at some grand and quite mad tea party in purgatory.

Court to Hospital to Court

2010-09-15T06:25:00.000-07:00

I executed the mental hygiene warrant yesterday morning at 8:30. The EMTs transported us all to the Brooklyn Supreme Court, where I had to basically argue against my mom's appointed attorney as to why she needed to be committed. The judge ruled in my favor, and ordered us all to Woodhull Hospital's Psychiatric Emergency Center. I literally stayed there all day until my mom was evaluated. To her opposition, the psychiatrist concluded that she needed to be admitted. When I've a moment to catch my breath and process this all, I will put my emotions in writing about this specific nightmare.

I am at court now for the armed robbery case that I've been subpoenaed to testify in. The case has changed yet again as the knife-wielding peep is now refusing the full confession of the other. I IDed both in separate police line-ups. The knife-wielder plans to testify with an "alibi." The other accepted a plea of three years, but now that's off the table since his cohort who he also fingered is contesting all. The ADA just informed me as well that his office decided to use this opportunity to take a hard line, go for a harsher sentence and make an example. After the last few weeks I've had I'd be a liar if I feigned even the slightest aversion to this renewed plan. I will have to face the defendants in court now. I look forward to it.

Do people still take Newt Gingrich seriously?

2010-09-13T08:42:00.000-07:00

Not that I ever did, but while I'm here at the Supreme Court (awaiting my turn to testify before a grand jury), I decided to catch up my news. With the gravity of all that's going on in my life at the moment, this really made me bust a gut. Just what I needed. Seriously.

C'mon, Newt! You and Dinesh can't do better than this racist bullshit to discredit your opponent's legislative decisons? I've absolutely no choice, but to believe that this latest salvo is purely tongue-in-cheek. I can't honestly believe you or any other American with half a brain can see this rehash of The White Man's Burden is anything other than tomfoolery.

As a sidebar, I really need to get an iPad. I'm sure that it would making blogging on the go and on the fly so much easier than on the infernally minute screen of a smartphone. Especially, since I'm going to be here all day it would seem based on the several technicalities in the case which I'll have to elaborate on later.

Living for The City

2010-09-11T18:06:00.000-07:00

So the aftermath of this hideous, gang robbery is going far better than I could have ever expected. First off, I must once again affirm how very grateful I am to Det. Juart and the other detectives of Brooklyn's own 88th Precinct. They've been nothing but outstanding during this whole ordeal and have done a bang-up job of getting the bad guys! They've forced me to reexamine my own bias against the NYPD. More on that later.

Juart came by this morning with the subpoena for me to testify before the grand jury of Scumbag No. 3 who I IDed last Wednesday. No. 3 is under arrest for seven separate robberies, and was IDed by two other complainants aside from me. The ADA's charged him with first-degree armed robbery and his bail has been set at $25,000. It really is wonderful to see justice at work. And then lo and behold, I got another call from Juart at 1:30 p.m. this afternoon. Apparently, they brought in one of the others. He wanted me to come in around 2 for a second line-up.

Guess what. As soon as they pulled the curtain up, the very first guy seated was him. Him as in the knife wielding, ring leader of this trio of pieces of shit. I needed no more than a first glance, and confidently informed Juart and his sergeant that it was him and told them both specifically what he did on that unfortunate night. Juart said that I should be getting a call from the ADA tonight with info on how he'll proceed with this one.

Before leaving, Juart and I discussed a great deal of the politics of Fort Greene. We discussed the dark side to gentrification. (Interesting how people seem to think that only NYers of color are annoyed by the self-entitlement and pretentiousness many transplants exhibit. Juart, a white Brooklynite... along with his cohorts, who are all white detectives... seem to be equally annoyed by the changing face of the hood. "If you walk down Greene Ave at 4 o'clock in the morning, typing away on your iPad, you can be sure, come 5 o'clock you'll no longer have an iPad! I don't mean to imply that anyone has the right to take what's yours, but that's just stupid." Indeed. There is something to be said for lack of street smarts brought on by self-entitlement.

The sergeant is actually black. He and I did not discuss gentrification, but did discuss my Vibram Five Fingers. Apparently, I'm the talk of the precinct. They tell me everyone there is always buzzing about my footwear every time I exit.) We also discussed the pathology of these career criminals in the making. The one I IDed on Wednesday is 20. The one today 18. Eighteen with a small child and four prior convictions. Thankfully, the offspring lives somewhere in the south with his grandmother. The sad thing is that these fuckers are just messed-up people. They're not stealing stuff t put food in theirs or their kids' mouths. They seem to be terrorists for terrorism's sake. Note: Juart and I had a great talk about The Wire's season four. Totally germane.

