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He lay awake, eyes shut tight, wishing sleep would overtake him. But
when his mania reached a fever pitch, he felt his body vibrating with
a nervous energy. He tossed and turned, wrestling clutches of bed
sheets back and forth. He began to wonder if this was what soldiers
experienced on the eve of battle; if it was this deafening calmness
that kept them up or if it was the looming torrent of chaos that
awaited them on the other side of the evening. His ruminations rattled
incessantly like a marble in a glass jar. He tried his best to focus
on the task at hand, but the vibrations his mind exerted only
exacerbated the prattling thoughts, pulling sleep just out of his
grasp. As racing thoughts jockeyed for position at the forefront of
his consciousness, he began to reason with himself. Perhaps, he
thought, if I can isolate each thought and chew it until it's tender
enough to swallow, I'll be able to sleep. But as he entered the fray,
he found that he couldn't out-pace his own mind. In an almost
reflexive fashion, his thoughts bobbed and weaved like a prize
fighter, avoiding any reasoning he might attack with. And as his mind
counter-attacked, striking him with tirelessly random thoughts from
what seemed like all directions, his consciousness and any hopes he
had of peace that evening were dashed. Eyes braced tightly, he turned
his head from one side to the other on his pillow, seemingly reeling
from the unyielding onslaught his manic ruminations had pressed upon
him.

Henry Ward Beecher once said that "one's greatest success comes after
their greatest disappointments". Is disappointment a failure of some
sort? I think it's an apt description, considering some cosmic gear of
the universe has to fail a being's hope in order for that person to
experience disappointment. So there it is:  Disappointment, then is
the failure of hope. And in the realm of Mr. Beecher's notion, it is
through our greatest defeats, our greatest successes are realized.
Whether it's by way of perseverance or some other means of will,
disappointment makes us stronger humans. I think disappointment is one
of those rites of passage as a human being. Just like up needs down,
we wouldn't hold on so dearly to hope if we had never been
disappointed in our lives. And of course, the painful irony there is
that while disappointment fuels hope, it also discourages it at the
same time. Disappointment fosters fear, making hope that much more a
difficult concept to grasp. So I guess in the end, disappointment
tempers the will of a man, challenging him to live his life without
fear.

For those lucky few of you that are living in slightly cooler climes this summer may not need this post as much as the rest of us from the South.  But I still think you'll dig this. 

It's not even officially summer yet, and I've been sweating my balls off on a consistent basis (true story:  It's been quite laborious trying to track down my balls every time I sweat them off).  This Houston humidity is no joke.  I usually like to listen to hip-hop or rap during the sunny months since it matches my mood--more upbeat, more excitable, etc.  But this time around, I don't know.  I've recently posted that it's officially okay for us to start listening to hip-hop again, and while I still stand by that, this summer just seems too hot throw your hands in the air and get buck wild.  Wouldn't your rather just sit back, relax, and groove with the opposite sex this summer?  It's hotter than Satan's taint out there, and dammit, we need something cool to keep the temperature down.  We need comfortable grooves, relaxed beats, and catchy lyrics.  Dammit, we need R&B.  Here are a few joints to keep cool this summer. 

Best for the morning:
Chris Brown - First Day of Spring
Simplistic drums, a repetitive guitar riff, and Chris Brown's signature style.  Do you really need much more for a successful R&B song?  There really is no stopping this guy.  He could record nothing but him farting on a track and it would sell.

Best for the afternoon:
Lloyd ft. The Dream - I Need Love
Sweeping synths in the background, a trotting bassline, and The Inc.'s hottest artist (Sorry, Ja).  If Chris Brown wasn't doing his thing right now, Lloyd would be alone at the top.  While the lyrics are a little bit meloncholy, the beat exudes a easiness guaranteed to keep you cool during mid-day.

And for that evening drive home:
Ne-Yo - Set It Off
The one thing I've always liked about Ne-Yo is that he always maintains some sense of maturity in his music.  He's not afraid to his lady know his intentions, but he still keeps it tasteful.  The bassline here can best be described as whimsical, while the synth keyboard keep the melody exciting.

