tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59950796144479264582024-02-07T07:51:20.185-05:00Kenny's Camera, Cooking & Crazy ConfessionsI say the kinds of things that kept me out of the really GOOD colleges.
Welcome to my madness. Hope you stay awhile...Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-29562318151209465742019-10-13T11:30:00.000-04:002019-10-13T11:30:40.870-04:00Make That Change!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizrgtCV8v-qMgHG7Pb9YExD0nO-VnT1CE_3b2SuT0z9gjcnqBttMk1Ay_5k8UKM7geYV6GKKHJ_LXr6jB6ZSCeVd47ERFNjhFmJlkpbEHr5kMjfG9GkEppVieyEUo72B21RJYCUTP7CF_y/s1600/BlandHiddenFlyinglemur-size_restricted.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="326" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizrgtCV8v-qMgHG7Pb9YExD0nO-VnT1CE_3b2SuT0z9gjcnqBttMk1Ay_5k8UKM7geYV6GKKHJ_LXr6jB6ZSCeVd47ERFNjhFmJlkpbEHr5kMjfG9GkEppVieyEUo72B21RJYCUTP7CF_y/s400/BlandHiddenFlyinglemur-size_restricted.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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This morning I was listening to "Man In The Mirror" and it reminded me to remind <u><b>you</b></u> to MAKE THAT CHANGE! Well, have you? Have you signed up for my new blog page yet? I'm planning to shut it down on this page by the end of October.<br />
<br />
If you haven't already done so, go <a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/" target="_blank">HERE</a> to
sign up (at the bottom) to receive blog notifications of future posts. When I upgrade
to the premium version, I'll send everyone a formal email invitation for the
official site (name may change). <br />
<br />
In the meantime, here are my three latest posts on WordPress, in case you haven't seen them...<br />
<ol>
<li><a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/2019/10/04/you-know-youre-a-real-80s-florida-am-rattler-when/" target="_blank">You Know You're A Real (80s) Florida A&M Rattler When...</a></li>
<li><a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/2019/10/04/kennys-kitchen-zoots-pressure-cooker-ribs/" target="_blank">Kenny's Kitchen: Zoot's Pressure Cooker Ribs</a></li>
<li><a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/2019/10/11/kennys-kitchen-zoots-tackle-taco-salad/" target="_blank">Kenny''s Kitchen: Zoot's Tackle (Taco) Salad</a></li>
</ol>
So come on over because the party's already started and it's only going to get crazier, but you all already know that about me....<br />
<br />
Love you!<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
...make that change. </div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi6l9O6YSuP_-xatNkxfP3lNprfgT4G0_PPdRrlooXaLb-QXXqsQMgICqFILHPNRQo1VP82yrlmetQTW2SbTc1lzII0YwyAhPEDCDn1-UxbPCPHn88cuKCstgshFDoTbnMxn8cjB5laRKh/s1600/maninthemirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="515" data-original-width="1500" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi6l9O6YSuP_-xatNkxfP3lNprfgT4G0_PPdRrlooXaLb-QXXqsQMgICqFILHPNRQo1VP82yrlmetQTW2SbTc1lzII0YwyAhPEDCDn1-UxbPCPHn88cuKCstgshFDoTbnMxn8cjB5laRKh/s400/maninthemirror.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-5643000707194169952019-09-28T17:23:00.001-04:002019-09-28T17:23:38.775-04:00Kenny’s Kitchen: Zoot’s Crockpot Ham(bone) and Beans<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAUFnGs6s2LiLWKFruCHzEVzqUZFGhVy4qB_OUgDTTHiFV3xqSaFWtXaasz-ryybq4KAr5ue-Ndc5B8hBa1AFQP2nszTjrpZrOBqA26lXgGRV9i07oVnJPJqbQ1s7Exjpx7tDOP6J6Bn_/s1600/Hambone+%2526+Beans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAUFnGs6s2LiLWKFruCHzEVzqUZFGhVy4qB_OUgDTTHiFV3xqSaFWtXaasz-ryybq4KAr5ue-Ndc5B8hBa1AFQP2nszTjrpZrOBqA26lXgGRV9i07oVnJPJqbQ1s7Exjpx7tDOP6J6Bn_/s400/Hambone+%2526+Beans.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
I'm on a new site!<br />
<br />
If you haven't already done so, go <a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/" target="_blank">HERE </a>to
sign up (at the bottom) to receive blog notifications of future posts. When I upgrade
to the premium version, I'll send everyone a formal email invitation for the
official site (name may change). <br />
<br />
Click below for my
latest post which illustrates how Jharrel Jerome won his well-deserved
Emmy Award for his performance (It will take a little longer to load,
due to the many Gifs contained within, so be patient. It will all be
worth it!)<br />
<br />
<a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/2019/09/27/zoots-crockpot-hambone-and-beans/" target="_blank">Kenny's Kitchen: Zoot's Crockpot Ham(bone) and Beans</a>Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-10628945402798112262019-09-25T13:45:00.002-04:002019-09-25T13:46:12.206-04:00 Jharrel Jerome: The Emmy-Winning Portrayal Of Korey Wise In "When They See Us"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ8GGBTimdDQuUYtoMkuHhE6ZEsL1Kp0DuCBnh4bmZV46JEzUFYpC0qR-xhOaKv9hAX5KKCnKlpPKSl8OLawUThO9XQ3P_EgBrIlAGQgNuny96GVSAvKQJy_BrVKYbaDfaONu2EzARVCOy/s1600/JJ-Mom.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="600" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ8GGBTimdDQuUYtoMkuHhE6ZEsL1Kp0DuCBnh4bmZV46JEzUFYpC0qR-xhOaKv9hAX5KKCnKlpPKSl8OLawUThO9XQ3P_EgBrIlAGQgNuny96GVSAvKQJy_BrVKYbaDfaONu2EzARVCOy/s400/JJ-Mom.gif" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I'm on a new site!<br />
<br />
If you haven't already done so, go <a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/" target="_blank">HERE </a>to
sign up (at the bottom) to receive blog notifications of future posts. When I upgrade
to the premium version, I'll send everyone a formal email invitation for the
official site (name may change). <br />
<br />
Click below for my latest post which illustrates how Jharrel Jerome won his well-deserved Emmy Award for his performance (It will take a little longer to load, due to the many Gifs contained within, so be patient. It will all be worth it!)<br />
<a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/2019/09/25/jharrel-jerome-the-emmy-winning-portrayal-of-korey-wise-in-when-they-see-us/" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<b><a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/2019/09/25/jharrel-jerome-the-emmy-winning-portrayal-of-korey-wise-in-when-they-see-us/" target="_blank">Jharrel Jerome: The Emmy-Winning Portrayal Of Korey Wise In "When They See Us"</a></b><br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-78418671851740271842019-09-23T10:07:00.000-04:002019-09-23T10:07:47.174-04:0010 Unrecognized, Unforgettable Performances In Movies<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjf3KCKkFdDV1vw-5bJOpYzXNte2eP9TkNQS2uZaE_2YiMSf_BXPPwY02i9lWcFdzXQOYgggaG-XVnLhzsykYAjs1Up-Far1LZx78wTRcaIazRvxCrkfg9aR4YeJmpnSCn5qKDo169rmK/s1600/tumblr_lov2ipfZKT1qm59nro1_400.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="197" data-original-width="350" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjf3KCKkFdDV1vw-5bJOpYzXNte2eP9TkNQS2uZaE_2YiMSf_BXPPwY02i9lWcFdzXQOYgggaG-XVnLhzsykYAjs1Up-Far1LZx78wTRcaIazRvxCrkfg9aR4YeJmpnSCn5qKDo169rmK/s400/tumblr_lov2ipfZKT1qm59nro1_400.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm on a new blog site! For today's post, click here for my list of "<a href="http://kennyzoot.home.blog/2019/09/23/10-unrecognized-unforgettable-performances-in-movies/" target="_blank">10 Unrecognized, Unforgettable Performances In Movies</a>". Time to show some move to those supporting cast members that stole the show with one scene!<br />
<br />Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-38307069220205391832019-09-21T09:55:00.003-04:002019-09-21T09:55:48.540-04:00September: The Consummate Composition (Never Was A Cloudy Day)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFyNmQ8c80qOHYo-oMYB2ATOn6i7Gg5BSRoS_eg_ainZIwb6qlw4olZ_leCejcbTzrd_BqA1HnKtpRe6g4M8l_-4jk1FC8aLoTyRN0LASBsbuj52Je8e8q8n8LRB05WHtkg6GCPpoEGebo/s1600/AnotherJubilantCutworm-size_restricted.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="289" data-original-width="377" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFyNmQ8c80qOHYo-oMYB2ATOn6i7Gg5BSRoS_eg_ainZIwb6qlw4olZ_leCejcbTzrd_BqA1HnKtpRe6g4M8l_-4jk1FC8aLoTyRN0LASBsbuj52Je8e8q8n8LRB05WHtkg6GCPpoEGebo/s400/AnotherJubilantCutworm-size_restricted.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Attn: Family, Friends and other Faithful Followers!</b><br />
<br />
I am now using <b>WordPress.com</b> for my Blog posts under the same name.<br />
Hopefully you've seen the announcement.<br />
<br />
Once I've set up my own domain, I will have a grand opening, but you can access it now. <br />
Today's Post (click the link): <a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/2019/09/21/september-the-consummate-composition-never-was-a-cloudy-day/" target="_blank">September: The Consummate Composition (Never Was A Cloudy Day)</a> <br />
<br />
I
really appreciate the love and support you've given me since this blog
page's debut and hope you continue to <a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/" target="_blank">follow me here</a>. Trust me, it's a
better looking site and format.<br />
<br />
Love you all!<br />
<br />
Kenny<br />
<br />Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-23909885705828376592019-09-14T16:48:00.000-04:002019-09-14T16:48:23.546-04:00Thunder And Lightning, Not So Frightening. Thanks, Mom. Dad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSz4mOcQnozvcFbiC1Y29D2L9cFYG2L07EjMKzyEsog6JHNO0RN0x2pxuJykhPcqof6x5nMK1Zb1G4v9Ucx_Yf-jxEXFBkcr2efuR_3-5fGYMTCfuryUznB7rrReaJ7IkozK3m1080joX/s1600/Lightning.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="279" data-original-width="498" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSz4mOcQnozvcFbiC1Y29D2L9cFYG2L07EjMKzyEsog6JHNO0RN0x2pxuJykhPcqof6x5nMK1Zb1G4v9Ucx_Yf-jxEXFBkcr2efuR_3-5fGYMTCfuryUznB7rrReaJ7IkozK3m1080joX/s400/Lightning.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Attn: Family, Friends and other Faithful Followers!</b><br />
<br />
I am now using <b>WordPress.com</b> for my Blog posts under the same name.<br />
Hopefully you've seen the announcement.<br />
<br />
Once I've set up my own domain, I will have a grand opening, but you can access it now. <br />
Today's Post (click the link): <a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/2019/09/14/thunder-and-lightning-not-so-frightening-thanks-mom-dad/" target="_blank">"Thunder And Lightning, Not So Frightening. Thanks, Mom. Dad"</a> <br />
<br />I
really appreciate the love and support you've given me since this blog
page's debut and hope you continue to <a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/" target="_blank">follow me here</a>. Trust me, it's a
better looking site and format.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Love you all!<br />
<br />
Kenny<br />
<br />Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-82202839979443798582019-09-13T14:00:00.004-04:002019-09-13T14:00:59.064-04:00Kenny's Kitchen: Zoot's Sweetball Sub<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogHvp3rlAv5HtIJ61fHq_ltuqL1Siyxy9RG3B3RmqCo5-zZJX1KQUrNuKCQJXTH4EYAVW8RhoGEphcQV6osUvAMkNYKd0_VYt6hyphenhyphenhvdN1ugJkIN-GbTLyibVuD0QeE-irFIXTVarTbKgy/s1600/zoots-sweetball-sub-e6b7bf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="1080" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogHvp3rlAv5HtIJ61fHq_ltuqL1Siyxy9RG3B3RmqCo5-zZJX1KQUrNuKCQJXTH4EYAVW8RhoGEphcQV6osUvAMkNYKd0_VYt6hyphenhyphenhvdN1ugJkIN-GbTLyibVuD0QeE-irFIXTVarTbKgy/s400/zoots-sweetball-sub-e6b7bf.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Attn: Family, Friends and other Faithful Followers!</b><br />
<br />
I am now using <b>WordPress.com</b> for my Blog posts under the same name.<br />
Hopefully you've seen the announcement.<br />
<br />
Once I've set up my own domain, I will have a grand opening, but you can access it now. <br />
For today's post of my Tailgate Recipe <b>"Zoot's Sweetball Subs"</b> please <b><a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/2019/09/13/kennys-kitchen-zoots-sweetball-sub/" target="_blank">click this link.</a></b><br />
<br />
I
really appreciate the love and support you've given me since this blog
page's debut and hope you continue to <a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/" target="_blank">follow me here</a>. Trust me, it's a
better looking site and format.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Love you all!<br />
<br />
Kenny<br />
<br />Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-53598368305119113232019-09-07T11:59:00.003-04:002019-09-07T11:59:48.004-04:00Cameradventures: My First Music Video Shoots<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVdSLzYy-3kzUNBdm7G0RWomKLVpHeiiDh9R6QLOeL0SH7wfQd4PNCk_1SjgXPeyT5M6mIZt6WCP8Fco_ZIylCKwAlP6EpraJB0uqywy5wkdJqyUlb5lMARzPsA6JZNQXrspBkJ46a8J3/s1600/Radikal+1471.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVdSLzYy-3kzUNBdm7G0RWomKLVpHeiiDh9R6QLOeL0SH7wfQd4PNCk_1SjgXPeyT5M6mIZt6WCP8Fco_ZIylCKwAlP6EpraJB0uqywy5wkdJqyUlb5lMARzPsA6JZNQXrspBkJ46a8J3/s400/Radikal+1471.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Attn: Family, Friends and other Faithful Followers!</b><br />
<br />
I have begun using <b>WordPress.com</b> for my Blog posts under the same name. <br />
Hopefully you've seen the announcement.<br />
Once I've set up my own domain, I will have a grand opening, but you can access it now. <br />
For today's post about my exciting experience at my first professional music video shoot, please <b><a href="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/2019/09/07/cameradventures-on-the-set-of-my-first-music-video-shoot/" target="_blank">click this link</a></b>.<br />
<br />
I really appreciate the love and support you've given me since this blog page's debut and hope you continue to follow me here. Trust me, it's a better looking site and format.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Love you all!<br />
<br />
Kenny<br /><br />Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-24131241910148242892019-09-06T08:46:00.003-04:002019-09-06T08:47:40.300-04:00Kenny's Kitchen: Oven Baked TacosWelcome back for another grillicious meal from Kenny’s Kitchen! I
hope you’ve finally cleared enough space in your stomach from last
week’s CrockPot Pizza Casserole.<br />
<br />
This week we’re going to satisfy the appetites of those of you that
enjoy “Taco Tuesday” every week. But we’re going to bump it up a few
days so you can enjoy it for your tailgate parties on Saturday &
Sunday. I don’t know about you, but I’m so glad the NFL is back!<br />
<br />
Who’s ready to eat?<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Oven Baked Tacos</b></div>
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<figure class="aligncenter is-resized" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-620" data-attachment-id="620" data-comments-opened="1" data-image-description="" data-image-meta="{"aperture":"0","credit":"","camera":"","caption":"","created_timestamp":"0","copyright":"","focal_length":"0","iso":"0","shutter_speed":"0","title":"","orientation":"0"}" data-image-title="36cd790c926ca766b74e453f8cec9214.jpg" data-large-file="https://kennyzoothome.files.wordpress.com/2019/09/36cd790c926ca766b74e453f8cec9214.jpg?w=640" data-medium-file="https://kennyzoothome.files.wordpress.com/2019/09/36cd790c926ca766b74e453f8cec9214.jpg?w=300" data-orig-file="https://kennyzoothome.files.wordpress.com/2019/09/36cd790c926ca766b74e453f8cec9214.jpg" data-orig-size="960,960" data-permalink="https://kennyzoot.home.blog/2019/09/06/kennys-kitchen-oven-baked-tacos/36cd790c926ca766b74e453f8cec9214/" height="520" src="https://kennyzoothome.files.wordpress.com/2019/09/36cd790c926ca766b74e453f8cec9214.jpg" width="520" /><figcaption>Taco Bell? What’s Taco Bell???</figcaption></figure><br />
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This simple recipe is for all you guys who want to impress your crew, but don’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen.<br />
<b>INGREDIENTS:</b><br />
<ul>
<li>2 pounds Ground Beef</li>
<li>1 can Refried Beans</li>
<li>8 ounces Tomato Sauce</li>
<li>3 packaged Taco Seasoning</li>
<li>1 1/2 cups Shredded Cheese</li>
<li>20 Taco Shells</li>
</ul>
<b>INSTRUCTIONS:</b><br />
1. Brown ground beef and drain off any fat. <br />
2. Stir in Refried Beans, Tomato Sauce and Seasoning. Bring to a simmer and mix well.<br />
3.