As I mentioned in opening, for many years now I've thought of the police as terrorist pigs, making it their own mission to harass and bully the general public. The cops on this case have been nothing, but the complete antithesis of that. While I still do know of cops (like U.S. Army troops), who have childhood traumas and baggage that propels them into a profession where they have the authority to abuse unchecked, it's great that this experience of mine has forced me to reign in my own stereotypes. Juart is a not some menacing bully. In fact, he and I talked careers and at heart, he's an educator. Prior to joining the force, he taught world history in secondary school... and that's what he yearns to return to once retiring. He has a real soft spot for kids, so seeing what he sees everyday makes him really want to ensure that those on the right path stay on it. Juart did confide in me that those from the 88th are by no means received well in the neighborhood. The 88th is one of the smallest precincts in the city. And it seems that they can never do enough. The dwindling numbers of new recruits at the academy (which could be attributed to the aforementioned public sentiment perhaps) exacerbates this. As well, as lack of overtime funds. Looks like they need their own “Jimmy McNulty” to cook something up. I told Juart to accept my thanks and eternal gratitude on behalf of the neighborhood... not just for what they've done in this specific case, but for all they do everyday.

And speaking of public menaces... Later this afternoon, I discussed this all with my friend and landlady, Cassandra... and another friend, Marcio. We discussed all the cop-outs that people use to excuse the menace of these kids. Poverty, racism, etc. In other words, bullshit. Cassandra said, "These kids don't know abject poverty!" I asked Marcio to compare the local projects to the favelas surrounding Rio de Janeiro where he grew up. His response, while pointing to the Walt Whitman Houses on Myrtle: "This is not poverty. Look at the SUVs parked on the street!" Why is it that I know so many people from the mot destitute of nations that wracked by war, unrest and upheaval who can come here and work shit out while these slugs that are from here squander every fucking opportunity thrown their ways?

While there, I also learned of another disturbing case in the neighborhood. Apparently, there's a group of 20 or so boys targeting local, alcoholic Latino migrants. The ones that hang out at Fort Greene Park. Almost all of these intoxicated migrants are not fluent in English. Apparently the boys are beating them bloody, literally. Not to rob them of anything (aside from human dignity and right to be left alone), but beating them savagely just for sport. And even scarier is the fact these kids are serial. Sociopaths. I asked Juart if he thought perhaps one of the twenty ever piped up to question what was going on. He said, "No. It's pack mentality." Wow. A socipoathic pack of savage brutes.

Perhaps, Fort Greene Park is reverting back to its former state. Taking back the night from all the yuppies, buppies and hipsters. When Juart asked my thoughts on gentrification, I told him, "It's a dual-sided phenomenon. How can I bemoan all the cliquishness and bourgeoisie of the Habana Outpost scene (Juart did admit to enjoying their Mojito Daiquiri) without simultaneously being grateful for the fact that there are no longer broad daylight shootouts between crack dealers all up and down Fulton, Lafayette, Greene, DeKalb and Myrtle?"

Misanthropy Reinforced

2010-09-10T09:18:00.000-07:00

That title's admittedly a bit of a misnomer as my faith is being restored. Last weekend, I shared the following with a group of my friends:

Okay. Sorry to darken your figurative doorsteps, but I was surrounded by three guys and robbed at knife point a few blocks from my house on Myrtle after leaving a wonderful birthday party last night. They demanded my phone, wallet and iPod Shuffle. Basically everything in my pockets. And didn't even have the decency to let me have my license... and demanded I unlock my phone for them!

If you all need to reach me, I just realize my Google Voice account allows me to receive calls right in my box. My computer will ring. My Google phone number is (347) 762-1120 https://www.google.com/voice/#phones You can reach me there until I get my replacement phone. Also, this number rings my work and cell phones.

I swear... when it rains, it really bloody pours!!! I remain steadfast in my belief that the universe is testing me for a greater good.

I forgot to mention... I am fine and unscathed physically. Just pissed and violated. I really wanted to beat the daylights out those punk kids. Still do. That would've been unwise though. Even if I were able to take at least two of them, the third would've proven hard. Also, who knows what other concealed weapons or back-up reprobates were waiting in the wings of the Ingersoll Houses. Hopefully, the mug shots I identified today will result in bringing them to justice if they match what I see at the line-up the police are arranging.