Honorable mention:
Dwele - I'm Cheatin'
Alright, the content isn't the happiest of topics, but the beat is still nice.  It's the perfect down-tempo R&B song--It doesn't make you want to clap your hands, and that's evident from the first second.  Just snap your fingers and enjoy the rhythm, dammit.  Dwele's Sketches of a Man is in stores now.  

Ya'll stay cool.

Five weeks. He was five weeks in and he had done nothing short of
completely changing his life for the better. It was one of those turn
arounds where the term "complete 180" would be a gross understatement.
He was the underdog. He was the guy you wanted to see succeed. He was
the type of guy you wanted to see beat the odds. His was the case that
made you want to put forth more effort than you normally would. And
while you might get discouraged by the occasional set back, you
persevered because he was worth it. And when he finally got it--when
he saw that light at the end of the tunnel--you felt like it was more
than just his victory. It was yours, too. And the final time you shook
his hand you knew and believed in your heart that his life was going
to be different--better--and you had some small, nearly insignificant
impact on that. So when you received word that he had gone back to
that place in his life he had fought so hard to avoid, you were
crushed, to say the least. All of your efforts were for naught. In one
fell swoop, everything you had thought you accomplished was dashed
away. As a result, you looked back at everything you've ever done in
this capacity and a strange insignificance settles in the pit of your
stomach. And while you pray that he gets back up and gets the second
chance he so rightly deserves, there's that nagging bit in your heart
that knows you WERE his second chance.

So what do you do? You remember and do better, leaving nothing to
chance. Never again.

To me, there are two types of noise.  There's the physical noise around us: the sounds with tangible origins.  Then there is the noise we create within ourselves.  Blocking out the former is simply a task of relocating yourself or covering that sound with something more pleasant.  To quiet the latter, though, is a much more difficult task.  When that cacophony of negative self-talk, ruminations, and insecurities gets riled up, it's very difficult to quell the aural assault.  It's enough to make you deaf to any other sounds.  But there are ways.  Deep breathing.  Journaling.  Talking about it.  Meditation.  The list is nearly exhaustive.  But to me, there has to be some subconscious reason that people DON'T want to quiet those noises.  Maybe, deep down, some part of them knows that when you strip all the noise down.  When you get rid of all this unnecessary mental baggage, you're just left with yourself: bare, naked, ugly, as mundane as you've always feared yourself of being.  And for most of us, the truth of what and who we are is much more terrible than the noise we create for ourselves.  So we pile it on.  Work, family, relationships, school, religion, emotions.  We focus our attention on these noises so that we don't have to listen to that solemn truth deep inside of us, reminding us of our true selves.  And the obvious irony there is that if we could just learn to exploit that painful veracity buried deep within us, all of these other noises in our personal lives would (and please forgive the pun) become harmonious.  We often focus on the external, thinking we can somehow affect change without focusing on ourselves.  The irony there is that if we diverted as much energy on ourselves that we did on everything else, we'd see that our relationship with ourselves directly effects our relationship with all of these other noises.  If you learn to have a deep, truthful, meaningful relationship with yourself, you'll learn to have a deep, truthful, meaningful relationship with others.  Work, family, relatioships, school, religion, emotions.  Rather than look for the answers, just close your eyes and listen to the answers your mind keeps telling you every minute of every day.

Ok, I know it's not some huge revelation that no friendship is easy, but the same can be said about water being wet.  You don't really realize just how wet water is until someone pours it on your crotch.  Trust me.  The same realization holds true for friendships.  Most of us don't realize how fragile our friendships are until the very foundation of those relationships are disturbed.  And like all crises in life--major or minor--the manner in which we handle these disturbances dictates the future of that relationship.  From what I've found, if you look at these situations as opportunities for growth and maturation, both sides have a better chance of coming out of the altercation more content with the outcome.

If you're willing to put in the necessary effort to maintain the friendship (there are always different things that dictate how much effort is necessary) these things are also easier to handle and process.  But by far, the most effective thing someone can do to maintain a healthy friendship is also the easiest: Honesty.  And this is actually true for pretty much every relationship we encounter.  If you're honest with the other part of the relationship, you really have nothing to hide, and therefore, have nothing... to... hide... Secrets undermine any good thing.  Anyone who's been burned by a lie, rumor, or other malicious secret can attest to this. 

