INCREASE-DECREASE

RIP Biggie

Yesterday I went out to grab my piece of sunshine pie here in NYC. Everyone was out, draped in their coolest rags, biggest alien eyewear, oversized duffles, iced coffee, iphones and blackberries clicking and clacking, high heels clicking and clacking and stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to light a smoke. Street vendors selling what mama taught them to make, and lunch best served outside. Happening. Alive in all its grandeur and pretense. Perfection.

I stood on the corner of 14th and Broadway. Next to me was a lean, middle aged man, with no shirt on, bouncing around on his toes jabbing the air, right hooking the wind. He was jabbering some sort of…jabber, but didn’t strike me as insane. He just seemed focused. It was clear he was training, or at least just having a hearty workout.

Without warning, the man bounced into the middle of the street, turned his back the way of the traffic, and started to sprint backwards, down Broadway. Down Broadway! One of the busiest streets in the city!
(Imagine the game, Frogger, but Frogger’s a shirtless, black man.)

He glanced back occasionally, as he dodged and ran between honking cars, blindly, missing their sideview mirrors by millimeters. It was all happening so fluidly, so effortlessly. By the time my trance was broken I realized everyone was watching him, cringing as he cavalierly risked his life.

But for him, it was just training. The sort of absurd action it takes to get better. The type of blind faith necessary to achieve in the midst of obstacles. The development of a sixth sense, and an intuition to be the best.

I don’t know if this is what he was thinking. He was running so fast, there was no way for me to ask him. Not to mention he may have punched me in the face in an intense, instinctive, blackout moment.

But I’d like to believe that’s what he would’ve said. (But who knows, he might’ve just been nuts!)

Last night, a dear friend sat with me, over shrimp and grits. We laughed and reminisced about college and how life is so different 6 years removed from college pond life, where every fish is big enough.

The conversation, of course, spiraled into the “if I knew then” euphemisms and “real life is an ocean” cliches.

But that’s not what this is about.

This is about how funny it was to envision Jason and I at 16 and 18 years old. Just the way we looked is laughable enough!

I wore converse all-stars (back when no one was wearing them.) I had them in every color and thought it was cool to match them with a random thrift store t- shirt and a different handmade, crocheted hat, EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Griffin wore suits, complete with snake skin boots (and he had a pair of blue gators), hat, and cane. He also used to perm his hair! So he had a massive faux fro, with curly red tendrils, each gelled into position.

I can’t wait for our E! True Hollywood Story.

Two people sat on the three seater. One on the right. One on the left. No one in the middle.
An old lady comes and squeezes into the middle seat. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.
The lady on the left makes a terrible face. I mean, a ferocious grimace. Then, she gets up, and moves to the end of the train.

My thoughts: the old lady who sat in the middle must’ve smelled like poo poo.

Awwww.

(Dedicated to the old lady on the F train. I love you, even though you BOOMshakalaked in your pants.)

Okay, so like I said the other day, Griffin has been busy. Not only has he been working on some special Reynolds & Griffin stuff for yall, but he’s also been preparing for this huge art fair, Fountain NY.

But I caught up with the red-head rascal to interview him before the fair. (Lucky me.)

R- So, Jason, Fountain NY is finally here. I know you’ve been working tirelessly to finish all the new paintings, and we’ve, of course, talked about how excited you are about where your art is going, and how you finally feel like you’ve truly come into your own. But at a huge art fair like this, is there any apprehension that creeps its way into your psyche?

G-…

R- Okay. Uh. I’ll take that interesting face you’re making as a “no.”

G- It’s my game face.

R- Oh. (Ahem) Well, I know that Scope Art Fair is also going on in the city, and apparently it’s a bit more “caviar,” where as Fountain is known for being stripped down, and void of any frou frou. Is the “black tie art scene” something you are interested in one day participating in?

G-…

R- Wow. You really aren’t going to answer. Must be in the zone. Well is there anything you want to say?!

G- It’s on a boat.

R- This interview is over.

Fountain NY, tonight, March 5th, 7pm-Midnight, Pier 66 at 26th St and the West Side Hwy…on a boat.

Griffin will be there. Boomshakalaking all over the place.

Artist’s mantra.
Applicable to all other creative humans.
And aliens…of course.

R&G

1.) Sunflower seeds actually taste like nothing. It’s the shell that has the flavor. They should be packaged as “Barbecue Sunflower Seed Shells.” Or “Lightly Salted Sunflower…”

2.) When Sunflower seeds are dehulled with the mouth (which is the most common way of eating them) the face suddenly bares a strange resemblance to that of a crack addict.

3.) Dehulling them with your fingers is dumb. They’re not peanuts.

On another note:

4.) They do actually grow into sunflowers. Can you imagine beautiful sunflowers growing in the bellies of children?

Dedicated to the girl on the A train. 

1. I got an email from a buddy of mine who told me that he was planning to pray for people everyday, and that it was our turn.

2. I got a text message from another buddy of mine, who informed me that he was thinking about starting his own business. Without giving too much away, it involves fried turkey legs. I laughed. Hard.

Then I thought about it.

3. Today, I will be praying for him. And his turkey legs.  May the world know their sweet flavor.

Oh, and October.

Sike, naw.