This past Wednesday, I followed up:

Just saw one line-up. First of all, it was like a party..., but not. There were four of us there... all guys... who'd been surrounded by armed rogues and jacked over the last three weeks. Several of the ill-starred actually had been robbed at gunpoint.

Anyway, Detective Juart who is now my new hero was quite supportive and explained what would happen. He told me that this was not the two guys I was pretty sure of, but possibly the third assailant who my memory was foggy of. However, this larcenous, cowardly creature did tell the cops that he's been terrorizing Fort Greene with a band of cohorts. Juart also told me it was quite all right if I couldn't finger anyway.

We all waited for them to get the line-up ready, I was my usual gregarious self, lightening the mood by conversing with detectives and the other civilians. I hit off with one other victim who been accosted by guys on bikes with a gun. (I was so glad I saw no gun during my unpleasantness). We talked about True Blood which I've fallen so behind on this season. At one point though, I became alarmed. One detective mentioned that the line-up would be wearing t-shirts and white do-rags. I was not alarmed due to the tackiness that is the do-rag trend, but because my third guy (nor the others) was not wearing a do-rag! I was wondering if this was some attempt at stereotypical profiling. Were they saying that all hoods were do-rags? Had the other victims reported do-rags!?!? I had no time to protest, because the line-up began!!

One by one, they ushered us in to view. In the end I was shocked! When I saw creature number 4 (of the 5 in the line-up), I instantly knew he was my third guy! I was shocked, because he was the one I recalled least as he didn't really any features that stood out to me save for his height contrasted to those of his cronies. However, as soon as I saw him his face lit up my mind's eye! It was most certainly... beyond a shadow of a doubt... HIM!! The cops all confirmed after they brought me out of the viewing room that I did indeed finger the right guy as he was the one they were thinking it was, based on his interviews and his record and other charges. They will call me for another line-up soon to see if I can ID the other two criminals.

Alas, my True Blood friend wasn't able to identify anyone. However, his people were most probably an unrelated crew as he was robbed up by the border of Clinton-Hill and Bed-Stuy and his people have a different MO (my assailants typically don't go beyond Vanderbilt Ave, I was told). Felt awful for him despite my joy and elation about fingering the right man as he looked like the stress of all had overwhelmed him. He'd been robbed with a pistol to his head, and now fingered the wrong person. I could tell he was fighting back to tears. That made me angry again for a few minutes as I hate how these fucking assholes terrorize people in gangs (of course not alone and unarmed). Bitch-asses. I asked if he was okay. He assured me he was. I told him that I was sorry this happened to him.

After I left the station with Juart and his partner (they drove me home), I couldn't help but beam yet again. Juart was not surprised at all by my instant recall. He said the mind works in uncanny ways. Just seeing someone in person can bring on total recall; turning a blurry face into one with definitive features. I asked him about the "do-rag profiling/stereotyping," and he explained that my assumption was wrong. Actually, the line-up all wears white t-shirts and white do-rags to make them uniform, so that aside from all the plain white clothing, all your forced to look at are their actual faces; not their hair or anything else. Makes sense.

Juart and all the other detectives were disappointed that the other victims didn't finger number 4, but were very pleased that I did. I will be getting a call from the DA to testify before a grand jury he said. I must relate something funny though. The detectives were all annoyed by this one idiot (one of the victims) who did not want to testify and was reluctant to do the line-up today at all... he came anyhow..., but while we were all there, the idiot commented that his robbers were polite and that's why he was averse. He's an idiot, because he had just told us they held a gun to his head. He also bitched at the cops after the line-up saying, "Next time you guys should not have the guilty one do three spins while the others do two." One detective screamed at him, "We didn't tell any of them to spin around!! They did that on their own!"

While driving home in the sedan, I told Juart and partner again how I feel good, because I felt so punked and angry that night... and desperately wanting to call these assholes' bluff and punch the knife-wielding, ring leader in his face, and attempt to take his knife. Partner said, "I'd never advise you to do so, but I'm certain you could have. If you'd started wailin' on him, I guarantee those other two bitches would've ran. Or worse case, I think you could've fucked all of them up if you had to." I continued to beam as I'm never above being ego-stroked. However, I countered "What about the gun they supposedly sometimes carry according to other victims/witnesses or possible reinforcements watching from the Ingersol Houses? Juart said, "That gun is actually a pellet gun. As for reinforcements, there are none. They always do this withe either 3 or 4 of their crew. They meet up at the basketball courts in the park, and make a plan to survey and hit folks. However, again, you did do the right thing, but believe us we would've thought the same way you did about bustin' their assess."