But I think the most important thing to remember in a friendship is that it's never too late to be honest.  In an intimate relationship, admitting that you lied to your significant other can dig up a lot of unresolved issues and will be the proverbial can of worms.  The dynamics of a friendship are different, however, since there isn't as much of an emotional investment, allowing cooler heads to prevail.  As a result, it's easier for both people to talk through it rationally... usually. 

First off, this is Bun B, in case you don't know.  Now on with the story.

I was at Premium Goods, in Rice Village, just looking around when one of the girls that works there said "Hey, Bun, what up?"  I didn't really pay attention to it until I heard Bun speak.  You could tell it was him.  I was just waiting for him to start rapping.  So anyways, I try not to make a big deal out of it, while I begin to text people, "OmGz.  Bun B is in the same store as me!"  While I'm paying for a shirt, the girl that's checking me out (not checking me out in the "wants my body" sense) starts talking to Bun who's in line behind me.  She inquires if he's doing any shows anytime soon and he said he might hang out backstage at the Jay-Z/Mary J. Blige show coming this Thursday.  I turn and ask him if he knows about RZA coming to town.  He said he heard something about it, but it wasn't set in stone.  He asked how I knew about it and I said the internet.  Then he gave me a record deal and made me Pimp C's replacement.  Okay, maybe not, but if I had talked to him more, it could've happened.

Interesting things:
-Bun is short.  I'm a measly 5'7" and he was barely an inch or so taller than me.  Note to self:  Midget strippers and a wide-angle lens can do a lot for your image.
-He was walking around wearing a shirt dedicated to Pimp C, jeans, socks and sandals.  Only in the South is that attire acceptable.
-As I walked out of the store, I saw his Lexus LS.  Keys in the ignition, car still running, some obscure Screw Song jamming.  I know this is a waste of money, a waste of gas, and a danger to the environment.  But come on.  It's Bun B.

As the title implies, I've decided to re-blog on the advice of a friend.  This friend.  With nothing of any real substance to write about, I've decided to blog about some random things.  So, in no particular order:

1.  Aaliyah's "At Your Best (You Are Love)" is currently one of my all-time favorite remakes.  "At Your Best" was originally written, produced, and performed by the Isley Brothers.  In my humble opinion, if you're going to remake a song--and a classic one at that--you either need to somehow make it better than the original, make a faithful reproduction, or some combination of the two.  I think that's what we have here.  Check it.

2.  Digsby has made my life infinitely better.  As a geek, or at least a wannabe-nerd, I find it absolutely necessary to be ahead of the curve when it comes to geeky things.  Until now, my biggest bragging chip (I know the term is usually bargaining chip, but I couldn't think of anything else) was that I was on facebook, when it was still unpopular and only known to a handful of college students.  Now, I think I'm cool again because I use Digsby.  "But, Mike.  What is this 'Digsby' you speak of?"  I'm glad you asked.  Take your favorite instant messaging client (i.e., AOL Instant Messenger, Google Chat, MSN Live, Yahoo! Instant Messenger).  Cross-pollinate that with your preferred electronic mail service (i.e., GMail, Yahoo! Mail, remember Juno mail?).  Take the love baby of those two things and menage-a-trois it with any of your favorite social networking websites (Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, etc.).  What do you get?  Digsby.  Doesn't make sense?  It will. 

3.  Google Calendar will make you a better person.  Remember what Google did for the internet search engine?  Remember what Google then did for email?  They did the exact same thing with the calendar.  If you can't figure out how this thing can improve the quality of your life, then this is for you.