Remove from heat. Spoon meat mixture into Taco Shells (fill shell
about 1/4 to 1/3 full, to leave room for cheese and toppings), standing
them up in a 9×13 pan as you go.<br />
<i>Be careful not to break the shells</i>.<br />
4. Tuck a couple of tablespoons of Shredded Cheese into each filled Taco.<br />
5. Bake at 400 degrees for 10-12 minutes, or until heated through and just starting to brown.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Note:</b> You can add toppings such as lettuce, diced tomatoes, sour cream, avocado, cilantro, guacamole, etc.</i><br />
<br />
And that’s it! <br />
<i>That’s IT?</i> <br />
That’s <b>IT</b>! Tasty tacos made easy, guaranteed to satisfy…<br />
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<b>Next Week: Crockpot “Sweetball” (Meatball) Subs!</b></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>ANNOUNCEMENT: I'm switching sites and will be closing this site soon. For the moment, I'm posting on both blogs. <a href="https://wordpress.com/view/kennyzoot.home.blog" target="_blank">Go to the new page</a> and sign up for the email list! </b></div>
<br />
<i>Let me know how it all works out and if you tried/suggest any modifications. <br />There is no perfect meal and everyone has a great idea!<br />Let me know if there’s a recipe you’d like for any meal I’ve posted on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/zoot580/">social media</a>.<br />…and don’t forget to subscribe to my page and share it with others!</i>Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-18775567921104401252019-09-01T00:20:00.000-04:002019-09-01T00:29:10.162-04:00EOM Check-In: Health Update (Sep 1)Man, you all have no idea how glad I am to get out of August and begin anew. Not that the turning of a calendar page makes a whole helluva difference where my health is concerned, but psychologically, it's just what the doctor ordered.<br />
<br />
August was a series of misfires, putting it mildly. My back went out on 3 different occasions, without warning, all but crippling me for 2-4 days each time. If you've been following my misadventures, you might remember that this began when I got in the path of a distraught woman that jumped off of a rooftop back in December. I don't complain about that though. I'd do it again and again.<br />
<br />
The first knee replacement continues to trouble me as well. So much so, it locked up on me and I ended up falling down the lower half of my stairs. This led to me having to forfeit a maternity photo shoot to another photographer. I tried to walk a few days after, but that only complicated things. I should be getting a formal evaluation in a few weeks. Worst case scenario, they'll have to cut me open and make modifications to the "new" part. <i>God, I hope not.</i> I'd have to go through the recovery process all over again.<br />
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Finally, just last week, I mistakenly spilled a ladle full of scalding hot broth, fresh out of the pressure cooker, onto my left hand. <i>Break out the burn gel.</i><br />
<br />
I'm not accident prone, but for the most part, 2019 really hasn't been my year. <br />
<br />
In the end, all of my plans for August went south and I got in a record low amount of gym time. I don't believe in excuses, but it is what it is.<br />
<br />
End result: 2 lbs lost.<br />
<br />
I'd call that a small victory, but it feels like failure since I had such high hopes (and knowing I lost 20 lbs in July). But I'll get back on track. I have to. I intend to go roller skating before the year ends.<br />
<br />
In better news, I'm in a better headspace nowadays and believe me, that's a good thing. <i>If the main computer ain't functioning, the machine parts operate ineffectively.</i><br />
<br />
So that's it. No new plans. Just me, getting back on track. If you saw my "Rocky Balboa" movie post of inspiration, you know what I'm doing: I'm identifying what I don't have, what I have and making the most of it. I'm building... .<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
...those hurtin' BOMBS!!!</div>
<br />
Check it out here.<br />
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See you next month!<br />
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Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-75838044911980233862019-08-16T06:49:00.000-04:002019-08-16T10:50:50.010-04:00The Jukebox Room<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>The Jukebox Room</b></div>
<br />
It was a Saturday night in the Davis house, circa 1976. Everyone was in the Jukebox Room, laughing, cheering, singing and dancing to "Swing Your Daddy" by Jim Gilstrap. Yes, you read that correctly, <i>The Jukebox Room</i>. My father actually went out and got a jukebox from someone (or some business) and moved it into the family recreation room (formerly an unused bedroom because my two brothers and I loved sharing the same room. Of course, when my brothers grew leg hair, we all wanted our own beds and rooms). He positioned the jukebox within the recesses of the closet, of which he'd already removed the collapsible doors to make it fit. It was that old 60s-70s model that had the decorative vertical pipes at the bottom front with the half-dome glass cover on top that you slowly, carefully flipped up and back to change out the 45 records.<br />
<br />
And that's where it sat, for years, even when I claimed the room for my high school bedroom. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczErazJJ4Wy52h8POtRJwvuCyNAmdDwRkoZfaUMZPEX_weIc7ccfZviJeAAhy2b41d1ieJgtiDCi1y5ySj8otVEBXr_67PqhyphenhyphenYA492NRC30_psPSutFc4oBeGnMM-i8ZORW4WMO7Jte99/s1600/M100C_14_w72.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="831" data-original-width="576" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczErazJJ4Wy52h8POtRJwvuCyNAmdDwRkoZfaUMZPEX_weIc7ccfZviJeAAhy2b41d1ieJgtiDCi1y5ySj8otVEBXr_67PqhyphenhyphenYA492NRC30_psPSutFc4oBeGnMM-i8ZORW4WMO7Jte99/s400/M100C_14_w72.jpg" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The exact model. WOW! The Memories...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When he first got it, he had it rewired so that you didn't have to deposit any quarters. All you had to do was turn it on and press the corresponding letter and number of the desired song (I loved the hard "click" feeling and sound the buttons made), then watch it slide along the bridge to retrieve and play your song. We put quarters in it anyway, because it served as a halfway decent money bank.<br />
<br />
All of the records in the slots matched the title cards on the front display. I remember the songs and the pictures of the record labels vividly:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><i>Hues Corporation - Rock The Boat</i></li>
<li><i>Temptations - Just My Imagination</i></li>
<li><i>Dukays - Please Help</i></li>
<li><i>Arthur Conley - God Bless</i></li>
<li><i>Jackson 5 - Sugar Daddy</i></li>
<li><i>War - Low Rider </i></li>
</ul>
<br />
If you gave me enough time I could probably recall about 50% of them. In fact, we played them so much that I remember all the B-sides.<br />
<br />
Above the machine, resting on the upper shelf of the "closet" were endless 45s, neatly stacked from end to end. Dad's 45-rpm record collection was immense! It could be found atop the closet and in various places throughout that and other rooms. He began collecting when he was young, purchasing music every time he got paid from wherever he worked. Singles, albums and 8-tracks. We played the full albums as well, but not as often. Probably because we had to use the "hi-fi" stereo in the living room. Not as much fun. I preferred scratching up the folding lid's surface with my Hot Wheels cars (well, I didn't PREFER it, but that and the resulting whoopin' are another story).<br />
<br />
Eventually we put all of the 45s through the tray rotation. We just had to remember what was what because we didn't
have the matching labels. If we couldn't remember, we just let the jukebox
play continuously, song-to-song, until he yelled for us to turn it down or off. But this was why we young'uns knew so much material from the 50s-60s-70s. <br />
<br />
One day, he brought out the latest issue of Jet Magazine and pointed to the "Top 20 Singles" list in the back and had each of us kids pick a song. I picked "Hotline" by The Sylvers. Denise selected "Sir Duke" by Stevie Wonder. Craig picked "Ha Cha Cha" by Brass Construction. I forget Terry's choice. Anyway, dad later went out and bought each one, adding them to the collection. <br />
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<br />
Every payday he continued his old practice. We did this until we got
old enough to buy our own stuff. My first personal record purchase was
"Take Your Time (Do It Right)" by The SOS Band.<br />
<br />
But I digress. Let me get back to the story, which I'm sure you forgot about...<br />
<br />
Everyone was having a glorious time, cheering each other on as we took turns dancing through the "soul train" line in pairs. There was my mother and father, Aunt Dee, Uncle Bill, cousins Gary and John/"Pot" and of course, my sister and two brothers.<br />
<br />
Being a typical jukebox, it was capable of reaching some serious decibel levels and we often cranked it up enough to be heard by passersby outside, as well as the neighbors. But nobody minded. They often came over and joined us. The Davis house was the party place for everyone in the area.<br />
<br />
The "Davis Train Line" was so much fun that I can't possibly put it into words. Just picture a group of jubilant black folk crowned with afros, buckwheat braids, cornrows and wigs; wearing dashikis, disco shirts, hot-ass turtle necks & corduroy pants, bell-bottoms and high-heeled shoes or Buster Brown suede shoes. All of us adorned with mood rings and necklaces with interchangeable Zodiac pendants (even the kids got to wear them). The room quickly filled with the combined heat of the jukebox and twirling bodies as the smell of sweat, perfume and incense enveloped and intoxicated all.<br />
<br />
<i>Open the damn window!</i><br />
<br />
Denise impressed everybody with her perfect exhibition of "The Washing Machine" as I boogied alongside her with my customized version of "The Robot". Those were our specialties. Craig usually brought the house down with breath-stealing laughter when he jumped up and attempted to land in the split position. He never got it quite right, sometimes illustrating that the only true split he could conjure would be in the crotch of his pants, but it was cool. We were out of our "school" clothes and in our "play" clothes.<br />
<br />
No one had a care in the world. All we did was dance, sing, hug, kiss and love.<br />
<br />
And after we applauded each other in recognition of a "funky good time", we all enjoyed Kentucky Fried Chicken or Iggy's Pizza as Aunt Dee and Uncle Bill stepped outside to enjoy a cigarette and cold beer, respectively.<br />
<br />
That was life back then. Music and family.<br />
<br />
Well, dad, Aunt Dee, Uncle Bill and "Pot" have since been called home to glory, as has the old jukebox. We Davis kids are now Davis <i>parents </i>and spread out around the Midwest, but the memories remain intact - preserved, cherished and shared with our own children.<br />
<br />
Much as I try to recreate the magic nowadays, it doesn't quite have that luster of yesteryear. The faces have changed, the food tastes depressingly different, the clothes are more moderate, the neighbors across the street will call the police for noise ordinance infractions and the crispety-crunchety-crackle of the needle on the record is now the silent transition from one mp3 track to the next, unless we make a mix on the computer.<br />
<br />
But that doesn't stop us from trying.<br />
<br />
Music and the Davis family go hand-in-hand.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
...so we never stop dancing.</div>
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<i>Like what you read? Leave a comment and subscribe to my blog!</i><br />
<i>Feel free to spread the word by sharing with those who can benefit from this.</i><br />
<i>Let me know if there's any particular subject that you'd like me to cover in future posts!</i>Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-65262955530544744562019-08-14T14:40:00.002-04:002019-08-20T10:36:26.464-04:00Message From Us Grown Folk: Back To School<div class="_5pbx userContent _3ds9 _3576" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-testid="post_message" id="js_2tz">
Thanks to everyone for your suggestions for new and future blog posts. One in particular, I've been considering for quite
some time.<br />
<br />
Back in 2012, I started the <b>"...and now, a Message From Us Grown Folk"</b>
series, trying to give these clueless "yung'uns" some kind of awareness about
life, because they too often exhibit the lack of it. It was well
received, as people admitted to finding almost every post applicable to their
respective situations. Some were written out of frustration &/or disbelief at things my boys did, some from based on things I heard about their classmates or worse, have seen in the news. Regrettably, a few posts were inspired by some of the madness my friends and I created back in the 80s. We're all guilty on some level because hey, we were all kids at some point.<br />
<br />
I haven't done them very much in recent years
and was surprised that people noticed that the frequency had dwindled,
so the requests to put them in blog format were enough to seal the deal and spark their return.<br />
<br />
As
I post these, I'll stir some of the original posts in this skillet
for the benefit of my newer FB followers and the Blog Bunch. And right now, I can think of no better way to kick it off than by offering a thought for the back-to-school bunch.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
...so without further ado... </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b>...annnnnnnd NOW, a Message From "Us Grown Folk":</b></div>
<br />
<i>(Modified from the original August 27, 2012 post)</i><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0J_UQ7rrGdni0jDglbNpT3AlHhFLnfoGUjuQieOe2iPF68KsrqbgRxgXKU7qEl-0DfrJEXyfkjf87cOpFkLZU68CDZSklq1xoh70rhZ36WT5Sawgocv85Qc6F2qmpuPt74xEYRA4SaZI8/s1600/school-feature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="650" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0J_UQ7rrGdni0jDglbNpT3AlHhFLnfoGUjuQieOe2iPF68KsrqbgRxgXKU7qEl-0DfrJEXyfkjf87cOpFkLZU68CDZSklq1xoh70rhZ36WT5Sawgocv85Qc6F2qmpuPt74xEYRA4SaZI8/s400/school-feature.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Young'uns- <br />
The new school year has begun... <br />
<br />
As your mother tearfully hands you that brown paper bag with your sandwich,
chips and snack cake, I'm sure you feel the pain you see in her face as she hugs and kisses you, knowing
her darling baby(ies) are exiting the home, leaving her all alone for 8 harrowing hours.<br />
<br />
Wait. Stop.<br />
I'm sorry. I can't even type this with a straight face... ...change-up... ...starting again...<br />
<br />
Take 2 (CLAP!)<br />
<br />
Young'uns!<br />
<br />
Let me get raw with you demon spawn...<br />
<br />
When you get home from school, grab the movie "The Wiz" off of the DVD rack, pop it in, go to the menu and pull up "Scene Selections". Go to the
end, when they're performing "Everybody Rejoice (Can You Feel A Brand
New Day)" and watch the dancing and celebrating, CLOSELY. Yeah, that's
what your parents did. Hell, I was at work doing cartwheels in the middle of a factory, and I'm the SAFETY DIRECTOR! We are soooooo
happy that you lazy, complaining, butt-funky, non-cleaning, ever-eating, grandparent hip-fracturing, furniture-breaking, table-scratching, vegetable-regurgitating, toilet-clogging, headache-inducing, sleep-depriving locusts are out
of the house! And that look of pain I referenced earlier? That only
happens when you RETURN! We love you, but we don't LIKE you!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
...and we never WILL, as long as you live here! </div>
<br />
Please note... there will be one MORE look of anguish, but I promise it won't come from us.<br />
Mess around and come home with a bad note from the teacher this year. See if we don't get some upper-body cardio in, particularly in one arm (the other will be the stabilizing arm, holding you still).<br />
You figure it out.<br />
<br />
We went through it in this house from 1997 - 2017.<br />
30 (censored) YEARS!!!<br />
<br />
So trust me when I say this because I'm speaking from experience.<br />
<br />
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<br />
And one last thing: If you think we missed the fact you didn't get one stomach ache all summer long, you're wrong. Watch and see what happens when you claim you have one in the next 9 months.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
...here endeth the lesson.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Share it with a friend...</div>
<br />
<br />
Want more of my rabid ranting? Check out these blog posts:<br />
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/08/10-things-you-should-stop-doing-to-your.html" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/08/10-things-you-should-stop-doing-to-your.html" target="_blank">10 Things You Should Stop Doing To Your Kids</a><br />
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/08/10-road-rage-rationalizations-dont-look.html" target="_blank">10 Road Rage Rationalizations (Don't Look So Surprised)</a><br />
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/03/10-reasons-why-this-world-could-use.html" target="_blank">10 Reasons Why The World Could Use An Enema</a><br />
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/01/10-things-i-hate-about-people-in-sports.html" target="_blank">10 Things I Hate About (People In) Sports (Pt 1)</a><br />
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/01/10-things-i-hate-about-people-in-sports_26.html" target="_blank">10 Things I Hate About (People In) Sports (Pt 2)</a><br />
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/02/my-10-commandments-as-photographer.html" target="_blank">My 10 Commandments As A Photographer</a><br />
<br />
<i>Like what you read? Leave a comment!</i><br />
<i>And feel free to subscribe and spread the word.</i><br />
<i>Let me know if there's any particular subject that you'd like me to cover in future posts! </i></div>
Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-60081098161443875772019-08-11T12:26:00.001-04:002019-08-11T12:26:30.502-04:0010 Things You Should Stop Doing To Your KidsFor years, I posted a series on Facebook called, "And Now, Another Message From Us Grown Folk...", in attempts to give these ignorant kids of today a clue or two. To us adults, especially us parents, it seems that these kids just don't get it, no matter how much you pray for "common sense" to prevail, where former/ongoing instructions SHOULD have (thinking about it, I should take some of those old posts and put them here).<br />
<br />
But this ain't about correcting the kids. This one is FOR the chillun', to YOU ADULTS, who've got these poor souls spinning around in circles in hapless confusion. So please pay close attention and take heed because remember, these are the people who will someday have drivers' licenses and choose the location of your retirement home (cause they AIN'T lettin' you stay with THEM)...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>10 Things You Should Stop Doing To Your Kids</b></u></div>