On Thursday:
Anyway per Dawn's advice (Thanks, Dawn!) I just got off the horn with the ADA. He's charging the criminal with First Degree Armed Robbery, the greatest charge possible!!! He will be putting a subpoena for next Monday under my house door today.

Do You Know Your Status?

2010-09-10T07:41:00.001-07:00

This one is from the now defunct Trains for Life blogspot. IEven though, I've left that line of work, this message is too relevant to not live on here:

Here at this site... as y'all know... I try to give voice to a multitude of factors that affect our collective health. The common vein that runs throughout is one of proactivity. I could use the term, prevention. However that sounds a bit too clinical for my tastes. In terms of today's topic (and in general), let's strive to think of ourselves as being as healthy as can be... taking care of ourselves in a way that we don't have to be reactionary due to environmental factors we may impose on ourselves without proper foresight.

That being said, when was the last time you were tested for HIV (the human immunodeficiency virus)? Do you think you know your status? Have you ever been tested? Do you think you know with any degree of certainty the status of anyone you're sharing bodily fluids with? (I could have just sex, but some of you may be shooting up heroin for all I know... though the likelihood of that in this audience is null. However, I try to never collude against and marginalize anyone.) Yeah. These are pretty invasive questions. However, I've never had use for taboos. And apparently, the rest of the world shouldn't either. Despite all that we know about HIV, the virus continues to proliferate at a staggering rate the world over, and is hitting some specific groups pretty hard. A large degree of this is due to a simple lack of communication. And communication is something you all know by now that Homo sapiens sapiens has evolved to do impossibly well. (Yes, I always gotta throw some anthropological/evolutionary science in there. If anything, just to highlight we seem to be dumbing ourselves down to a degree with all our newfangled ways... much to the detriment of our collective livelihood.)

Anyway, if you're wondering what's prompted to me mount my soapbox on this fine day... it was my last visit to APICHA (the Asian & Pacific Islander Coalition on HIV/AIDS) for a free HIV (and syph) screening. And before any of the more technical folk have a cow about me not being Asian or Pacific Islander... let me remind you all of the view here that we're all one race, one species, one people... human. Yes, we've differences based on geographic adaptation and culture, but the health of us all should be of paramount concern. And according to Joey Akima, Manager of Client Testing & Referrals... APICHA most certainly feels the same exact way. And being that this community outreach organization is conveniently located mere blocks from job, I am more than happy to take advantage of its FREE services. (As none of the private physicians I'm acquainted with offer free, 20-minute HIV tests that enable me to not interrupt my schedule at all... personally or professionally). Very convenient, because as a single, sexually active man I try to get tested at least semi-annually, if not quarterly.

That being said, I've so many sexually active friends and acquaintances that I can think of who I know for fact are not tested regularly (at least once per year). Many of them think, because they've only had heterosexual sex once in the last six months and with a condom, that it's okay to assume that their status is negative. (Okay that example is an extreme, but you get my drift). It's not.

Oddly enough, HIV is probably one of the more difficult sexually transmitted infections to contract as it needs a perfect vehicle for the mingling of bodily fluids (i.e. blood, vaginal fluid, breast milk, semen, pre-cum) versus the rest that condoms don't really do much against, because they're skin-to-skin transmission pretty much negates the small area that a condom would cover. The paradox here is that all of these other infections are molehills compared to the mountain that's HIV.

And this goes back to that thing we, H. sapiens sapiens have evolved to do so well... communicate. (Yes, there are outliers, like "W." Bush or "Sasha Fierce” that seem quite inarticulate when interviewed. However, most of us are fully capable of adult conversation.) This is why it's important to know one's status, so one can fully disclose it to any and all current or prospective partners beforehand. And that's not to say that HIV makes sex a non-option. To be frank, having sex with a person who is fully aware of their positive status and who is in full-control of their viral load via medication and mindful living and who fully engages in deliberately safer sex is probably far less risky than taking the risk of unprotected sex with someone who does not take said precautions and who is unaware of his or her status. In fact, and this is no scare-tactic, a person who may be engaging in unsafe sex may test negative as he or she is going through seroconversion. During this window, that individual is totally contagious as the body has not even developed antibodies to mount an insult against the virus they play host to. That's in stark contrast to the infected person who lives with a healthy and knowing awareness of their status.