4.  Wine Bars will always be cooler than bars.  Sure it's fun to go out and get wild and rowdy and debauch all over someone's face every once in a while.  But I'm a grown ass man.  I can only do that about once a month.  Any more than that, and well... yeah.  (F.Y.I.  That isn't me.  True story.)  On top of that, wine bars like this one present the opportunity for decent conversation in an intimate setting, without the need to yell over the newest crappy song by 50 Cent.  Sidebar:  Wine bars have led to some of the funnier moments in my recent memory.  I ate a Milk-Bone and it tastes remarkably like oat bran cereal.  I spent most of the night watching some couple make out on and of for about 30 minutes.  I swear she was half a glass of Cabernet away from doing something illegal.  My friends and I then pondered who would be the first to put the proverbial quarter on the screen (obscure reference, I know, but you should get it.).  I learned that the iPhone does everything... including tracking your menses.  My friend fell into a ditch while trying to get out of a car.  Plus, I ate Jack in the Box tacos.  A night really doesn't get any better than that.  What happened at the cool kids club?  My friend almost got into a fight because some douche in a striped Express shirt with a white leather belt and matching white loafers bumped into him and wouldn't shut up.  What was I doing at the time?  That's right.  Drinking wine.

5.  You should use the word precarious at least once this week.  Try this one out for starters:  "Should I have the Pinot Noir or the Cabernet?  This is quite the precarious situation."  See how sophisticated you sound?  And in a wine bar, no less.  Now all you need to do is learn some wine taster speak like "Mmm, this is a little spicy" or, "Ooh, the tannins haven't mellowed yet" or, "I can taste peaches."  You don't really have to know what those things mean; just say them and people will secretly be impressed by your vast knowledge of wine and your extravagant vernacular.  You're welcome.

Next Week:  Why gravity is overrated.

"Happiness is the journey."

By no stretch of the imagination can I be considered a journeyman.  I've been a few places, but I've yet to know the experience of living out of a suitcase.  The 'single serving' lifestyle is still foreign to me.  No matter where I've gone, I've always come home. 

And for the longest time, I felt cursed.  I felt as if I had never lived.  "There's so much I have yet to do!  I've wasted my life!"  I look back in my naivety and see nearly 18 years in institutionalized education, only to fall in line with the rest of the populous throwing their wages at FICA.  And in this ignorance, I mistakenly look back on my 23 years here and scoff:  "Life?  What life have you lived?  What adventures have you had?  What journeys have you taken?"

This, of course, leads to the inevitably unique brand of self-loathing I can only administer on myself when the wind is just right.  That, in turn, is followed by some good old-fashioned drowning of my sorrows in whichever inebriation is closest to my face.  Can you blame me?

Every single one of my closest friends has moved to the other side of the country, or in one case, the other side of the world.  And though I admire and am truly, deeply proud for them, I can't help but feel envious that I didn't afford myself the same opportunities.  Self-doubt is a dangerous weapon.  But in looking at where their individual paths have taken them, I have found that the journey of a few inches can have more breadth and depth than the trek of a hundred miles.

At this, the twilight of my youth (I'm allowed to be melodramatic.  Shut up.), I can't help but take stock of the hundreds of inches I've traveled en route to now.  We've all braved these inches.  And although these minuscule ticks on the ruler seemed inconsequential, insignificant at the time, they are each as important a journey in your life as your own birth.

Consider the infant who learns to crawl, plodding along the carpet, inch by inch.  A baby crawled an inch.  So what?  Now consider the paraplegic giving every ounce of his being, every fiber of his humanity if only it meant his big toe would twitch.  Not merely curl, not wiggle.  Just twitch.  Who can doubt that either act took some herculean effort on both parts to achieve that one inch. 

I see the same with life.  I haven't traveled to many exotic destinations.  But I've gone to Vegas on a whim and gotten drunk in San Francisco with my best friends.  I haven't had any heart-pounding adventures.  But I've encountered velociraptors on a hiking trail in Austin (true story.).  Besides Brockton, MA, I haven't lived anywhere outside of Austin or Houston.  But I can safely say I've journeyed further in 23 years than most people do in their entire lives. 

As I look ahead to the journey to come, I glance back over the millions of journeys--inches--I've traversed with a great sigh of relief.  A sigh, that even though I don't have any badges of courage or merits of valor, I do have the calloused feet and hands of a friend who showed courage when he was called upon to be the shoulder to cry on.  I have the wrinkles at the corners of my eyes that merit a good sense of humor--even at my own expense.  (And there is that embossed piece of cardstock with my name on it I have filed under a pile of year-old mail)

And as I look ahead of me:  It's just one inch; one step; one foot; and I've got millions of miles left to go.