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<i>Note: Some of these examples will include personal experiences that resulted in disciplinary action because of my response(s). Keep in mind that my parents were not physically abusive in the least. They were old school. They were real. If you grew up in a similar setting, you'll understand...</i><br />
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1. <b>Calling our children unnecessarily</b> - Nothing irritated me more than hearing my father call my name through the living room window. We lived on the corner, diagonally from the city park and so I had no excuse for not hearing him while in the middle of an intensive basketball game. You also had a default time of 30 seconds to report (10, if already inside the house), so I often found myself trotting across the street and walking in the door, drenched in perspiration while replying, "Yes, Sir?"<br />
<br />
"Get me a glass of water."<br />
Even today, as a grown man, I can't even bring myself to put my subsequent thoughts in print... ...and he's been gone for almost 20 years. Next item...<br />
<br />
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2. <b>Definitive answers (more for the moms and yes, I'm generalizing)</b> - It kills my kids when they ask their mother for permission to do something as simple as go outside and play and she gives them everything EXCEPT an answer. What she WOULD give them is a list of complaints about what they did and didn't do and how she can't get any rest at night because they won't be quiet. Of course, after 5 minutes of ranting, there's a good 2 minutes of silence. Naturally, they ask the original question again, only to get yelled at for bothering her. On behalf of my boys, "Answer the doggone question, woman!"<br />
<br />
This also applies to non-answers when a child first addresses you. "Momma" (no answer).<br />
"Momma" (no answer)<br />
"Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy..." "WHAT?!?!?"<br />
Don't get mad, YOU set that one up.<br />
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3. <b>Learn to just say, "no"</b> - Eddie Murphy may have been the first to publicly "say" it, but he was merely echoing the sentiment that millions of children are UNABLE to say for eons. If you have no intentions of buying food from a fast food restaurant, please stop replying with "I can make that at home!" You can't. When you DO, it's a cosmetic (and sometimes gustatory) disaster, looking and tasting absolutely nothing like the item of request. Not contributing towards the grocery bill, they have no right to determine what you make, but please stop complaining and comparing.<br />
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4. <b>Keep your secrets in your room</b> - My high school buddies came home with me one evening and we all took seats on the couch and floor in the living room in front of the television without turning on the main room light. My buddy Pete immediately reached underneath himself and yelled, "What the hell? ("WTF" was probably his thought, but our generation was astute enough to remember our surroundings)"<br />
<br />
Right on cue, my mother silently power-walked into the living room, grabbed her wig, put it on her head, then vanished as quickly as she had appeared.<br />
<br />
Not a word was said by anyone present and the event has been stricken from public record. <br />
<br />
5. <b>Check your attire</b> - While we're on the subject of appearance, be conscious about what you don before leaving the house and more importantly, coming to see your children. Want to know how many of these sociopathological killers are born? Show up at your kid's school with your dress tucked in the back of your panty hose. Guys, you ain't exempt. Slippers, black dress socks, denim shorts and dingy tank tops ain't makin' your child popular for the right reasons.<br />
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6. <b>Keep up with the times</b> - Urban colloquialisms change, frequently and rapidly. I once mentioned that one of my kid's male friends had gained a large amount of weight. I said, "______________ is getting THICK!" Back in <i>my </i>day, being "thick" applied to chunky/husky kids. Not today. "Thick" ONLY applies to fleshy (in a good way), curvaceous girls. You all can imagine the response I got from my boys, saying that about a young man.<br />
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7. <b>Not EVERY child is destined for greatness</b> - Joe Jackson's persistence eventually paid off on a global scale, having created the Jackson dynasty. So did Venus & Serena's father. But this doesn't work for everybody and not ever child is interested. Dragging your child, kicking and screaming, back and forth to piano lessons, modeling auditions and T-Ball practice often results in embarrassment and resentment. Listen to your children. If they want to play the tuba, feed and support their dream. If they lose interest, it's on them and they can never say you didn't believe in the. Just stop forcing it on them. The percentage of children that quit youth sports, never to play again, is staggering. And speaking as a coach, it's highly likely that the only professional stadium activity your child will see is from the seats. Stop asking me to give your child 100% playing time. Other parents paid the same fees and will get substantial playing time. And by the way...<br />
<br />
He sucks. No, he really SUCKS!<br />
<br />
8. <b>Kids take things LITERALLY. Keep that in mind</b> - My father once told me to change a light bulb in a lamp. I was probably 8 or 9 years old. After changing it, I walked back to his room and asked what to do with it. Believe it or not, I had the wherewithal to always consider hazard potential, even as a young kid. In my unspoken assessment, I knew that a bulb would very likely break in the trash and someone might cut themselves if they had to reach in and retrieve something else (probably why I became a Safety Director). <br />
<br />
He told me to stick it in my ear. <br />
<br />
In a poor attempt to be funny, I put it in my ear and started to screw it in, only to sustain a serious laceration that bled profusely. <br />
<br />
His reply?<br />
<br />
"Ignorant niggah! (yes, the n-word), you ain't got the sense God gave a BILLY GOAT!"<br />
<i>A billy goat dude? Really? You're comparing my intelligence, or the lack thereof, to farm animals???</i><br />
<br />
9. <b>Punishing children en masse</b> - As is for children, I teach supervisors that discipline should be (1) immediate, (2) explained and (3) consistent. But definitely try to restrict it to the guilty parties. Punishing suspects as a group can cause serious problems, especially when it results in corporal punishment. For starters, the innocent may secretly throw a "blanket party" for the guilty party after you leave (I hope that wasn't your ultimate goal, because you'll have to explain that to a homicide detective someday). I know, I know - sometimes, that's the only recourse. I've been known to (quoting Thanos in "Avengers: Endgame") "rain fire" on a few occasions. Just make you consider all options before hitting the "smart bomb". <br />
<br />
I remember one time my father decided that everybody had to die. I was stupid enough to scream out, in the middle of the <i>Group Behavioral Correction Session</i> (in case Child Services reads this, but it's too late anyway), "Why we all gotta get a whoopin' 'cause YOU can't figure out who did it?"<br />
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That GUARANTEED me a second and more dedicated session. Of greater length and magnitude...<br />
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Last, but not least (even though I may do 10 more another day)...<br />
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10. <b>Provide a Plan "B"!</b> - This was more applicable to us children of the 70s, before cell phones. Here's another real-life example. Follow closely: <br />
<br />
My father sent me to the store for <b>Hormel Chili WITH Beans</b> (and yes, it had to be Hormel brand). They didn't have it, so I came home without it. His reply? "Boy, why didn't you get the <b>Chili WITHOUT Beans</b>? You ain't got the sense God gave a BILLY GOAT!"<br />
<br />
<i>There's that livestock reference again... </i><br />
<br />
On a different day, he sent me for the same thing and I ran into the same problem. Instead of purchasing a different brand, I got the alternative as he had previously instructed - Hormel Chili WITHOUT Beans. <br />
His reply? <br />
<br />
"Boy, if they don't have what I told you to get, don't get NUTHIN'! I swear, you ain't got the sense-"<br />
"I KNOW, I KNOW...", I foolishly and frustratingly interrupted, "God gave a BILLY GOAT!"<br />
"Oh, you think this is FUNNY?" he angrily asked as he unbuckled his belt.<br />
<br />
I have no recollection of what happened next. It's blocked from memory.<br />
I'll give another list of 10 things to stop doing someday, when those other experiences resurface.<br />
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See you next time... </div>
<br />
Want more of my rabid ranting? Check out these blog posts:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/08/10-road-rage-rationalizations-dont-look.html" target="_blank">10 Road Rage Rationalizations (Don't Look So Surprised)</a><br />
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/03/10-reasons-why-this-world-could-use.html" target="_blank">10 Reasons Why The World Could Use An Enema</a><br />
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/01/10-things-i-hate-about-people-in-sports.html" target="_blank">10 Things I Hate About (People In) Sports (Pt 1)</a><br />
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/01/10-things-i-hate-about-people-in-sports_26.html" target="_blank">10 Things I Hate About (People In) Sports (Pt 2)</a><br />
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/02/my-10-commandments-as-photographer.html" target="_blank">My 10 Commandments As A Photographer</a><br />
<br />
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<i>And feel free to subscribe and spread the word.</i><br />
<i>Let me know if there's any particular subject that you'd like me to cover in future posts! </i></div>
Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-22326875389881704452019-08-03T15:12:00.002-04:002019-08-03T17:52:28.465-04:0010 Road Rage Rationalizations (Don't Look So Surprised)Ok, I haven't gone on a tirade for quite some time, so I think you all need a reminder that I don't have time or patience for nonsense. This time, I'm literally <i>takin' it to the streets</i> (anybody humming The Doobie Brothers, yet?). Anyway, let's skip past my usual extended intros and <strike>dive </strike>DRIVE right into the actions that bring about my wrath. Time for some Internet Interstate Insanity, with a little help from Tracie Thoms (warning, pictures serve as movie spoilers from "Deathproof", but since that was 2007, I've more than exceeded the 5-year statute of limitations - so HUSH).<br>
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<u><b>10 Road Rage Rationalizations (Don't Look So Surprised)</b></u></div>
<ol>
<li><b>Littering while driving.</b> Every 2 to 3 weeks, there's a pile of scattered trash on my road to the highway. I'm sure it's the same bottom feeder every time and I hope you get caught by the police and back-charged for every unsolved incident in the past! I'll never forget the day I was riding behind a car on the highway and noticed this fireworks explosion of airborne liquid that landed on my windshield. This punk mutha-(you know the rest) threw his drink out of his window!!! I sped up alongside him and gestured towards my windshield. Don't you know this corroded mudflap of a human being made an "oops" face while shrugging his shoulders, then started LAUGHING? I slowed down, then circled back around to his right side and threw my vanilla shake through his passenger side window. Wrong? Yes. Dangerous? Probably. Illegal? Absolutely. Satisfying? Not really. I lost my shake. I was praying he'd do something, but no. He got off on the next exit, undoubtedly to clean the drink off of himself. Sorry, Jesus. Satan won that round. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-GEy2-kD7xasj7lcAd6wpv9DasaZZoVfpxQ_KAZSmcqe5_qtDxUvQjChDMpYdG5Y4YtRrekRgWVWUiCqkeg0BEU5yIHlIcqT1yeBMjMxZ6lUNAzSPYMDG-9xEmUHXPiRVIBfeaBwg9OMt/s1600/Tracie.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="228" data-original-width="500" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-GEy2-kD7xasj7lcAd6wpv9DasaZZoVfpxQ_KAZSmcqe5_qtDxUvQjChDMpYdG5Y4YtRrekRgWVWUiCqkeg0BEU5yIHlIcqT1yeBMjMxZ6lUNAzSPYMDG-9xEmUHXPiRVIBfeaBwg9OMt/s640/Tracie.gif" width="640"></a></div>
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<li><b><b>Bobbing and weaving.</b> </b>Some of you are like kids going to the
cafeteria line. Is it really necessary for you to navigate through
traffic like a pinball, ricocheting between bumpers down the ramp? Wherever it is you're
going, the place will still be there when you arrive. And if you're
late, don't put others at risk because <i>you </i>poorly planned your
schedule or went lazily about it. If you had any idea how many
accidents are caused by... No, let me continue. I'll leave the stats
to the DOT. Suffice it to say, if you're doing it for fun, stop. Just stop.<b> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9bDtkC7eXB67Fag3mrr27WM-6IkEZjnTWj3ehtOqg65S9WLY0Ygkr_slcjOwvil3X1HUb2WCMruQPkIZt_70FTSmBeppVtUatKFz19F0Rvu-Qvy1ZpxXSR8s_uoa7u7b5KhbPQulJKNK/s1600/007DPF_Tracie_Thoms_015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="363" data-original-width="723" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9bDtkC7eXB67Fag3mrr27WM-6IkEZjnTWj3ehtOqg65S9WLY0Ygkr_slcjOwvil3X1HUb2WCMruQPkIZt_70FTSmBeppVtUatKFz19F0Rvu-Qvy1ZpxXSR8s_uoa7u7b5KhbPQulJKNK/s400/007DPF_Tracie_Thoms_015.jpg" width="400"></a></div>
</b></li>
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<li><b>Texting while driving. </b>I have this excellent training video called, "Driven To Distraction" that illustrates the dangers of engaging in activity that can lead to accidents. Texting is my favorite and most irritating. Simple math for you cretins: If you're driving through a residential area at 25 mph, that's 36.7 fps (feet per second). Just two seconds of glancing at a text can move you 70+ feet. Can't visualize that? Think 12 yards on a football field. Now add reaction and stop time after you hit that brake for the child/animal in your path. Will you stop in time? Now, if you're on the highway, 70 mph = 102.7 fps. 3 seconds is a doggone football field! What happens when you try to stop THEN? Get off the damn PHONE! If I get rear-ended at an intersection and see you in the rearview mirror, putting your cell phone down, I PROMISE you, that's yo' ass! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZu9N73YWqy8gWfwMD33tu-nwdCYY2cooVUAcSn5LOrrn0FGgXTpUv0QIh0HurUyx8it5tKuFnvh4Srok-RK1r59gcE8QIuqtgrc1izBECKnUmOoyJeukd0zyejRukBx3QBxqVbnZicmiN/s1600/007DPF_Rosario_Dawson_016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="794" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZu9N73YWqy8gWfwMD33tu-nwdCYY2cooVUAcSn5LOrrn0FGgXTpUv0QIh0HurUyx8it5tKuFnvh4Srok-RK1r59gcE8QIuqtgrc1izBECKnUmOoyJeukd0zyejRukBx3QBxqVbnZicmiN/s400/007DPF_Rosario_Dawson_016.jpg" width="400"></a></div>
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</b></li>
<li><b>Texting/Reading at intersections.</b> Ooooooh, do you want to get me apocalyptic-ally unapologetically apoplectic with rage? Be in front of me in the turning lane at a red light and start reading and texting on your phone. News flash, you WILL miss the signal change, prompting people behind you to honk their horns. What happens next? Everyone behind you gets delayed and I (always ME) end up the one getting caught at the red light because you held up everybody else!!! I swear, if I manage to catch you further down the road. Wait. Let me stop. Putting anything in print changes the charge to premeditated murder.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</li>
<li>While we're on intersections, what about <b>running red lights</b>? Anyone with traffic sense knows the there is time-delay between a light turning red and the adjacent light turning green. This is to protect people from driving out into intersections and getting bulldozed from the side by someone who tried to beat the red Believe it or not, people, yellow does not mean "speed up". It means prepare to stop, but to be safest, stop. I know no one does it and to them, yellow is just an antecedent to floor it, but trust me, it ain't safe. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLeG4rAuwURyLFmQwdZFOeHQaOiGfHIgsJ2X3hNCekNASp569Qvmic6WdJFjhYnCFZC4NnqRFENNTU-joxZRodXewrxmk8a5S66-ExLbQPgQzFrnNlu6WXSBuMmpktFQ_iIC-j8iGugMi/s1600/007DPF_Tracie_Thoms_014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="769" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLeG4rAuwURyLFmQwdZFOeHQaOiGfHIgsJ2X3hNCekNASp569Qvmic6WdJFjhYnCFZC4NnqRFENNTU-joxZRodXewrxmk8a5S66-ExLbQPgQzFrnNlu6WXSBuMmpktFQ_iIC-j8iGugMi/s400/007DPF_Tracie_Thoms_014.jpg" width="400"></a></div>
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</li>
<li><b>Following the leader.</b> Same as crossing traffic in my previous point, but this time, it's all of those people who WEREN'T in the intersection, CLEARING the intersection to turn. You know DAMN well you weren't in the intersection, so why am I seeing 6 or 7 cars still turning after the light has changed? And where are the cops during all of this? Y'all got me for making a "rolling stop" at a stop sign, but you can't do anything about the 10-car caterpillar turning on a red? If you people truly knew what I was plotting in my wicked mind as I watched you pass...<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnuC0xxu5FkdxAIShphYNIYqoA1LzvsWEy7Q7bP_F5LVVBlXBPq1Gsk-pGxQC-7yMBou5VfoGTCXBMicAmzseHMVhwdrrYLFRXRT4nwjjr9xrGNJruvLqYzB52Yixln5Nf_8jA2CulJxa/s1600/06+Tracie+Thoms+as+Kim+Mathis.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="137" data-original-width="320" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnuC0xxu5FkdxAIShphYNIYqoA1LzvsWEy7Q7bP_F5LVVBlXBPq1Gsk-pGxQC-7yMBou5VfoGTCXBMicAmzseHMVhwdrrYLFRXRT4nwjjr9xrGNJruvLqYzB52Yixln5Nf_8jA2CulJxa/s400/06+Tracie+Thoms+as+Kim+Mathis.png" width="400"></a></div>
</li>
<li><b>Merging into one lane. </b>You've known for the past two miles that the lanes were merging for construction. You had ample opportunity to get over. Don't creep your ass all the way to the front and attempt to get over. I swear, if I have anything to say about it, you'll sit there, stuck, watching 80 cars pass by fast enough to keep you from merging. 'nuff said. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b></b></li>
<li><b>Merging into traffic. </b> When and if you're entering the highway, please
note that the speed limit you just left is NOT the speed at which WE'RE already driving. Chances are, you're going from 35 to 70. Please make it a point to
ac-ce-ler-ate and match our speed by the time you join the party. If