Okay. Once again, I think I've gone on for longer than I meant to. Anyway, I'm gonna cap this for now as I fully intend to address other facets of this issue (including some of the various societal factors that contribute to its withstanding force) in the coming weeks and months. In the meanwhile, if any of you would like a full battery of FREE tests for most STIs (including HIV), please visit APICHA this Saturday at Brooklyn Pride from 12 p.m. to 4 p.m.

Somebody Loves You, Baby

2010-02-22T13:40:00.001-08:00

This year I had my very first ever truly enjoyable Valentine's Day as an adult. No. Still no Valentine. Nor was I anyone else's, but who cares? I got to see the incomparable, Patti LaBelle live in concert at the Brooklyn Academy of Music with my wonderful and very close friend, Dawn J. McClary.

I was ecstatic that Patti sang my favorite number, "Somebody Loves You (You Know Who It Is)." Sadly missing was "New Attitude," but that's okay. One of the most memorable parts of the night was her audition for four young men to get on stage and perform Lady Marmalade with her. As with any other song those newer and younger artists have covered, Patti gave those who've honored her their due props. However, each time before she sang one of her famous and often-covered songs, she reminded the audience, "Don't get it twisted. I sang it first." How can anyone not love this woman?

That being said, someone did show her disrespect during the Lady Marmalade audition. A young brute who was one of the four men who came up on stage to audition. When the microphone was passed to this idiot, so he can sing, he said in what he apparently thought was suave, sexy, come hither tone, "I can't sing, but I'm good at making love."

Patti immediately exclaimed, "Why would you say that to me? I'm a 65 year old woman and old enough to be your mother! That's not cool. How would you feel if someone said that to your mother? Get off my stage." That was met with sudden and massive applause.

Sadly, this philistine wouldn't leave. He got off the stage only to stand directly in front of it and proceed to taunt and try to argue with Patti. Well, she quickly took him to task, telling him that that black women put up with enough shit (Yup. Ms. LaBelle said that verbatim. She rocks.) and that she wasn't having it. Finally, the big security guys had to drag this jackass out of the theater kicking and screaming, followed by what looked to be some women who'd accompanied him. How embarrassing for them.

After the evening trash was removed, the audience and Patti continued to enjoy the festivities. The remaining men on stage, along with Patti in her bright red dress continued to perform Lady Marmalade to the delight of all in attendance.

That brings me to the question I have tonight though. You know... as I looked around at most in the audience, I was probably one of a small number that was aged less than 35 years. That cretin who was dragged out (and hopefully received a beat-down by the bouncers outside) probably fell into the small number, and we see how he acted out.

What is it about today's material, misogynistic, vulgar "R&B" that appeals to the masses versus the subtle, sublimely intelligent and passionate love songs that true Rhythm & Blues was made up of in years past? All throughout college and well into my adult years, many of my age peers have often thought my musical tastes to be eccentric and off. I just appreciate what I grew up listening to at home. I think the last truly good wave of R&B artists probably was around the early 90s. That was until the invasion of the BET/MTV artists that ubiquitously reign supreme today it would seem. Of course, there are outliers among this bunch, but sadly I want to vomit for the most part whenever I turn on any of the radio stations I grew up listening to. So much so, that my only refuge is in my massive iTunes library of "oldies."

Is it a sign of the times? Many would argue that a lot of this vapid and distasteful music is influencing our youth? I'd venture to say that it's actually cyclical with both mutually driving one another.

When I look at and listen to artists, like the phenomenal Patti LaBelle, I wonder who will take the reins from them. Is R&B doomed? Is that even a viable question, and did it die back circa 1993? A moment of silence?

Is the Manhattan Bridge Marginalized?

2010-02-17T10:30:00.000-08:00

In the past I've dared to think it, but this morning I could no longer deny it. The Manhattan Bridge is totally marginalized by New Yorkers. Why else would it be in the condition I found it in this morning.

For the last few months, I too have been disregarding the Manhattan in favor of the oh-so-pretty-and-illustrious Brooklyn Bridge, but this morning when walking into the city for work, I decided to revisit my old sturdy friend... the one that I would subway over every morning en route to Bronx Science on the D Train... the one that you'll almost never find tedious and overexcited tourists on (nor aggressive bikers as the pedestrian and bikers lanes are on completely opposite sides of the Bridge unlike Brooklyn and Wiliiamsburgh)... YES! The Manhattan Bridge! Which is actually my favorite color, blue (albeit the structure could use a fresh coating or 1000 of blue pain as its quite rusty and very distressed, but therein lies the charm... I guess.)