you pop out in front of me doing 40, you won't like how it all ends. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKvrdoL09r5COItGh18P7Srwnzid7nxtzWI1nkTQG3tUWGIIE8h_kibrNEC1mzZBR37XCE2Ne3XvOU9xOlzpxRjMviZOeSgd9d2CGitziemJz7ruIJry3yoFWl1CI1wHbcZyu7UqhWerIp/s1600/tumblr_nph0o3jnXV1qa62uio10_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="185" data-original-width="500" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKvrdoL09r5COItGh18P7Srwnzid7nxtzWI1nkTQG3tUWGIIE8h_kibrNEC1mzZBR37XCE2Ne3XvOU9xOlzpxRjMviZOeSgd9d2CGitziemJz7ruIJry3yoFWl1CI1wHbcZyu7UqhWerIp/s400/tumblr_nph0o3jnXV1qa62uio10_500.gif" width="400"></a></div>
</li>
<li><b>Staring while turning.</b> Since I'm stuck in the intersection, let's cover one more thing. If you're turning at the intersection, don't stare at me while you creep along your turn. Move your ass! Nothing to see here!! On second thought, go ahead and stare, if you're fine as wine and feeling me. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Fg24mzvzNKeFcLTDmgXXKVZ7yQCAqcyQnlP2Rm7L_05mkU4tI2623CqK1QW_jjk_Dvl2ZLsYLzfslSjnZUXsuclB82axC9wQ2-l6cQ0Edx5Ak0_B7SQBcibQc5Xrc6UqKHRmBq2zIIbL/s1600/MV5BYjg5NzAxZWItNzEyZS00YjMxLTgxYmItMWZlMGQ5NTE2MWU2XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNjAwODA4Mw%2540%2540._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Fg24mzvzNKeFcLTDmgXXKVZ7yQCAqcyQnlP2Rm7L_05mkU4tI2623CqK1QW_jjk_Dvl2ZLsYLzfslSjnZUXsuclB82axC9wQ2-l6cQ0Edx5Ak0_B7SQBcibQc5Xrc6UqKHRmBq2zIIbL/s400/MV5BYjg5NzAxZWItNzEyZS00YjMxLTgxYmItMWZlMGQ5NTE2MWU2XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNjAwODA4Mw%2540%2540._V1_.jpg" width="400"></a></div>
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</div>
</li>
<li>Last, but not least, <b>TAILGATING</b>! UGGGGGHHH!! 3-second rule, people (and even more during rain, ice and snow)!!! Is it really necessary for you to ride my bumper at 70 mph? If you want to go around me, go around! And worse, if you're going to change lanes, don't speed al the way up to car just to change lanes when you're damn-near IN their back seat. The lane you want to enter was clear the entire time. You could have switch half a mile ago! One day, you're going to ride up to someone and, just when you try to change, fail to realize that they had to slow down or break for something on the road ahead. Because you're dumb ass is looking at the lane you want to enter, you'll miss the brake lights or the vehicle slowing/stopping and run right into them. <br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</li>
</ol>
In conclusion, as I said in my title, <i>don't look so surprised</i> when people intentionally rear-end you out of frustration or worse, start shooting or follow you home and beat the baby poop out of you. I don't condone violence, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't willing to lay hands on folks for stupidity, inconsideration or neglect while driving. <b>You are NOT the only person on the road! </b><br>
<br>
So if any of you Crash Test Dummies put me or mine at risk because you don't understand the importance of driving responsibly...<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center;">
...well, you know...</div>
<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9SFTPPnJfGG-d9vFr5cdSC-s1zwy_JP-fRwQHPQKPpWqfO60vHahrYiMgpzlnj2wkdSKFS0JdmUdWWGknnDVmaqR6Yg-pSLAjpBPflhpJdg9gnpbqWK06ssCCiQ6K-WKEa1wyLN10R-m_/s1600/AngryGirls.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="195" data-original-width="480" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9SFTPPnJfGG-d9vFr5cdSC-s1zwy_JP-fRwQHPQKPpWqfO60vHahrYiMgpzlnj2wkdSKFS0JdmUdWWGknnDVmaqR6Yg-pSLAjpBPflhpJdg9gnpbqWK06ssCCiQ6K-WKEa1wyLN10R-m_/s640/AngryGirls.gif" width="640"></a></div>
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<br></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
...Don't look so surprised.</div>
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<br>
<i>Woosahhhh, buttermilk biyatch.</i></div>
<div><br></div><div><br></div><div><span style="font-family: sans-serif;">[Coming soon, "Fueled By Rage: Working Out Angry"]</span></div><div><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><br></span></div>Want more of my rabid ranting? Check out these blog posts:<br>
<br>
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/03/10-reasons-why-this-world-could-use.html" target="_blank">10 Reasons Why The World Could Use An Enema</a><br>
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/01/10-things-i-hate-about-people-in-sports.html" target="_blank">10 Things I Hate About (People In) Sports (Pt 1)</a><br>
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/01/10-things-i-hate-about-people-in-sports_26.html" target="_blank">10 Things I Hate About (People In) Sports (Pt 2)</a><br>
<a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/02/my-10-commandments-as-photographer.html" target="_blank">My 10 Commandments As A Photographer</a><br>
<br><br>
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<i>And feel free to subscribe and spread the word.</i></div>
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<br>Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-65306640373788543742019-08-01T09:06:00.000-04:002019-08-01T10:58:08.098-04:00EOM Check-In: Health Update (Aug 1)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxb5N81VR8oD31lwwaZ6DrKineLDOAuItoXATK6zVC3wXGosNf_vA9YxPmIocEg8KVRtWBukvjcn2XJDNnktRIEJIsJY9D3Y0eppNZd1qdV1u4kTLMwjRDAtPaQbK3RFi_jQKl_WvFzvUI/s1600/1ee06edb-baeb-4489-996b-b26f945124b0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxb5N81VR8oD31lwwaZ6DrKineLDOAuItoXATK6zVC3wXGosNf_vA9YxPmIocEg8KVRtWBukvjcn2XJDNnktRIEJIsJY9D3Y0eppNZd1qdV1u4kTLMwjRDAtPaQbK3RFi_jQKl_WvFzvUI/s400/1ee06edb-baeb-4489-996b-b26f945124b0.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
Boy, have I got news for this month's health check-in for the month of July!<br />
Let's get right to it (oh, and hello)...<br />
<br />
<br />
The new knee is performing very well, despite me not having full sensation on the outer right side of the shin (that will come back, in time). I still have
difficulty standing up from lower-seated positions like deep sofas, but that will also come in
time and with continued hard work. I started this month with a Grade 1 Calf Muscle tear, so it was
more about exercise through rehab. The doc said the "clicking" in my
knew knee parts would fix itself, but we still have to figure out all of
the grinding sensations in my OTHER replaced knee. They're supposed to last approximately 15 years before needing replacement and it's only been a little over 3. That won't stop me from "puttin' in work" though.<br />
<br />
I have to keep
reminding myself that I'm older, larger and weaker than I was when I had
the first knee replacement. But I'm not using that as an excuse. In
fact, I LIKE those odds. It's my body's way of telling me I can't do it
(and again, if you know me, you know not to tell me something like
that). I've lost 5 friends last month and I don't know my expiration date, but I won't take it laying down, you can best b'lee dat!<br />
<br />
The shoulder and back continue to give me problems, but we press on. My
vision has sadly gotten worse. No one knows why, so I continue to
struggle with blur and diminished brightness. Hopefully the doctors will figure it out. We'll see (pun intended). <br />
<br />
<br />
Ok, time to cheer you all up.<br />
July was about change... "Radical transformation". <br />
<br />
I introduced two new machines to my exercise routine: The Rowing Machine and the dreaded Seated Elliptical (trust me, ain't no joke with either ONE, ESPECIALLY when you customize the elliptical program for "Utter Madness").<br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
And for the home, I also got a 30" Adjustable Fitness Aerobic Step!</div>
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<br />
Did I mention that I RAN for the first time in over 10 years last month?<br />
End result with all the changes... You ready? (Drum Roll, pleeeeez)<br />
<br />
As of July 31, 11:59 p.m.... <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b><i>EXACTLY 20 POUNDS LOST IN JULY!!</i></b></u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Taking my bow and hoping to not pass gas.</i></div>
<br />
August brings one more "not so" new challenge. I'm going to reintroduce the Body For Life principles I learned from Bill Phillips' 12-month program about 15 years ago. It's going to be tougher, being in a different state of physical being, but as you all know, I refuse to lay down and take what life has to throw at me. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Workout plan for Days 1, 2 & 3. Sunday is my free day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Each routine will feature a variety of exercises, focusing on different muscle groups. But this isn't about "bulking up". I'm maximizing my muscle potential in strength and endurance, while reducing fat. The meal plan has changed as well, as mentioned in last month's post. Wish me luck. Gonna need some new NuBalance cross trainer shoes, by the way.<br />
<br />
In other news...<br />
I HAVE accepted the fact that this is a battle I am fighting alone and to be blunt, I really don't care anymore. I've pretty much adopted the philosophy of Dennis Haysbert's character, Pedro Cerrano in the movie "Major League 2": In the time between the two movies, Cerrano, the team's always-angry slugger, converted to an unknown religion, praying to the god "Jobu". As a result, he became quite docile, even smiling and laughing as his performance dwindled, often complimenting pitchers for striking him out. Later, in the playoffs, he had a moment of clarity, realizing that the team desperately needed a home run. He stood at the plate, choked up on the bat and muttered to his <i>deity</i>, <span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-1qd0xha r-ad9z0x r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">"Jobu... I go to you. I stick up for you. And you no help me now... I say fuck you Jobu. I do it myself."</span><br />
<br />
<span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-1qd0xha r-ad9z0x r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">BAM! <b>HOME RUN!</b></span><br />
<br />
<span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-1qd0xha r-ad9z0x r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">You know what? That's me nowadays. Forgetting the world and <b>doing it by myself</b>...</span><br />
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</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-1qd0xha r-ad9z0x r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">...but I ain't EVAH saying that to GOD!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-1qd0xha r-ad9z0x r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">See y'all next month...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-1qd0xha r-ad9z0x r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">For immediate notification of my future posts, subscribe to my page!</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-1qd0xha r-ad9z0x r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"><i>And feel free to leave a comment, share what you like and look through the archived posts for more of my crazy adventures...</i></span></div>
Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-16744017791051900222019-07-27T16:59:00.003-04:002019-07-28T10:51:51.800-04:00Meeting Chante Moore (Pt 3): Kenny, No... Not Again!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm37kBMNdnBJn_a_ZNsuBnp49K_onAZI577kKqon9kp4f8LjIybcZpGSm5VHGPIXj3-Vba7o2PeS5gZVOJ2PEejy1ABK_gpJjf39CILBKrcEbiGwLRb7AQjZkBNmTn2bdcowtj3kPhLNl-/s1600/20190727_155140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1292" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm37kBMNdnBJn_a_ZNsuBnp49K_onAZI577kKqon9kp4f8LjIybcZpGSm5VHGPIXj3-Vba7o2PeS5gZVOJ2PEejy1ABK_gpJjf39CILBKrcEbiGwLRb7AQjZkBNmTn2bdcowtj3kPhLNl-/s400/20190727_155140.jpg" width="333" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(From last night's performance) </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
You would think that after 16 years I would have learned my lesson, or at least, have matured. Sorry, folks... <br />
This is Chante Moore we're talking about...<br />
This is ME is we're talking about.<br />
<br />
(If you haven't read Parts 1 and 2, which took place in 2003, I'd suggest you <a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/02/meeting-chante-moore-pt-1-i-am-not.html" target="_blank">CLICK HERE</a>) <br />
<br />
You see... Chante returned to town last night...<br />
...and where class and discretion are the key, once again - all bets were off, baby...<br />
<br />
Hey, you all have got Michael, Prince and Beyonce. I've got Chante, so HUSH.<br />
God knows my love for her, which is probably why He derailed my chance to go on the Fantastic Voyage cruise with her, years ago. He probably foresaw me banging on her cabin door as she sat on the opposite side on the floor screaming, "Oh God, PLEASE!!! Leave me alone!! I've got a gun! The buffet is open!!! Take yo' pudgy rump down there and get a biscuit!!"<br />
(I'm kidding, but that was the running joke among my friends.)<br />
<br />
Let's start with what went wrong. Concert tickets went on sale March 29th, 3 days before I went in for knee replacement surgery and a month of rehab in an extended care facility. Because of recovery and pending projects, I wasn't entirely sure that I was going to make this concert, even though it's more important to me than anything else in life. So I opted out of ordering tickets on sale day. Of course, when I finally GOT my tickets, they were good, but not great, seats. There was ONE handicapped spot (or "handicapable" or "seating for persons with disabilities" - whatever they're calling it these days) available up front, but since I was with my wife and one of my four sons, I had to find seating for three. Well, I didn't HAVE to, but, you know the deal.<br />
<br />
Second problem, this concert was held at the Ohio State Fair. Nothing wrong with that in itself, but this is July. NOBODY goes to the fair (in 90 degree) weather, without having to walk from the parking lot and through the fair, stopping to eat, drink, take in the sights/"street" shows, hug friends we run into but don't care to talk to and maybe jump on a ride or two, all to kill time. So this all presented a different dynamic: in <i>that </i>weather and under <i>those </i>circumstances, it's not the wisest thing to attend a concert dressed "To The 9's".<br />
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<i>Why DO people dress up for concerts anyway? I ask myself that over and over. The artist ain't gonna see you! Waaaaait. Correction. She DID see me back in 1993. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLAWpQ6jwE6C5xlu2foBY9EATPBsng61pc0XinBfO90q5VfeNoJbn7Vs0h5FYti0Zyp7h25rECWv4bsCFlgPX02QBC8W3O1L4Ltw7sNNwX4Fbwt3h9dYbb8ZF838VnMcBV7f6hdy5M8YIK/s1600/KD+%2526+Chante-b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="428" data-original-width="451" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLAWpQ6jwE6C5xlu2foBY9EATPBsng61pc0XinBfO90q5VfeNoJbn7Vs0h5FYti0Zyp7h25rECWv4bsCFlgPX02QBC8W3O1L4Ltw7sNNwX4Fbwt3h9dYbb8ZF838VnMcBV7f6hdy5M8YIK/s320/KD+%2526+Chante-b.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rememberrrrrrr?</td></tr>
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Which presents problem #3: Because of that sticky, stuffy, 7 p.m. weather (concert started at 7:30), I was faced with the dilemna of having to separate my melted flesh from itself, while seated damn near on top of someone's shoulder in the interlocked seats. Solution: Resume Plan A and dress for HEAT, not NEAT. Besides, this wasn't intended to be like last time. I didn't plan on seeing her.<br />
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The show started on time and as expected, my baby did not disappoint! Dressed elegantly in white and glowing in celestial fashion, Chante literally came here to "light up the night". She powerfully opened up with one of her biggest hits, "Chante's Got A Man" (which still bothers me because she didn't put <i>me </i>in the video. I mean, my baby was talking about ME, right? RIGHT?. Oh well...), immediately captivating the crowd. She followed with recent hits "Real One" and her latest release, "Fresh Love". I ran back and forth to the front, grabbing that unclaimed seat for some better shots (didn't take my camera this time - I'm regretting it now, oh so much).<br />
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I was swimming in her siren sound with every number, and then it happened.<br />
<i>Cue ominous music.</i><br />
My baby called me onto the stage...<br />
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Well, not quite. She called for a man, any man, to the stage. As ready as I was to seize the moment, I gave pause. The one thing that caused me to hesitate was the immediate realization that I was wearing my weathered Chicago Bears T-shirt and some gray shorts. My love for her gave me all the energy I needed to jump up, gesticulating wildly as I screamed her name to get her attention. The part of me that could actually see the future knew differently:<br />
<i>I could possibly be on the nightly news in a brief concert clip (as local television often does), looking like I was ready to throw some wings on the grill.</i><br />
<br />
The "consider the consequences" part of my personality, psychologically known as the SuperEgo, reminded in a microsecond that I could possibly be in Chante's loving arms...<br />
<br />
...looking like a glazed donut and smelling like "aggravated ass".<br />
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And someone got her attention before me.<br />
<br />
Opportunity soon became jealousy and misery as I watched this casually, yet smoothly dressed brother walk to the stage (who couldn't sing, when she asked if he could - DAYUM!) and dance the night away, with my baby in HIS arms, as she sang, "WEY U" from the "Waiting To Exhale" soundtrack. Yes, through my hesitation, my previous question had been answered. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc1gVa1Y59SKlymCpFA9hZqpsZ3BYGhas7JSMsue9SiBRDOItP0_492wiSL0LJReiaFhqHFiUTIRcDNWS9E7qrs_74W71aBmdgi9Qa9rknEnoVEmUUHFJnkX_yUjG7gzRTEV01Qkd6D5uf/s1600/20190727_150816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="889" data-original-width="1549" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc1gVa1Y59SKlymCpFA9hZqpsZ3BYGhas7JSMsue9SiBRDOItP0_492wiSL0LJReiaFhqHFiUTIRcDNWS9E7qrs_74W71aBmdgi9Qa9rknEnoVEmUUHFJnkX_yUjG7gzRTEV01Qkd6D5uf/s400/20190727_150816.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Now you know why you dress up to go to concerts.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7nKogAVg3FW-ECyL_tu0WVuPtpeeP8VMkrG72pPaZMF3Vy90gloKkQSdvQKk026nYbRPtD9ESpKDBeblksnD0GE4ChfY_tg-1vfZ1PO6wKOiBh251jQCjPg4MOJgRofhDUTn2555HC8b/s1600/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr7nKogAVg3FW-ECyL_tu0WVuPtpeeP8VMkrG72pPaZMF3Vy90gloKkQSdvQKk026nYbRPtD9ESpKDBeblksnD0GE4ChfY_tg-1vfZ1PO6wKOiBh251jQCjPg4MOJgRofhDUTn2555HC8b/s400/giphy.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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I soon got over it (no I didn't) as she sang me right back into the clouds, where Chante was life and life was good. Every note she graced us with was its own symphony. Chante, once again, at her greatest. She closed the show with my second favorite song, "It's Alright" (bested only by "Love's Still Alright", which I consider the sequel). The crowd went crazy as she finished the chorus and lifted off into whistle register, hitting notes that could raise the ears on a dog in a painting. By this point, I'd migrated back to the front area, recording her and trying to keep my phone steady as tears of nirvana streamed down my cheeks, reflecting the glow from, say it, "my baby".<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(60 second segment w/audio on my IG/FB/Twitter pages)</td></tr>