And call me dorky, but I actually was excited as I approached the bridge this morning and climbed over the metal gate (my shortcut) to the walkway. However, I was horrified at what I saw. Lo and behold, no one... absolutely no one has sprinkled any salt whatsoever on the path. I said to myself, "Humph. The Manhattan gets no respect." I could've turned tail and traveled a little ways yonder to the bourgeois Brooklyn, but resolved not too. "Hell no," I said. I'd already decided that I wanted a solitary peaceful walk without all the brouhaha and fanfare that the other bridge can be subject to at times.

And a solitary walk I got. Actually, it was a straight-up semi-dangerous hike. It was like hiking up some of the paths on Colorado's Rockies in the dead of mid-winter. However, with my great deal of athleticism (must always prop my own prowess, because if I don't, no one else will in my experience of late), I made it seem as effortless and graceful as skipping along on a sunny, summer day.

However, the few other pedestrians whose paths I crossed didn't fare a well, and slipped and slid along. So I say shame on the Department of Sanitation for not making sure the Manhattan Bridge is just as free and clear of snow and ice as its East River Crossing counterparts. Is the Manhattan not juts as worthy of upkeep?

Here are some interesting links to historical facts you may not have known about the great, Manhattan Bridge:

http://www.nyc.gov/html/dot/html/bridges/bridges.shtml#manhattan

http://www.nycroads.com/crossings/manhattan/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattan_Bridge#History

http://www.ny.com/transportation/crossings/manhattan_bridge.html

All in all, I guess I can't wax too indignant as I still got to have my introspective walk (the intermittent sounds of trains passing by actually adds a nice soundtrack to the quiet air, highlighted by the "swoosh" ing of the motor vehicles) and enjoy the desolateness of the bridge. You know... being all that shimmers and shines may not be all it's cracked up to be. The Manhattan Bridge with its unsalted paths, rusted paint job and even its sketchy alcoves where all manner of characters seem to dwell always puts me at ease... any time of day or night... as opposed to other venues in an increasingly pretentious, scene-ridden New York. The Manhattan Bridge still feels like a piece of the New York I once knew as home.

Faith

2010-01-18T12:02:00.000-08:00

I'm going to have to either get a new blog site or partition this one into different spaces where germane topics are linked. That being said, today's topic kind of strays always from the normal "training for life" philosophy. Actually, nix that it really doesn't. In fact, it's totally relevant to living our lives as best as possible. It's the practice of faith. Whether it's faith in one's self, faith in a god or deity, faith in an institution or faith in other people, I'm sure many of you would assert that faith is integral to who we are as human beings.

Over the years though (pretty much since my pre-adolescence), I've always had difficulty having faith when it comes to religious doctrine and beliefs. That faith or lack thereof was tested once again by the hideous commentary of Pat Robertson in the media following the literally earth-shattering quake and subsequent aftershocks that rocked the Caribbean island of Hispaniola, essentially wrecking the nation of Haiti.

Robertson blamed a natural disaster on Haitians’' "pact with the devil" to end French slavery. This is utterly ridiculous and ignorant on several levels:

1. Vodou has nothing to do with Lucifer, the fallen Angel... at all. Vodou actually is the syncretism of the West African ethnic groups, the Fon and the Ewe's own religions and Catholicism that took place during the generations of slavery on Hispaniola. Some argue that it was only a masking of faith, so that the blacks could continue their practice. Others argue that the syncretism was so thorough that many practitioners believe there is no difference between the Fan deities and their Catholic counterparts. A similar phenomenon has occurred in Brasil and the Spanish Caribbean with Candomblé and Santería.

2. Legba, who is the deity of the crossroads in Vodou is not the devil, but is often sycretised with Lucifer due to symbolism.

3. Christianity itself is the amalgamation of Judaism and pagan rituals.

4. It was the Roman Catholic Church (a Christian denomination or sub-group) that actually authorized and initiated the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade to the "New World" when in 1452, Pope Nicholas V set forth the papal bull Dum Diversas, giving Afonso V of Portugal the Vatican's permission to subject any and all "Saracens, pagans and any other unbelievers" to hereditary slavery. This approval of slavery was reaffirmed and extended in his Romanus Pontifex bull of 1455. This decree was reinforced by the Treaty of Tordesillas in 1494; giving Iberia dominion over the entire world despite whomever lived in places outside the peninsula prior to the arrival of colonists and missionaries.

I'll stop with the history lesson as that's not my ultimate intent. (Furthermore, I'd be astonished if Robertson even considers the Catholic Church to be a Christian entity.)