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After her portion of the show, I mulled over my methods of conning my way backstage to see her like last time. It was gonna be tough. There were only two entrances, one on each side of the stage, guarded by a single State Trooper (Damn, no supersized ape security guards this time. These brothers don't kid around. Doggone State Fair...). As the show continued and the audience stood, dancing to Carl Thomas, I weaved through the side aisle to the trooper, explaining that I needed to meet up with Chante Moore, who told me to find her while in town. I know it was weak, but it was a "feeler" before trying to confuse him with a barrage of nonsensical and confusing excuses. Before I could get too far, he told me that any and all entrances had to be made at the <i>other </i>side.<br />
<br />
Entrance #2. Short version. Nada. The conversation wasn't working and to make matters worse, he said he believed that she had left the arena. As a last ditch effort, I yelled (amidst the music and crowd noise), "Prove it! Go check please!"<br />
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"What did you say?" he asked, sounding challenged, with adjusted body language.<br />
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That's when it hit me. Dude thinks I said "MOVE it!"<br />
<br />
<i>Take the "L" Kenny. You can't win this one.</i> "Never mind. Thank you!"<br />
<br />
I returned to my seat and ignored the remainder of the concert, looking at pictures I had taken, all the while cursing myself for dressing for the family reunion barbecue.<br />
<br />
I uploaded a recorded portion of "It's Alright" to social media and went back and forth in conversation with people who remarked about her awesome skill as Lyfe Jennings closed the show.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And exactly why WASN'T she opening the show?!?!? Why wasn't she performing by herself that night?? Ugh!!! Folks love taking up my time with my baby.</i><br />
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One cool thing: They pumped Earth, Wind & Fire's "September" through the speakers as we exited the arena. If you know me, you know that's my all time favorite song and my all time favorite band.<br />
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The shocker of the night? I later saw an Instagram post from Chante, thanking the fan that dance with her onstage and the wonderful time she had. She also talked about leaving the show and going out into the fair where she met a fan and ate a meal with her.<br />
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All - I - Had - To - Do - Was - Leave - The - Arena - And - WAIT!!!<br />
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<br />
But the night wasn't a total loss - well, it wasn't a loss at ALL. I saw Chante Moore.<br />
I didn't get to talk to (say it with me, y'all) "my baby", but I got a huge surprise, later that night.<br />
<br />
I got a notification that several likes had appeared on IG. I logged back in and guess what I found...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_IT5OJ4TAy1ZTvs46xpkDGjtrpaDdfNgCANodQOqPXzvqEVIIBqJJZnIxYX4ziT6GdS9X5mEAkJk_UYzL5XZG3m-b5LuAZCkiTfjFZMaQPsT17w3MW0LcWyWCEE782aWCtPxu66h-e5F4/s1600/Screenshot_20190727-002510_Instagram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1243" data-original-width="1070" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_IT5OJ4TAy1ZTvs46xpkDGjtrpaDdfNgCANodQOqPXzvqEVIIBqJJZnIxYX4ziT6GdS9X5mEAkJk_UYzL5XZG3m-b5LuAZCkiTfjFZMaQPsT17w3MW0LcWyWCEE782aWCtPxu66h-e5F4/s400/Screenshot_20190727-002510_Instagram.jpg" width="343" /> </a></div>
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Take THAT, random stage crasher! You, you, you smoothly dressed, handsome, well-dressed, non-singing woman stealer!</div>
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I didn't get the dance. </div>
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I didn't get the song.</div>
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I didn't get the embrace.</div>
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But someday, some concert, I will.</div>
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And I know just the outfit to wear, which is currently two sizes too small.</div>
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*Finishes cramp-inducing crunches and grabs salad without dressing*</div>
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Chante, you're the greatest. Sing on, sistah!</div>
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<i>Like what you read? Leave a comment and subscribe to my blog!</i><br />
<i>Feel free to spread the word by sharing with those who can benefit from this.</i><br />
<i>Let me know if there's any particular subject that you'd like me to cover in future posts!</i>Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-75433186786818281382019-07-22T13:35:00.000-04:002019-07-22T13:35:43.160-04:00I Love You: Say It. Don't Delay It. You May Not Get To Replay It.October, 1976. I was handed the telephone and listened closely to my father's words on the other end.<br />
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"I'm going to put you on the phone with your grandmother. She can't talk to you, but she can hear you. Don't take long because your brothers need to talk, too. Got it?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, sir." My heart raced as I tried to figure out what I was going to say to Grandma. My sister had already spoken to her and said some very beautiful things in a very short time.<br />
<br />
"Here she is."<br />
<br />
There was a slightly muffled sound of phone movement and transmitter-against-skin as I heard the distant voice of my father, telling me to go ahead. Grandma had been paralyzed by a serious stroke and her time left on this earth was uncertain. Dad held the phone against her ear in the hospital.<br />
<br />
"Grandma," I tearfully began as I reached clumsily and desperately for words, "I love you, Grandma. I'm sorry for everything bad that I did at your house. I love you, Grandma. I-, I-, I-, I promise to be good, Grandma. I love you, Grandma! I hope you get better and can leave that hospital soon, Grandma. I promise not to steal any more biscuits before dinner, Grandma! I love you, Grandma! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, GRANDMAAAA! I-"<br />
<br />
"Put Terry on the phone," he interrupted. <br />
<br />
And that was it. A matter of seconds given to sum up everything that I felt about her. Everything I appreciated about her. Everything I assured her I would become in life. My final moments with her. No one said that it would be my final words to her, but somehow, I felt it. I remember that conversation as if I just had it yesterday.<br />
<br />
A few days later, I saw my father pacing up and down the hallway, snapping his fingers on his right hand. Hard. His lips, firmly pressed together as he shook his head in what I deciphered as a combination of anger and sorrow. Then I knew...<br />
<br />
Grandma was gone. <br />
<br />
No more loving, suffocating hugs. No more 15-block walks from 138th and Alder to 139th and Carey Street. No more stops at Cole's or Kat's store. No more waving at my Cousin Curly Davis along the way. No more of those delicious biscuits. Oh my God, those delightful biscuits (Sadly, she took that recipe with her. All anyone knew was that she used a LOT of lard, as she did with a lot of her creations. I guess that helped make her health condition anything but surprising).<br />
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Grandma was gone...<br />
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I was devastated! All of the things that I wanted to say. Not ONE of them came to my 8-year-old mind when it mattered most! Then I thought about all of the times I spent at her house, helping her cook or clean. Listening to her talk about any and everything. Getting whooped with a fly swatter, belt or extension cord for doing everything I wasn't supposed to do and half of what I was SUPPOSED to. Sure, I'd told her that I loved her many times, but I still wish now, 43 years later, that I had told her how much. I know she knew, but I wish she had heard it from my own two lips.<br />
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I was a little kid then and it's understandable. But the lesson was not lost on me. I spent every year after, telling everyone what and how I felt about them, every opportunity that I had. I kissed my kindergarten teacher and told her before Christmas break (made her cry, unexpectedly). I told teachers during the school year and before going on to the next grade. I told my Sunday school teacher, choir director and pastor. I told my classmates over the years and on stage during our final Senior Class Weekly Meeting before graduation. I've told co-workers, relatives, friends, customers (in appropriate fashion), you name it. There are few people in my life that don't know how much I love and appreciate them.<br />
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I think where I fell short was when it came to my heart. Romance. There were quite a few girls that I failed to notify along the way in grade school, high school and especially college. My insecurity and low self-esteem kept me from telling people how I TRULY felt about them for fear of ridicule. When I did, it was too late. It cost me a high school prom date, a few possible girlfriends and yes, some epic neighbor-waking sex! <i>Hey, this is MY blog. It's family-oriented, but it's gonna tell the truth.</i><br />
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Admittedly, one of the reasons I'm writing this is because I had a recent conversation with an old co-worker who told me that if things don't work out with my wife, she'd love a chance someday. WOW! Not only had she been attracted to me when we worked together, but her cousin was trying to flirt and get my attention as well. She also told me that several of the girls at this job were crazy about me. Not that I could or would have done anything about it, but man, the things you learn. <br />
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<i>I guess this is a good time to segue into this message: You should only tell people what you really feel about them when it's appropriate. lol</i><br />
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For those of you that don't miss a moment to tell people that they matter, thank you! If you work over people and tell them how much you appreciate their work, AWESOME! For those of you that tell your children how much you cherish them, FANTASTIC! Kids, you too. Tell your parents. For those of you that have spoken at funerals, written tributes or gave your love and testimonies about the dearly departed on social media, God bless you. There is nothing more meaningful than the kind words we offer about those we will never see again in this life. But I ask you to consider my closing story/message heavily...<br />
<br />
One of my favorite "Good Times" episodes is S5 E11 - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWuqiyj6VB0" target="_blank">"Requiem For A Wino"</a> (that's the YouTube link to the full episode). In it, Fishbone the Wino (Robert Guillaume) is mistakenly confused with someone that is killed in a car accident (who stole his wallet). The neighborhood holds a powerful funeral for him and he is eventually discovered in the pews, lamenting louder than the remainder of the congregation, disguised as a grieving female in black. Enraged at his deception, the attendants circle and berate him for his insensitivity, to which he loudly interrupts:<br />
<br />
<i>"Now just back off everybody! Now what is this all about anyway? Love, right? That's what J.J. just got through preaching, about telling
somebody that you love him before it's too late! So TELL me! I was
good enough for you when I'm DEAD, now I'm alive! I'm here, so TELL me
you LOVE me!!"</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Fishbone" (Robert Guillaume) and JJ (Jimmie Walker) in Good Times.</i></td></tr>
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<b>Imagine how uplifting it would be if we could hear the words while we're still alive.</b> A posthumous award/ceremony is wonderful, but the recipient does not benefit from it. All of the beautiful thoughts that we share would go so much further if the person were blessed with and by them when they can feel your heart expressing them.<br />
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So don't wait until I'm gone. Don't tell the world how much it hurts and how much you can't stop crying (if at all). Don't come to my social media page and post that you still miss me. Tell me now. TELL me you LOVE me!!<br />
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I'm not looking for love or fishing for any compliments. I just feel that we'll be so much better in the long run when we all know what's up. Like the phrase goes: <i>"Why don't you tell me how you REALLY feel?"</i><br />
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Because, as you should know by know, I'm damn sure going to tell YOU...<br />
<i> </i><br />
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<i>...and oh yes, I LOVE YOU!!</i></div>
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<i>Like what you read? Leave a comment!</i><br />
<i>And feel free to subscribe and spread the word.</i><br />
<i>Let me know if there's any particular subject that you'd like me to cover in future posts! </i>Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-83968464160429073792019-07-21T08:46:00.004-04:002019-07-21T08:46:41.614-04:00Facebook Etiquette: Don't Tag Me, I Don't Wanna Play<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3DDpFeVfuLw9Y5i2oXIfnRRcCC-DqMlXEBLvQllbPqxwMjlaYleZcDTJUWpvn1TY6ljyAEuedwnzuRDg_Pm7Lbt0S-84gXuefCjBbmmBq94KUhtUo4geSKmtMgrPrJuEYMwr8Rx8GKdjN/s1600/Samuel-L-Jackson-Bedtime.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="660" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3DDpFeVfuLw9Y5i2oXIfnRRcCC-DqMlXEBLvQllbPqxwMjlaYleZcDTJUWpvn1TY6ljyAEuedwnzuRDg_Pm7Lbt0S-84gXuefCjBbmmBq94KUhtUo4geSKmtMgrPrJuEYMwr8Rx8GKdjN/s400/Samuel-L-Jackson-Bedtime.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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A few months ago, I received a text from a friend, asking me when I started thinking that misogynistic humor was funny. When I asked what she was getting at, she directed me to a joke that I supposedly <i>posted</i> on Facebook.</div>
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After checking my page, I noticed that someone <i>else </i>had "tagged" me, among others, in a very crass and <u><i>sexist</i></u> joke that I considered both disrespectful and utterly unfunny.</div>
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I clarified that it wasn't me, but rather a tag, to which she quickly apologized, having not noticed the details of the joke's origin.</div>
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I "untagged" myself from the post, then messaged the sender, instructing him not to tag me in such posts in the future. He answered that he thought I'd like it, which is why he included me. I told him that I'm not sensitive or anal, but what he posted wasn't me or how I viewed women. </div>
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Which brings me to my so-called lesson or thought for all of you that use Facebook...</div>
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When you tag someone in a post, it appears on their profile page for all to see. To those that don't read far enough into it, it can be assumed that the <i>tagged </i>person posted it. This can pose problems if the "taggee" does not subscribe to your philosophies, which has happened to me on more than one occasion. Oftentimes, the posts are harmless, just casual humor and expressions. But every now and then I'm included in messages that don't represent me or my beliefs in the least. When that happens, I have to "untag" myself. If it's immoral or offensive, I politely ask the sender not to include me in posts of that nature, like before. One post was so horribly objectionable that I unfollowed that person immediately upon seeing it (I wasn't sure how he got to my <i>Friends </i>list to begin with. Some friend of a friend, but that's a "FB Etiquette" post for another day.).<br />
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Don't get me wrong. It's your page. Freedom of speech. Power to the people. But speak for yourself. </div>
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That being said, what SHOULD you do if you'd like someone to <i>see</i> something you want to share? As I said, post what you want - but instead of <i>tagging </i>people, "<b>mention</b>" (@) them in the "comment" section beneath your post. This way they will notification of your post without it appearing as one on THEIR timeline. </div>
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Simple as that.<i> Note if you </i><i>don't</i><i> put the "@" </i><i>symbol</i><i> before their name, they will NOT receive and see your post </i><i>unless</i><i> they happen upon it.</i></div>
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So exactly when SHOULD you tag? In <i>my</i> opinion, tag someone when the post involves them; usually in something like an event or photograph in which they can be found or shared the experience. Even then, you should consider <u>asking their permission</u>, particularly if the photo is something in which they might not want to be mentioned or identified (e.g. parties or pictures with an ex, especially if they're with someone new). <i>I recently received a high school photo of me, one of my best friends and both of our girlfriends. Now, almost 30 years later, each one is married or in a relationship with someone else. If I were to post that picture today, someone (or their current partner) might find it inappropriate. </i></div>
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So be safe. Err on the side of caution when posting pictures that might raise a few eyebrows. Remember, even the most innocent photos of people can prove problematic. As a photographer, I have quite a few photos of people at social events who didn't expect or want to be captured in certain moments, with certain <b><i>people </i></b>(that's why I leave it to the event host/planner to decide what to post after my shoot). Not everybody wants to remember life before the treadmill or New Year's Eve memories of hands desperately containing their stomach's contents as they ran to the bathroom (Yup, I took one of those too).<br />
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Everybody doesn't care to have fight videos on their page, or twerking, animal abuse, and so forth and so on...<br />
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And PLEASE be respectful enough to remove a photo when asked.</div>
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I think that's all I need to say. Just remember that not everyone investigates the details of a post, so be fair and be kind. Don't assume it's ok to tag people in your rants of a racial, religious, political and/or philosophical matters, among other things.</div>
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Just mention them in the comments.</div>
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I think we all loved the game "Tag" as children, but in today's arena, not everybody wants to be "it".</div>
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...so think before tagging me... </div>
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...cause sometimes, I don't wanna play.<br />
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Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-49253030813302950042019-07-17T21:50:00.002-04:002019-07-20T23:07:38.765-04:00"When They See Us" (Pt 2 of 2): Now That You've Seen It (Warning - Spoilers)As a father of four young African American males, I live in constant
fear for my children. I am terrified at the thought that at any time, any one of my "babies" (actually young men, all above age 18) may someday fall victim to what is
widely considered a corrupt justice system, seemingly designed to
accuse, judge and execute without impartiality. As a viewer of the biography and long distance spectator of the real occurrence back when it happened, I empathize because many of my peers and I have been there, in some way, shape or form...<br />
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...but certainly not to that extreme.</div>
<br />
That's what I'd like to talk about today. How I felt, which could be similar to how <i>you </i>felt. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to write this by the date I promised in Part 1 (reminder, if you haven't read it or seen the movie, I strongly suggest you stop now, <a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/07/when-they-see-us-pt-1-of-2-why-you-must.html" target="_blank">click here and read it</a>, <i>then </i>watch the movie before continuing). Mainly because I was concerned about this becoming a full-blown review, like my take on The Bobby DeBarge Story biopic. In the end, I decided to keep with my tradition of "post movie discussions" and open it up for feedback. So let's have a brief chat about-<br />
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<b>"When They See Us": Now That You've Seen It</b><br />
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(no introduction/backstory of characters necessary)<br />
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I'll begin with this - I can't remember being this angry in a long time and for numerous reasons. So first of all, kudos to director Ava DuVernay for expertly segregating the tale of "The Central Park 5", giving us breaks and time to process each carefully constructed facet of this magnificent project: Through her eyes, we saw the full gravity of every situation. Bless you, Ava!<br />
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<b>Part One</b> - This chapter sets the stage, leading viewers in with great interest, while scaring/angering a few to the point where they couldn't continue. So much to discuss. The decisions of these young men to join the dozens of teenagers for a night of "wildin' out" in Central Park. The actions of those who actually <i>chose </i>to harass and terrorize the innocent. The police raid and excessive use of force during the apprehension of just about anyone in sight. The deception used to ensnare Yusef Salaam's friend, Korey Wise (looking back, one of the series' single most infuriating moments, in my opinion). The "bad cop / good cop" methods used to confuse and manipulate the so-called suspects, leading to their forced and falsified confessions. And let's not forget that neither their parents/guardians were present, nor was there an opportunity for legal representation. The deprivation of food, rest, support or breaks from the continuous onslaught of questioning and multiple accusations. The illegal and immoral physical and emotional assault on the 5 innocent (who I will henceforth refer to as the "CP5"), confused and panicked youth. The denial of a random selection of a judge to preside over the trial. Even the exploitation of Kevin Richardson's noticeable injury, sustained by the blunt force of an abusive arresting officer (this played a vital role in the supposition
that he was one the assailants that the rape victim desperately fought during her attack).<br />
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I think one of the sadder takeaways from this episode is that the police department resorted to pitting these teenagers against each other, in hopes of compensating for the lack of substantive evidence and conflicting accounts. I felt indescribable sorrow for them when they met for the first time, in holding, only to discover that the "strangers" they lied on were each pawns in the same game. <br />
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The confession that had me shaking my head in disgust was that of the the most sympathetic character, Korey: <i>"I felt bad. I felt bad. This is my... This is my first extreme I did to any... any kind of female.... or... (sighs) This is my first rape. This is my first experience, this will be my last."</i><br />
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And exactly what was the reward for his admission of guilt (assuming it would be used to incriminate the <i>strangers </i>who he thought were actually involved)? After giving his statement, he stood up, believing he would be released, only to be told to sit back down, before his eventual transfer to a holding pen <b>with adults</b> at Rikers Island, being the only teen at age 16.<br />
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==============================</div>
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<b>Part Two</b> - Not surprisingly, beginning with the media frenzy that misinformed shocked Americans,
already with limited access to news (pre-internet and social media era). I was
living in Tallahassee at the time and not a great deal was covered in
the nightly news and newspapers. In general, we were led to believe
that 5 black teenagers assaulted and brutally raped an innocent white
female, jogging in Central Park. Yeah, the media accomplished what it
intended to do, vilify the infamous Central Park 5. Compound that with the on-air comments of Donald Trump (ever heard of that guy?), suggesting that they be given the death penalty for their alleged actions via full-page ads in New York newspapers.<br />
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The court cases separated our country by age, socioeconomic status and other categories, most notably, race. The treachery of the police department and prosecution team seemed to know no bounds as they strategically used the splitting of
the trial into separate cases, so as to successfully enter the reconstructed audio/video confessions for consideration. I'd already felt a sense of impossibility, watching the unheard cries of the supporting church and local community, as well as the introduction of a legal defense team, individually selected by the families (which included one member with experience only as a divorce attorney). The trial, although abbreviated for time, exhibited the vicious and calculating tactics used by the prosecutorial team; guiding the testimonies of the defendants while incorporating the sympathetic appearance and statements of the victims. I particularly felt the "all is lost" twinge when Antron McRay's father took the stand and fumbled his way against Prosecutor Elizabeth Lederer, already having been absent throughout the proceedings. <br />
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Like most historical dramas, I sat with baited breath, hoping the CP5 would collectively be found Not Guilty, even though I knew the outcome. Kind of like the attempt to assassinate Adolph Hitler in the 2008 film "Valkyrie" with Tom Cruise. You want a different outcome, but no such luck.<br />
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Memorable moment from Episode 2: The looks on the faces of the CP5 as they individually rose to hear the verdict. The dread of knowing that the next few seconds could negatively affect their lives forever. This, followed by the looks of anguish and horror on theirs and their family's faces...<br />
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...fade to credits.<br />
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<b>Part Three</b> - A combination of the experiences of each of 4 of the CP5 (minus Korey, who was tried and convicted as an adult), the lives of their families and their treatment after being released from prison. Each saw freedom before they were exonerated for their crimes, so for a time, they endured mistrust, hatred and legal ramifications of the verdict (having to register as sex offenders). From Ray Jr.'s unwelcome homecoming with his father's new wife and family to Yussef learning that his status would now prohibit him from working in various capacities, being a convicted felon. It was conveyed to them that although many people in the neighborhood still believed in their innocence, in the hateful eyes of much of the nation, they didn't deserve their freedom OR fair treatment. I'm sure you can recall that there were moments when two were insultingly referred to as "rapists" (Ray Jr. by his father's wife; Antron by his co-worker turned girlfriend).<br />
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If any scene from this episode tugged at my heartstrings, it was the conversation between Kevin and his mother, who encouraged that he was not alone and to stay strong. I was managing through her speech until the scene transitioned to a shot of Kevin's back as he walked out of the prison gates, noticeably older. The realization that, although free, he had been robbed of his youth was both troubling and depressing for me. Everyone has their "breakdown moment" of the series. That was mine. I especially felt pain in knowing that he never truly reconciled with his abandoning father who's health had failed and was forced to live with an embittered Kevin and his mother. Even his (the real life Kevin) anger, displayed during the Oprah interview, was hard to digest, as you could tell by the audience reaction as he spoke.<br />
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<b>Part Four</b> - Dear God. How can anyone POSSIBLY understand what Korey Wise went through from the moment he chose to ride to the police station to be a supporting force for his friend Yussef? That was a tragedy in itself, knowing that Yussef's mother picked him up and took him home, unbeknownst to Korey, now all alone. Between the newly-revealed story of what all transpired in his world and real-life actor Joshua Jackson's performance, I was emotionally spent. I sat through the episode throwing my hands up, shaking and tilting my head back with frustrated exhalation, groaning and silently weeping as I watched him suffer through the ironic consequences of "being a friend". I think it's safer to just bulletize the high points (or more appropriately, "LOW" points) of his experience AND Jackson's memorable performance:<br />
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<ul>
<li>His puff-lipped, bewildered expressions during interrogation and in the courtroom.</li>
<li>His face as he left the police station, looking at Yussef, already handcuffed and in his own separate police car.</li>
<li>The delivery of his ludicrously staged video confession.</li>
<li>His shame and discomfort in admitting that he was near-illiterate in the courtroom.</li>
<li>His outburst after the jury's conviction, screaming "you lied on me" to the prosecutorial team. </li>
<li>His first moments in jail, seeing a rat on his bed, knowing he was clearly out of his element and away from the security and comforts of home.</li>
<li>His cowering to the wall in fear as a fight ensued in the prison cafeteria.</li>
<li>Even how he sat, with timidly slumped shoulders as he ate, wedged between two prisoners, plucking his food into his mouth like an innocent child. </li>
</ul>
Oh my God, I could go on and on and on...<br />
<ul>
<li>His savage beating, early during his stay at the prison.</li>
<li>His mother's infrequent and diminishing visits as each prison transfer resulted in increased distance from his home.</li>
<li>His emotional turmoil, dealing with the tension between his mother and his brother "Marci's" sexuality. And the news of Marci's subsequent passing which led to his outburst into the arms of Officer Roberts in the Chaplain's office. Note: Thank God for Roberts, who extended fair treatment and
gave him a job to break the potential insanity of isolation in solitary.</li>
<li>Having to deal with corrupt correctional officers in the different prisons, as well as the additional beating from white supremacists. Not to mention the ones that weren't shown or mentioned. </li>
<li>His eventual decision to refuse an audience with the parole board as he maintained his innocence (which guaranteed his continued stay). <i><b>"Tell 'em I'm maxing out. If they don't wanna hear my truth, I don't want to waste my energy."</b></i> <br />#ThreePointerAtTheBuzzer</li>
<li>His suffering through the days of the defective cooling system and his jubilation when it was restored. <i>I'm sure we ALL could feel that air blowing and rejoiced WITH him and the other inmates.</i></li>
<li>His reflections on the moments that led to his arrest and incarceration (choosing to leave his girlfriend's side to join the teenagers in the park, going with Yussef to the police station, his confession, etc.). Note: His wall image finding, imaginary basketball game and hallucinations of his brother, his girlfriend and his mother were directorial masterpieces. Particularly his joyful trip to the park with his girlfriend and his reconciliation with his mother.</li>
</ul>
I need to stop. Suffice it to say that Korey went through hell and Joshua's performance did him sincere justice. <br />
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I wish I could pick a favorite line from that episode, but in truth, it was his general forgiveness of Matias Reyes after being confronted in the prison yard. There's hope for this cruel world yet.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Triumph after exoneration, but so much was lost in the process.</td></tr>
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I tried to find happiness and relief in the final moments, knowing they had been finally freed, with all charges dropped and purged from their records, but all I felt was bitterness and animosity. The same frustration I experienced while watching the Martin Lawrence / Eddie Murphy movie "Life" when Claude and Ray finally escaped prison as old men, having the majority of their lives and freedom taken from them. It was bittersweet and definitely not worth celebrating.<br />
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On a more personal note, I wept softly and silently as "Moon River" played at the oncoming of the closing credits. That's the song I played with my cousin and musical role model, John on stage back in 1983. The only time I ever performed with him and the genius that defined him. I lost him a year ago and hearing that song again, well, it reminded me that <i>that </i>time, THOSE times with him are gone, just memories. Like the childhood of the <strike>Central Park</strike> <i>Exonerated </i>5, although very different in experience, these are times I can never reclaim. So yeah, even the final fleeting moments left me hurting.<br />
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I can't give enough praise for the direction, cinematography, cast selection and each of their exemplary performances, along with the star-studded cast. <b>And a well-deserved congratulations goes out to Jharrel Jerome</b> in his role as both young and mature versions of Korey. Hands down, one of the greatest performances I have EVER seen. He stole my heart from the beginning with a myriad of convincing expressions. To be honest, I didn't even realize that it was Jerome playing both ages until the Oprah interview.<br />
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<i>At the time of this article, it's recently been announced that Jharrel has been nominated for an Emmy award in the category of Outstanding Lead Actor. Best of luck Jharrel! Additional best wishes and luck to the cast and crew for the OTHER 15 nominations.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVbD7BTOuf_GXYFXUz3852HB8bCryBIfw4AGoKmaFChQLieN2lzINbjY2ZfXY14dJL14Y65igj_l-9ZKXzLrO5svfshX-IfwpeACrggVgJL9GciLX4QgZAvk0BKxvMx96nM4HZmFNBlElo/s1600/WTSU_104_Unit_02031R-e1563301170790.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVbD7BTOuf_GXYFXUz3852HB8bCryBIfw4AGoKmaFChQLieN2lzINbjY2ZfXY14dJL14Y65igj_l-9ZKXzLrO5svfshX-IfwpeACrggVgJL9GciLX4QgZAvk0BKxvMx96nM4HZmFNBlElo/s640/WTSU_104_Unit_02031R-e1563301170790.webp" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Korey (Jerome) pleading with his mother Delores (Niecy Nash) to visit him more frequently.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
==============================</div>
<br />
Two references (or phrases) of note, in my opinion, truly describe the entire real-life ordeal, the brilliant biography, our feelings and the painful reality revolving around our nation's <i>illnesses</i>:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>The final exchange in the police precinct in Episode 1:<br />Kevin: <i>Why are they doing us like this?</i><br />Ray: <i>What other way they ever do us?</i><b><i></i></b></li>
<li>During the post-movie interview (the Oprah special), cast member Joshua
Jackson, playing the role of expert Defense Attorney Mickey Joseph, offered
this thought: <i><b>"...but what did I learn about the justice system, is that it's the wrong name for it."</b></i></li>
</ol>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Amen, Joshua. Speak on it.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiisVnxNGJES5iHr3h0p_zQbFL71hM6VZEDQlOU_bQ6IaroUKoxC8Bz1ZrJhKPm-YYAyuQdX2Zryevak-k9c-YmPtUa0dWc6RJCA5Y3pM3FOTqU00KRTbNNLDZW6y5hXgu25qKcko11dT7i/s1600/bgr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiisVnxNGJES5iHr3h0p_zQbFL71hM6VZEDQlOU_bQ6IaroUKoxC8Bz1ZrJhKPm-YYAyuQdX2Zryevak-k9c-YmPtUa0dWc6RJCA5Y3pM3FOTqU00KRTbNNLDZW6y5hXgu25qKcko11dT7i/s640/bgr.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<b>Closing Comments</b>: As I mentioned in this post's opening, I have been assaulted and harassed by police before, as have several my
friends. I've even been taken down to the police station a few times. Trust me when I say it's never a good situation. One of my friends was even forced
to disrobe and bend over to prove that he had not taken and hidden
stolen money in his butt crack or behind his scrotum, while IN the
establishment at which he was falsely accused (story for another day).
I've shared these and many other stories from my father with my children and their
friends over the years, in hopes that I/we serve as a cautionary tale. A tale in which
they hopefully will have learned how to avoid situations and more importantly, what their
rights are and how to respond to the authorities (beginning with calling their parents FIRST).