What my point was when I started this diatribe was that this kind of divisiveness is why I grew up really disliking organized religion. And while it may seem that I'm strictly vilifying Christianity, my disdain is across the board and doesn't just stop with the religions of Abraham. We've seen it throughout history across all ethnicities. People using their own "beliefs" to disenfranchise, discredit, discount and ultimately destroy others.

And it's often in the name of one god or umpteen (if there's a pantheon involved). And I always wonder how any man purports to know the inner workings of a god's thoughts. That is if gods even think and feel in the ways that we humans do. You see this underpins what I see to be one of the major fallacies in the school of thought that most organized religions adhere to... this belief that deities are human-like and that we're made in their image. We assign all these human attributes to them like love, anger, jealousy, rage, disdain, hope, disappointment, etc. How else could someone like Robertson theorize that God was so angry with Haiti for aligning itself with a dissident angel and decided to punish them with a 7.0 Richter-registering earthquake? That is, opposed to the phenomenon of tectonic plates moving and shifting on the ocean's floor?

What my point is that somewhere in our quest to gain understanding of who we are and why we're here (if there is indeed a why) and how... we've deduced that whatever divinely created us must be like us (not a novel idea since we even see it in science with the erroneous notion that Homo sapiens sapiens is the pinnacle of all life that ever evolved.. present or extinct, and even including other deceased human species/races... and often not considering that every life form is perfectly evolved to its specific niche and place in the grand scheme of the universe, or Earth on a micro scale). We anthropomorphize whatever made us into this being or beings that look like us, feel like us and think like us. Complete with all of our biases and prejudices, hubris and desires. We've even seen that people are audacious enough to assign aesthetic features that are dictated by geography and genders that come along with familial designations, such as father and/or mother.

Before you think me a blasphemous atheist, I must say... Yes. I am the former, but most certainly not the latter. I do have faith in something divine. I often look around and think to myself that this entire universe is too wondrous to just be happenstance. The intricacies of DNA, and alleles shutting off and on... That’s divine. However, what makes chaotic happenstance any less divine if that's what all resulted and continues to result from? Why must we think that some humanoid-like being is the progenitor of all this? Maybe the divinity is all of creation itself.

I think we always try to put creation in human terms, because it's too unfathomable for us. It's like trying to really and truly wrap one's head around the Big Bang. If the Big Bang created all of space/time, then... well, um... where and when did the Big Bang itself take place?

I'm not saying we should just meander about aimlessly due to what might be happenstance. I guess what I wish is that we'd all would just be cognizant of the fact that as men and women we'll probably never have any real insight or true grasp of the universe and all its majesty... and that to really understand it all, we'd probably have to transcend what makes us human, our humanity. I think if all of us in had faith in that one notion, we all might be a little bit more empathetic to one another... despite our backgrounds... as we'd realize we're all in this... ignorance, waiting to be enlightened, the dark or whatever you'd like to call it... together. Maybe this is something we may all want to work on as we train for life.

Until next we meet, true believers.

Have You Ever Heard of the Janjaweed?

2008-12-30T18:00:00.000-08:00

Prior to watching The Devil Came On Horseback neither had I? Granted, I'm not living under some obscure rock on a desserted isle. I was well aware of the atrocities occuring right this very instant in Darfur, Sudan. Alas, though... I'd no idea just how hideous and sysetmatic this genocide really was. I'd no idea that the bands of monsters dispatched by the Sudanes government had a specific name. The Janjaweed.

The Janjaweed consists of groups of Northern Sudanese peoples who are descended from Arabic tribes. Specifically, they are paid by their bretheren who mostly make up the government to eradicate the black Sudanese peoples living in the nation's southern region.

This is not simple eviction. It's the total defilement and degradation of communities. Men are beaten and humiliated and murdered by being set on fire. Women are raped repeatedly. Often gang-raped and beaten. Women as old as eighty. Women... no, actually girls... as young as six face the same fate. Often contracting STIs and/or HIV and subsequently ostracized by their own Islamic communities for having sex outside of marriage. Children have their eyes gourged out, while still alive.

The aforementioned are only examples of what I saw in this documentary. I felt incensed, heartbroken, nauseous and hopeless all at the same time. How on Earth could people do this to others? Moreover, with no provocation save for differences in phenotypic features. (You see, it's not even due to religion... often the excuse use for barbarism from what I've learned in my lifetime of reading and experience, because the inhabitants of the south are mostly Islamic, like their "brothers" in the north.)

One specific scene really got to me where an older man told the film makers that he felt the U.S. was their only hope. He was shattered by the fact that this genocide was being undertaken by his "brothers," and that so many of the other nations that share his faith continue to turn blind eyes. And though many of you know my stance on organized religion, this is not a diatribe against Islam. It's actually a condemnation of humankind, if we let this continue.

The U.S. is we all know tends to have a hero complex. However, I'm always astounded by the fact said complex tends to discriminate or only apply conveniently. Here we actually have other human beings begging for a help. Their plight has been evidenced by numerous sources. What do we do? We continue to spend lives, money, time and other resources on "policing" a nation that we should not be interfering with. Damn. The fucking people of that nation don't even want us there. That's why random insurgents are blowing 19 year old American troops to smithereens every day or 19 year old American troops are blowing Iraqi civilians to kingdom come. You get my drift.

I don't condone gratuitous violence, but if there are any pieces of shit out there that do need to be blown the fuck up, it's the Janjaweed and the Sudanese government that hires them to kill its innocent citizens.

For more info and if you'd like to help:

Gangway!

2008-08-25T10:13:00.000-07:00

I must tell you what bees in my bonnet, people on the bridges can be. On both Wednesday and Thursday, I was involved in collisions. All, because people don't follow road etiquette.

I start with the worst offender. As I rode across the Brooklyn Bridge (which I try to avoid due to the overabundance of idiotic tourists and imbecilic locals) midday to meet V yesterday at Body Elite, I spy this woman riding in the opposite direction as me. We're both in the dedicated, bike lane. However, she's riding uphill while I'm coming down. Now every Tom, Dick and Harry... and every Suzie Q knows that you veer to the right. Hence, the phrase, "RIGHT of way." This lady though is pedaling slowly on the left... which coincidentally is MY RIGHT!

With all due respect, this lady was not in the best of shape and seemed to be taking her sweet time climbing the hill. I start signaling from many yards away (and yelling) for her to go right. She seemed to be ignoring me. As I'm making my descent and trying to slow down, she still is on the LEFT! Thus, to avoid collision... I veer to my left....which is her right (since she has never seemed to learn this vital etiquette).

Guess what? That's when Ms. Braniac decides to go right! Now at this point, a full head-on bang' em up crash is eminent. Being the magnanimous man that I am, my hear goes out to this poor, ignorant, portly creature... and I squeeze my breaks real hard and real tight to avoid ramming into her. This is when the world began to go in slow motion. I felt myself levitating off of my seat and propelling as if through water over my handle bars. I see her looking horrified and astonished all at once. I see myself ellipsing through the air and after reaching my peak... seeing myself going headfirst down toward the wooden planks. My only sentient thought at that moment was, "Damn. This is gonna hurt."

Snap. Bam. Slow motion suddenly turns to warp speed and I'm instinctively putting my hands forward to block my face. (Thank goodness I was wearing my Ironman™ Elite Model Cycling Gloves. Although, I did scrape my fingertips where nail meets flesh and they bled a good amount. Not to self: Invest in a pair of the full-fingered gloves.) I hit the ground really hard. And then, and then my head hit it too. (Thank goodness I always wear my helmet.) Then, the next thing I know... before I've gotten my wits about me, I feel... my bike which too flipped over... lands on my back. How embarrassing.

Ms. Braniac... still looking dumbfounded... exclaims, "OH, MY GOD! I'M SO SORRY!! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT! I'M SO SORRY. CAN I HELP? LET ME HELP?"

Me: I'm fine. Thanks.

Ms. Braniac: Are you sure? Let me help.

Me: Thanks, but no. You've done enough. [Getting up and surveying the damage to my person, and picking up my bike and realigning my chain] I'm okay. Really. Just some bruises, scrapes, scratches and a little blood. In the future, though... you should really stick to the right.

Braniac: I'm so sorry! I was trying to go to the right, but was having a hard time and couldn't quite get there.

Me: Okay. Well, I'm off. Thanks. Bye. [I wave and speed off to my appointment]

A lesson for you all, dear readers... be alert and weary when traversing these roads and bridges. I won't even dignify Wednesday's collision with a full account. Let's just say, I was rollerblading and another fool decides to try to get on the dedicated pedestrian side with his old bike. He saw me coming off the ramp and refused to stop coming up... as I sped down. His front tire met my skate blade. My skate blade won. As I skated away, he was cursing to himself and trying to bend the tires metal frame back into shape.