Having a conversation with your children to avoid certain activity and
individuals is a staple in any household. But what saddens me the most is that in
this day and age, the LAST thing I should have to do is equip them for confrontations with the very
agency I was taught to trust as a child: Law Enforcement. <br />
<br />
On "When They See Us": Looking back on what I saw vs what I commented, I'm convinced that each
episode (and the post-movie interview special) deserves their own
full-length blog posts. But I couldn't risk losing you over time with
each entry. My wish is that I successfully covered
my thoughts without overwhelming you with content. I equally pray I haven't cheapened or diluted
the intended impact in my attempts to keep it brief (which it really wasn't). There was just so much
to say and I feel that someday I may regret not sharing it all.<br />
<br />
But then again, knowing you watched it, I believe you know every one of my unspoken words. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
God bless the Exonerated 5, God bless you all. </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Be safe and please, live above reproach.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Two articles of note. If you're mentally exhausted like I am, bookmark them for later:<br />
<br />
Click on the following for an interesting article on <a href="http://www.justjared.com/2019/05/22/when-they-see-us-why-ava-duvernay-didnt-cast-a-donald-trump-character/" target="_blank">why director Ava DuVerney <i>elected</i> (pun intended) NOT to cast a Donald Trump character</a>. <br />
<br />
Here is an article I found that sheds even more light on former New York Prosecutor Linda Fairstein. The story of what happened to a 1977 rape victim. Click here on <a href="https://www.thedailybeast.com/linda-fairstein-under-fire-after-when-they-see-us-apologizes-but-not-for-the-central-park-5-case" target="_blank">"Linda Fairstein Apologizes. But Not For The Central Park 5 Case"</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Got something to say about the movie or my commentary? Please do!</i><br />
<i>And be sure to leave a comment and subscribe to my blog!</i><br />
<i>Feel free to spread the word by sharing with those who can benefit from this.</i><br />
<i>Let me know if there's any particular subject that you'd like me to cover in future posts!</i>Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-88427485072257313812019-07-13T09:26:00.001-04:002019-07-23T15:06:57.471-04:00"When They See Us" (Pt 1 of 2): WHY You Must See It (No Spoilers)Since my social media posting about how important it is that we all watch this movie, I've received quite a bit of feedback with opinions across the spectrum. Some people have seen it and are still trying to digest what they witnessed. Many (like me) vividly remember the incident from back when it occurred and were shocked about all that they didn't know before this point. Quite a few are "committed to watch it but afraid" as a good friend put it. Finally, there are those that don't plan to watch it for one of two reasons: either they can't stand the thought of viewing depictions of real life (racial) injustice, or they think it's just a "black" story and not applicable to them and theirs.<br />
<br />
My friends, no matter the reason, make no mistake: in <i>these </i>times, with <i>this </i>current administration and considering all police-related tragedies in recent years (primarily involving minorities and youth), <b>YOU CAN NOT IGNORE IT</b>!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjB6bku-dTc38Gy5qteYwgWRVamqtX1YODlworI65coCftTkWcmDnS9oPFiGhwaHZM_sB565cjkIeFG0TGwkYa2xI9dLKNoj5xlbmU1gEljHwBdzZ_yc6yIQJjd60zkRwnN1q4OITnAv76/s1600/01-when-they-see-us.w1200.h630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjB6bku-dTc38Gy5qteYwgWRVamqtX1YODlworI65coCftTkWcmDnS9oPFiGhwaHZM_sB565cjkIeFG0TGwkYa2xI9dLKNoj5xlbmU1gEljHwBdzZ_yc6yIQJjd60zkRwnN1q4OITnAv76/s640/01-when-they-see-us.w1200.h630.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
"When They See Us" is a 4-part Netflix biography that tells the story of the teenagers formally known as the historic "Central Park 5": Raymond Santana (14), Kevin Richardson (14), Antron McCray (15), Yusef
Salaam (15) and Korey Wise (then known as Kharey Wise) (16). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0CUatstwObhv7VSvs5z7LxDnSr3qmPkxjKs0M4qwbb6XW5dyXoNOnf_KCqMMiO9ZHxHb40rTVjmi-PI44XIZa7hYMHPM7xUzMNjBhG8Ae__mesTM3eu21BW-G-EVbuxZGMz01mVJcnsTt/s1600/The-Central-Park-Five.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="468" data-original-width="1008" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0CUatstwObhv7VSvs5z7LxDnSr3qmPkxjKs0M4qwbb6XW5dyXoNOnf_KCqMMiO9ZHxHb40rTVjmi-PI44XIZa7hYMHPM7xUzMNjBhG8Ae__mesTM3eu21BW-G-EVbuxZGMz01mVJcnsTt/s640/The-Central-Park-Five.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Central Park 5 (L-R): Antron McCray, Kevin Richardson, Raymond Santana, Yusef Salaam and Kharey Wise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
Five young, black teenagers on trial for activities that occurred on the evening of April 19, 1989 in New York's Central Park, infamously known for the violence that occurs within (in 1990 alone, 368 serious crimes were reported, ranging from mugging to sexual assaults to grand larceny to murder). In the course of one night, 8 victims sustained injuries from various attacks; most notably Trisha Meili, a 28-year-old white female jogger who was viciously beaten, raped and left for dead. As many as 24 people were apprehended during and after the course of the night, but ultimately, Raymond, Kevin, Yusef, Anton and Korey were taken into custody.<br />
<br />
While in custody, they were interrogated, beaten and coerced into confessions without legal representation or guardian/parental accompaniment and later brought to trial.<br />
<br />
<br />
It's the story of the methods employed by law enforcement to place said teens in an incriminating light. Of a prosecution team, serving to achieve occupational and/or political gain through their conviction. Of a community, coming together to defend the innocence of the Central Park 5. <br />
<br />
It's the story of the lives of the five accused, forever changed both during and after the verdict.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRrHO6uGXA9F5UUf5N3Db-QJQwdA9kPUw3T2XvNSxbH9fVsizShLL9JtXiCpgR4qDKTWcdaPtaJSzomIUp6yn0eEbewryBKGN6M0h7ab3P6qD8Pgy75tO-cwHwdn_N8YV8oPVBk-OT0TpK/s1600/MV5BMGQxZGI1ZDYtYTU2ZS00NjAxLTk5NzMtNDRhZmIzYzRlNjlmXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTAyMTQ0NzA%2540._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="364" data-original-width="764" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRrHO6uGXA9F5UUf5N3Db-QJQwdA9kPUw3T2XvNSxbH9fVsizShLL9JtXiCpgR4qDKTWcdaPtaJSzomIUp6yn0eEbewryBKGN6M0h7ab3P6qD8Pgy75tO-cwHwdn_N8YV8oPVBk-OT0TpK/s640/MV5BMGQxZGI1ZDYtYTU2ZS00NjAxLTk5NzMtNDRhZmIzYzRlNjlmXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTAyMTQ0NzA%2540._V1_.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's the story of a nation, torn apart by anger and confusion and choosing sides. A nation guided by a portrait, painted with biased brush strokes by the artistic hands of corrupt law enforcement, an unjust judicial system and misinforming press. <i>Remember, in 1989, there was no internet. No social media. Only the brief mentions you received in the local newspaper or nightly news, which wasn't much, the further away you lived.</i><br />
<br />
But most importantly, it's a story about me. It's a story about you. It's a story about my sons, OUR sons, who live in a world where the media, political system and brandishers of the badge can destroy their lives in an instant, all the while CALLOUSLY dismissing it all as "justified" or mere happenstance when they so desire.<br />
<br />
Laced with superb acting by an all-star cast, extraordinary cinematography, incredible direction and an emotionally captivating soundtrack, this is an absolute must see. It's a talking point for all races. Discussion for the Executive, Legislative and Judicial systems, for law enforcement, for churches, for colleges, for high and elementary schools, for communities, for families and anyone else claiming to be concerned about the future of our nation. It's a reason to come together and break bread at the proverbial dinner table and compare notes, understand our diverse lifestyles and opinions of all that make up this so-called <i>great </i>melting pot.<br />
<br />
<br />
Yes, you may very well be angry. You may cry. You may shake your head in disgust. But I promise you, you will be moved. Hopefully, you will be reminded that our system is a broken one and in desperate need of repair. Hopefully you will speak out. Act. Vote. Hopefully you will encourage others to stand with you in the position that this was never and IS NOT acceptable and it's time for change.<br />
<br />
"We will NOT stand for impartiality and imbalance another moment!" Try it. Say it.<br />
<br />
Come together and watch. Take 4 nights (or two, since they're only about 75 minutes each - I watched it all in one night, plus the follow-up special). This is not for African Americans, it's for ALL Americans. Take a break from "Netflix And Chill". It's time for "Netflix And FEEL". If you say you don't want to be depressed or that this doesn't apply to you, I'm speaking to YOU more than anyone else! Ignorance and denial in many ways serve as silent consent for this societal barbarism to continue unchecked and unstopped.<br />
<br />
And when you finish, be sure to watch the interview of the real members of the Central Park 5, along with the actors who portrayed them and director <span class="irc_su" dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;">Ava DuVernay</span> on "Oprah Winfrey Presents: When They See Us Now", also on Netflix (which will load/play automatically after Episode 4).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-NUchDHoXnWxAYzH_gE8xrN-kG7d1D5OwhDwvrSj1vv1q8PENGbHqiElHUMNNvpaou8TmeSIrEYAH3nZM5DfXzdju9-6oHCB4ns38kOdjNj6X6H3w1JoktA5LnNxEr_aQ1k5kIIkbezBO/s1600/MV5BNjJlYzQzYjAtODlmYi00MzU1LTgzZjEtNGU3YjYzNWNkNDAxXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNDQ1MTI0MzM%2540._V1_SX1777_CR0%252C0%252C1777%252C818_AL_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="737" data-original-width="1600" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-NUchDHoXnWxAYzH_gE8xrN-kG7d1D5OwhDwvrSj1vv1q8PENGbHqiElHUMNNvpaou8TmeSIrEYAH3nZM5DfXzdju9-6oHCB4ns38kOdjNj6X6H3w1JoktA5LnNxEr_aQ1k5kIIkbezBO/s640/MV5BNjJlYzQzYjAtODlmYi00MzU1LTgzZjEtNGU3YjYzNWNkNDAxXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNDQ1MTI0MzM%2540._V1_SX1777_CR0%252C0%252C1777%252C818_AL_.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
Once you've composed yourself, feel free to come back and leave a comment after you've seen it. If you've already seen it, leave one now. Tell me how you feel. Let me know how it's moved you. How it changed your life or perception of reality. Let's talk, and yes, let's DO.<br />
<br />
<br />
THIS BLOG TO BE CONTINUED in <a href="https://zoot580.blogspot.com/2019/07/when-they-see-us-pt-2-of-2-now-that.html" target="_blank">"When They See Us" (Pt 2 of 2): Now That You've Seen It"</a>, <i>my</i> take on what happened, speaking as a member of the general public back then and a father, today.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="kX21rb"></span><br />
<i>Like what you read? Leave a comment and subscribe to my blog!</i><br />
<i>Feel free to spread the word by sharing with those who can benefit from this.</i><br />
<i>Let me know if there's any particular subject that you'd like me to cover in future posts!</i>Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-35169371463824863252019-07-10T15:50:00.000-04:002019-07-10T15:55:34.858-04:00Davis Family Adventures: The Importance Of Family TimeThe six of us unloaded the minivan with our juice, 2-liters, potato chips, pizzas, brownies, plates and napkins as we headed for the park benches closest to the basketball courts. The boys were eager to get through family prayer so they could inhale their food and shoot hoops or throw the frisbee around for a good hour or two to close out the Sunday afternoon. It was a frequent and unplanned practice of ours that I got from my father, 40+ years ago.<br />
<br />
I will never forget that day, back in 4th grade when someone from the school faculty came to my class and told the teacher that I had to go to the principal's office. After the barrage of "Uh-Ohs" and "Ooooooohs", my teacher told me to put my books away in my locker. I was too young to think that anything <i>bad </i>had happened, even though I'd lost my grandmother earlier in the year. My church was right across the street from school and I can still remember looking up to see my friends in the classroom windows from the funeral. It was a beautiful feeling to see all of those faces in the window, friends waving and giving love and support. But I digress.<br />
<br />
I arrived at the office to find my mother, waiting with my brothers and sisters. I asked if anything was wrong only to receive a collective head shaking from my siblings who had apparently asked the same. We left the building and met my father in the station wagon, who didn't say a word. We didn't ask either, but we were curious. My sister again asked if everything was alright, to which my father comforted that everything was fine. We didn't ask anything else and played in the seats for a good hour until we arrived at a beautiful park, an hour away. We were in La Porte, Indiana, a place we'd never heard of until that day. It seemed so different from what we were used to. The grass looked greener. The area was quieter, almost completely quiet, with the exception of the singing birds. Even the air smelled different. In fact, it smelled wonderful. I learned then that that was a benefit of <i>not</i> living in a "steel town", where the air and lights from the mill made the horizon a misty orange on the horizon at night.<br />
<br />
My father and mother had already stopped at Kentucky Fried Chicken (back when they could legally call it that) along the way, but we didn't touch it. We ate the lunch-meat sandwiches my mother prepared to keep up satisfied along the way. When we arrived, they took the chicken and other food items to a park bench before we prayed (which included more than just the blessing of the food) and then ate and ran loose for two hours.<br />
<br />
Nothing else. Nothing.<br />
Nothing except returning to the car and the drive back home.<br />
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We never asked why. All I remember is the four of us kids sleeping soundly after good food, greater oxygen and awesome family time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zS1GcZI6RSozNDW7Ld_tE0LmA2SnZPmbVioshhtFqwQdw-qsLLCTUUKA2WDRIWvi7XFL9K_Fi6pyMGjPx5dRHfG90RIW2hpr2KyH7KNt2dmLzdGo8CXbZN7ynwvtntzIpLTbEst3FcDB/s1600/20190520_162651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zS1GcZI6RSozNDW7Ld_tE0LmA2SnZPmbVioshhtFqwQdw-qsLLCTUUKA2WDRIWvi7XFL9K_Fi6pyMGjPx5dRHfG90RIW2hpr2KyH7KNt2dmLzdGo8CXbZN7ynwvtntzIpLTbEst3FcDB/s640/20190520_162651.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A visit from my sister's family at Blacklick Metropark in Ohio.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
That's the tradition I've maintained to this day. Oftentimes, we invite my boys' friends to come along and sometimes we invite other families. It's REALLY a blast when we travel to a Metropark and secure a barbecue grill (you have to do this early) so you can enjoy hotdogs/brats, burgers, ribs, etc. We eventually took it to the next level and played board games while listening to music.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4D7gZtSCUznx_77heecGONuN603M7vYCCdA_j4p7SlJ3APhXF7KmwkEmrlvf6Hgq-mf3PlBZmQz-HrSbOPViOfraqo61vT8H_cmS6dJbkuW_w4HUKxdaCO3_2u7r-LhpwtQi5HLgm-Lli/s1600/09Jul5-120a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="976" data-original-width="1600" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4D7gZtSCUznx_77heecGONuN603M7vYCCdA_j4p7SlJ3APhXF7KmwkEmrlvf6Hgq-mf3PlBZmQz-HrSbOPViOfraqo61vT8H_cmS6dJbkuW_w4HUKxdaCO3_2u7r-LhpwtQi5HLgm-Lli/s640/09Jul5-120a.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing "Loaded Questions" while the kids and other adults play football.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You all might see it as a picnic. We think of it more like a reunion, even though the attendees are not blood relatives. A few years ago, we actually began planning an event where each family would invite two other families, rent a picnic zone and actually have a full-blown reunion of sorts. We went so far in our planning as to discuss having T-shirts printed that said "The 1st Annual <u>Blank</u> Family Reunion". There really <i>was </i>going to be an <i>underline (_______) </i>in the title. The backs of the shirts would show the last name of each family. If it proved successful, we would have done it annually. In the end, we decided to just get together and invite whomever we chose and have spontaneous fun. We might do the "Blank Family Reunion" someday, but for now, we continue to keep it simple.<br />
<br />
I've also taken my family with me in the company car (which was permitted by my job) when I went to other work locations to conduct meetings, investigations and give training. Most often on Saturdays. This was Interstate Brands aka Hostess & Wonder Bread, so the depots and retail outlets were open and Route Sales Drivers had to work. I would expense a hotel room with a second bed and a few large pizzas, which cost about as much as a semi-classy dinner anyway, if not less (and we always had a coupon). The kids would enjoy Friday night at the hotel swimming pool, then sleep in while I went to work for a few hours.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyaz6F13D1z3BmxZoHenHN13rUnl9eVEBOHjoub7PcJI_081jEVnOQ3aHHEp5d6vP7FwwloBmgwEl_N2s0m_TkEVug4UpVRt-e0TXug6QAuz2y17Jn_1zx3fDUVrhgzMpbo2UHcOTTqm3S/s1600/Toledo03.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyaz6F13D1z3BmxZoHenHN13rUnl9eVEBOHjoub7PcJI_081jEVnOQ3aHHEp5d6vP7FwwloBmgwEl_N2s0m_TkEVug4UpVRt-e0TXug6QAuz2y17Jn_1zx3fDUVrhgzMpbo2UHcOTTqm3S/s400/Toledo03.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is one time the kids actually WANTED to be in a tub.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
That Saturday morning, after I was finished with business, we'd check out around noon and head to the local attractions and/or theme parks. The most fun was King's Island, which was 10 minutes from the hotel outside of Cincinnati. Travel and lodging for family time was on the company dime, which really didn't cost the company any additional money. And even better, my boss knew and loved the idea. He too, believed strongly in family time and often called me, mid-day on Fridays and told me to pack it up and go home, if there was nothing pressing on my plate.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqDIm3P1UQiazc3GWTXmOmyArNoZrLP4BYe6oIjaJWKBKCUb5rLEHRZHehEMmwKc9CPJSB4lQnm8VxRmRRm4tWVktW3CINQHqFEWJSWO8l6YxThf8Bs9uX7TmyHNoeWVCkTw5GJNYId4zn/s1600/Six+Flags+050504-79+a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="948" data-original-width="810" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqDIm3P1UQiazc3GWTXmOmyArNoZrLP4BYe6oIjaJWKBKCUb5rLEHRZHehEMmwKc9CPJSB4lQnm8VxRmRRm4tWVktW3CINQHqFEWJSWO8l6YxThf8Bs9uX7TmyHNoeWVCkTw5GJNYId4zn/s320/Six+Flags+050504-79+a.JPG" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out with Wile E. Coyote at King's Island.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My point? Just as I learned from my parents, who believe there's nothing more important than family: <i>"Family time costs you nothing, but it pays off incredibly!" </i><br />
<br />
Well, not unless you include the cost of food, which isn't mandatory, but you better NOT ask me along without feeding me. <br />
<br />
So spend time with family, whether at home, the local park or taking a trip. Do this as much as you possibly can. That's all I'm trying to say. If your kids are grown, schedule a get-together. If your siblings have spread out across the map, call them. Set aside a good hour and just talk "about everything, or nothing at all", as I always say.<br />
<br />
Time is precious and we never know what tomorrow brings, so I say again, spend time with your family. You won't believe the memories you'll create for your kids and more importantly, you will never regret using or losing time that you can never get back...<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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<br />
<br />Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-4305431914452276762019-07-01T20:39:00.001-04:002019-07-01T20:39:56.239-04:00EOM Check-In: Health Update (July 1)It's time for my monthly health update! I've been eager to put several minds at ease after last month's avalanche of bad tidings.<br />
<br />
First, I managed to get 8 lbs off. Not quite the 15 I'd hoped to shed during the month of June, but 8 lbs is 8 lbs. Count it all joy because I accomplished this despite the recent calf injury I sustained (I still don't know how that happened, so please don't ask).<br />
<br />
The shoulder is still sore and weak and the back continues to go out without warning. It's hard for me to put in extended standing and walking, but bike time compensates. Did I mention that I returned to the gym? Yaaaay (if you sound that out, don't scream it. Say it softly and melodically).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Pc-9oyrrDyfAeS5NbuLvJZjKAEJepkTvSIBcyw2Tra8LhYNojD3MglFCSQPyynq1bzAcqEWWhvcoRW8FVI2rLj3jQBaWLz9UMePSUqTp7mW9QOLjrvmzgVsfBRjq6SV0Uktt1Gh8aEQq/s1600/33c719d5-585f-49cd-ab37-49d6c2468994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Pc-9oyrrDyfAeS5NbuLvJZjKAEJepkTvSIBcyw2Tra8LhYNojD3MglFCSQPyynq1bzAcqEWWhvcoRW8FVI2rLj3jQBaWLz9UMePSUqTp7mW9QOLjrvmzgVsfBRjq6SV0Uktt1Gh8aEQq/s400/33c719d5-585f-49cd-ab37-49d6c2468994.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The battle continues because the war never ends.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Unlike last month, I'm in a better place, mentally and a more encouraged mood. Unfortunately I had to endure the loss of more friends, all of whom were my age (50-52). So it hasn't been all sunshine. In fact, I'd be lying if I said this <i>age </i>thing isn't wearing on me. This the beginning of the <b>3rd Quarter</b> in my <i>Game of Life</i> (assuming I make it to 100) and it's both frustrating and frightening to see the life expectancy curve lowering with each loss. But I'm a fighter, so that's what I'll keep doing. I don't fear death, but I definitely don't intend to rush it with lackluster effort and poor life choices.<br />
<br />
<b>New health concern:</b> As of late, I've been suffering from bursts of disorientation and extended blurred and double vision,
for reasons I have yet to learn and hopefully the doctor can identify.
In
the meantime, driving and photography are off the menu.<br />
<br />
<b>July Agenda:</b> Kill the food debauchery and reduce/eliminate sweets, pop, juice, "white" foods (white rice, white bread, flour, etc.) and all the wonderful fried stuff. I don't like it, but I like being <b>unhealthy </b>even less.<br />
<br />
That's it. I don't want to talk too much about what is and what should be. Let's see how we do.<br />
<br />
And to those still TALKING ABOUT me inspiring their life changes, get it poppin'!<br />
Start today! The "weight" is over!!!<br />
<br />
Keep procrastinating and you'll find yourself in Caboose Court, found guilty of being in possession of "Plumbers' Crack" with <i>booty breath</i> silently seeping out of your ass cleavage. You can't shoot your shot if you're not on the court.<br />
<br />
You can do this. I believe in you. Better days ahead...<br />
<br />
See you next month. Love y'all!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-2292625810184691302019-06-30T02:14:00.015-04:002021-07-16T10:23:25.116-04:00The Bobby DeBarge (aka The Boring DeBacle) Story - My Take On It<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4WZQ0rUmmy3HJ7meD-Y5IeBrLBbTBzamdxyrcGMhzMLUlKdZxesm0Nene38LyM4fwmn_uWAZLw29NbcM6DBf1-tDyuocWZpRNGbXQOa4ALKkm9fzMSmwbbNertUjKPGeGFLXmAXhyphenhyphendque/s1600/IMG_7494.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1467" data-original-width="1600" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4WZQ0rUmmy3HJ7meD-Y5IeBrLBbTBzamdxyrcGMhzMLUlKdZxesm0Nene38LyM4fwmn_uWAZLw29NbcM6DBf1-tDyuocWZpRNGbXQOa4ALKkm9fzMSmwbbNertUjKPGeGFLXmAXhyphenhyphendque/s400/IMG_7494.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>This blog has moved. To read <b>The Bobby DeBarge (aka The Boring Debacle) Story</b>, <a href="http://zootsblogspot.com/2019/08/25/the-bobby-debarge-aka-boring-debacle-story-my-take-on-it/" target="_blank">go here to my new page at ZootsBlogSpot</a>. Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-13556022172696301842019-06-26T17:08:00.000-04:002019-06-27T17:29:41.427-04:00The Davis Family Tree: Now Containing Over 1,000 Leaves!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQeC8kC5rjBYiOVhvz3Xd8R87kL7N6-uqPWYzyRYm8iXz2hsZLiOOTRKDRP9RnAjmJU6qfcJ6diuVc9G4Xf2T4vyYC4S2sGn2El-75QgDwM929Zp_UaFMuYTdPhmA2Ll6w9Sfrx3rN-Xe/s1600/37153303-genealogical-tree-on-old-paper-background-family-tree-in-vintage-style-pedigree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1074" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQeC8kC5rjBYiOVhvz3Xd8R87kL7N6-uqPWYzyRYm8iXz2hsZLiOOTRKDRP9RnAjmJU6qfcJ6diuVc9G4Xf2T4vyYC4S2sGn2El-75QgDwM929Zp_UaFMuYTdPhmA2Ll6w9Sfrx3rN-Xe/s320/37153303-genealogical-tree-on-old-paper-background-family-tree-in-vintage-style-pedigree.jpg" width="264" /></a></div>
<br />
Nine years ago, if someone had told me that my family curiosity would
evolve and bring me to this point, I would have laughed.<br />
<br />
In the
beginning, I
hadn't expected much, just a few answers. More than anything, it was a
desire to learn about my father's years as a child/teen and the man who raised him. That came from my mother's claim that I was always at odds with my father (not openly, I wouldn't dare) because I was so much <b>like </b>him. But as the inquiries go, I'll reference the saying, "be careful what you wish for".<br />
<br />
Mentions were made about my grandfather's youth and <i>his</i> family, of which I knew little. And just as Adam & Eve begat Cain, who begat Enoch, who begat Irad... ...questions begat more questions. Sure, there were names listed in the back of an old bible handed down to my father, but a "Davis Family Tree" didn't exist. Not as for as I knew or could find. It was more just a flow chart of sorts, connecting the dots between my parents, their parents and so forth and so on. So I began my search...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9QnoTSuS0CbMBhtlpBYr6xD3tIp6e1sS7zrwU_SzLfzVsets4I-kbqGGl2PbG18vXv0J6F7qKqv4eIPlS1gWVP0qfN5wZvoqnWq7jXfWF1r-ZiOfB5Iw8PqfnRY5JEc4PnBg2r-SMjmJ/s1600/BW-Family-Tree-Printable-_-Family-History-Daily-1-1000x773.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="773" data-original-width="1000" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9QnoTSuS0CbMBhtlpBYr6xD3tIp6e1sS7zrwU_SzLfzVsets4I-kbqGGl2PbG18vXv0J6F7qKqv4eIPlS1gWVP0qfN5wZvoqnWq7jXfWF1r-ZiOfB5Iw8PqfnRY5JEc4PnBg2r-SMjmJ/s320/BW-Family-Tree-Printable-_-Family-History-Daily-1-1000x773.webp" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
During my quest, what I <b>didn't </b>consider was that each ancestor had many <u>brothers and sisters</u>, and in increasingly large numbers. It seemed the further back I went, the more kids those parents pumped out like a Pez dispenser. Funny, I remember when my wife and I announced the coming of a fourth son, my uncle offered to buy us a television so we'd have "something else to do". He only had a daughter, so easy for him to say. But if you ask me, if <i>anyone </i>benefited from TV, it would have been THEM; my people before me. Lord <b>knows </b>they needed something to keep them occupied and fully clothed. Hell, my great-grandfather alone (well, actually his wife) had 8 sons and 6 daughters. Do THAT math; continuous generations of siblings <i>branching </i>out (pun intended). What you get is one whopping list of black folk!<br />
<br />
I compiled all of this information on Ancestry.com, which made tracking that much easier. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VusEve99y9ujDyKZEArnh090MuI9twgEJ7HttgfYXf3SnG_Lm_-95u_F3XahE2n7Gg782ZrHp0Cd_NmbCcogaoBfea176UfQX4ENs92lLSePEuabImY8eCLIYKcOykCR70zkzECujknL/s1600/20190627_124341.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VusEve99y9ujDyKZEArnh090MuI9twgEJ7HttgfYXf3SnG_Lm_-95u_F3XahE2n7Gg782ZrHp0Cd_NmbCcogaoBfea176UfQX4ENs92lLSePEuabImY8eCLIYKcOykCR70zkzECujknL/s640/20190627_124341.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Here is a picture of my paternal great-grandfather, Doc Davis, Sr. with
his wife and 12 of their 14 children. Doc Jr. is seated, 2nd from the
left. It was weird, looking at my father's father's father. Weirder,
seeing my grandfather, younger than my memory of my own kids.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRi99HA4UUkb8L2JU5f663ciPJXT9lNskKuhfVg01QyLWIAF7F7A8CchQBbClwdpNMOlIvJUZJsxMGPkQmN8lM1U5iTUSn6FXC_lmJ-mB4Vay60noyQoEgptD2QQ77fRBhnbbN51GaSSou/s1600/Screenshot_20190626-175224.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1600" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRi99HA4UUkb8L2JU5f663ciPJXT9lNskKuhfVg01QyLWIAF7F7A8CchQBbClwdpNMOlIvJUZJsxMGPkQmN8lM1U5iTUSn6FXC_lmJ-mB4Vay60noyQoEgptD2QQ77fRBhnbbN51GaSSou/s640/Screenshot_20190626-175224.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I only met/remember my Aunt Alma. Top row, 2nd from the left.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It got downright creepy when I took an even <b>closer </b>look at two particular people in the photo. I shared and shocked my mother and siblings, who immediately agreed that my great uncles bore an uncanny resemblance to my two brothers, Terrence and Craig.<br />
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxtavSODFk0mIGS_cc3UWZ7XXwRXrfn9EQYuy7gL9eig9h0FsTyxuoXVqe_zdolfkjcG_zlVFmP0jErnw_odooj17UOaO2MtwX9zHQ0XObqgnq2RzIgycqyJCB6c8iQGn8m6uNAGf0t1Y/s1600/20190626_180132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxtavSODFk0mIGS_cc3UWZ7XXwRXrfn9EQYuy7gL9eig9h0FsTyxuoXVqe_zdolfkjcG_zlVFmP0jErnw_odooj17UOaO2MtwX9zHQ0XObqgnq2RzIgycqyJCB6c8iQGn8m6uNAGf0t1Y/s640/20190626_180132.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reminded me of the photo of Jack Nicholson in "The Shining".</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
</div>
<div>
But I also hear that my father, me and my son look alike as well.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkZytvPQ8ISQQ3E853h-uA9T1PhJAulWgdyXKZB6YzfaWDVqUwrR2vph9GOTMWkuTAUEM82SujUUt65knKOUrLSrP1qwPJDfz9D28qoFO9iXtTwjjJiDo_UHVBOHFpQy4SlTjM0kl4MOu/s1600/IMG_20180619_092330_678.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1564" data-original-width="1564" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkZytvPQ8ISQQ3E853h-uA9T1PhJAulWgdyXKZB6YzfaWDVqUwrR2vph9GOTMWkuTAUEM82SujUUt65knKOUrLSrP1qwPJDfz9D28qoFO9iXtTwjjJiDo_UHVBOHFpQy4SlTjM0kl4MOu/s640/IMG_20180619_092330_678.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All high school senior pictures. Big "Ken", Kenny II (the sequel) and Kenny "J", Pt. III</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Then along comes AncestryDNA, the service that will identify your
geographic beginnings. I sent off for a DNA test to find my
country(ies) of origin in Africa. Not only did I learn I was primarily
a descendant of the Cameroonian and Congolese people, but my test results linked me to well over
1,500 (3rd, 4th and 5th) cousins and others whom I have yet to confirm;
each with matching names and dotted-line connections to currently known
relatives and places of birth/residence. I have little reason to doubt
these findings because as I said before, folks got <i>busy </i>back in the day, so we've got rabbits hoppin' and humpin' all over the Midwest and South, among other areas.<i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>You know what? On <b>second </b>thought, forget giving everybody TVs. "Netflix and Chill" has only made things worse (or better, like it was for those lucky souls claiming kids on their taxes and sitting back,
collecting gifts on Mother/Father's Day. Just depends on how you look at
it.).</i><br />
<br />
The big news? Thanks to this service (and a family historian whom I didn't even know existed) I've recently connected with other distant cousins who have helped me trace my lineage all the way back to the 1700s and slavery. I've even found documents identifying one plantation owner, his father and his father. Yes, I actually found a slave owner. I also found his record of ownership. I <i>should </i>find <b>his </b>descendants and introduce myself, then whoop their-<br />
<br />
I'm kidding. You guys know I don't mean that and would never hold someone's children accountable for the sins of their fathers and their fathers. <i>Woosahhhhhh</i>.<br />
<br />
Back to our regularly scheduled program.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Several family members and friends have excitedly told me that I should keep going to see if I can trace all the way back to Africa. That would be nice, but sadly, the buck stops here. People have reminded me that Alex Haley (the author of "Roots") did it, but they fail to realize certain facts:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>"Roots" aired in 1976, years <b>after </b>his published work and 12 years of research. Said research took place with living relatives who could give more accurate information about his ancestors. Remember, this would have been the early 1960s. </li>
<li>This is 2019. I'm 51 and only my mother (suffering from dementia), her brother (terminally ill and hospitalized) and my father's sister (90 years old) are still alive. Getting facts from them is darn near impossible.</li>
<li>Alex Haley's situation was unique in that his particular family handed down key information from generation to generation. That didn't happen in my family, at least not going <b>that </b>far back.</li>
<li>Haley spent years in Africa, finding people directly connected to the "Kinte" family name, back to the village of Juffure in Gambia. In fact, I recently met someone from Gambia who told me his people are still alive there (despite the controversy surrounding his book's authenticity).</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
Haley's accomplishment is not possible for the great majority of African American families today because slaves were stripped of their name, immediately upon arrival and sale in the United States. There was no effort or desire to record or even acknowledge their real identities. In fact, from the moment of capture in Africa, they were simply grouped by the branding from the vessel in which they were shipped. No one cared enough to document former names because they would no longer be acknowledged as such. Hence, the ability to know my ancestors "African" names is highly unlikely.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTuCFArOIbf7Gha57PZ5LV4q5xuVhvZ3iBPG99K7LRJEqGCPS96nv0QKhXg2HzbV8zBRUZV0B4J11swh3JmYYsCR3rEyg64t7ueT6UJeO0nwKP1n5UY3lPV1aaiFbLa8I7dr1Pub-kwQay/s1600/f785012026e6a4ee0d21cbac86e8dda3ae69c371.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="800" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTuCFArOIbf7Gha57PZ5LV4q5xuVhvZ3iBPG99K7LRJEqGCPS96nv0QKhXg2HzbV8zBRUZV0B4J11swh3JmYYsCR3rEyg64t7ueT6UJeO0nwKP1n5UY3lPV1aaiFbLa8I7dr1Pub-kwQay/s400/f785012026e6a4ee0d21cbac86e8dda3ae69c371.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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That doesn't mean I'm giving up. Now that AncestryDNA has given me information about other relatives, I will continue to learn what I can. I mean, who knows? If I can find records of sale, maybe a family line DOES exist where names were handed down. And maybe, just maybe, I'll make it to Cameroon, Congo and Ghana (11% of me originates from there). Who knows what I'll find?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_f0PUmHF3B1Lluh9J4ut5u9f_-bxuNMtChQmPOZ38b5gAFAviX3MWKgvxtV1Sx2iGZXL6U8XkGbnKX7cDD8O0utYK0Uw7Zfdchbfd3R4PSbLgJjnkDfWavaGzi0Wgy6ZBXI8nkBXSWEyI/s1600/Ancestry+Tree.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="754" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_f0PUmHF3B1Lluh9J4ut5u9f_-bxuNMtChQmPOZ38b5gAFAviX3MWKgvxtV1Sx2iGZXL6U8XkGbnKX7cDD8O0utYK0Uw7Zfdchbfd3R4PSbLgJjnkDfWavaGzi0Wgy6ZBXI8nkBXSWEyI/s640/Ancestry+Tree.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clicking on names will reveal even <b>more </b>"branches".</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, I'll keep reaching out and gathering what I can so I can share it with my four sons for their knowledge and information for years to come. Yeah, the same four boys who have as little interest now, as I did when <b>I</b> was young. And like me, they'll come around someday.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I'll embrace my family, every single day. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQlMZOlcFnYD7fznyX7GUrzZsnl0uqRiHth5yH7N7lCH6xOtCnjK1XGdzaWO8I5RWFFJi_VVDCW7ICvNUrobncmedKVa5Rc0gMbTXTyQ3gdyNCWA_QeB9Ow_sqELZHz1GQoT_rs8P5e1Sw/s1600/Davis+Legacy+2009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1028" data-original-width="1600" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQlMZOlcFnYD7fznyX7GUrzZsnl0uqRiHth5yH7N7lCH6xOtCnjK1XGdzaWO8I5RWFFJi_VVDCW7ICvNUrobncmedKVa5Rc0gMbTXTyQ3gdyNCWA_QeB9Ow_sqELZHz1GQoT_rs8P5e1Sw/s640/Davis+Legacy+2009.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seated center: Aunt Joan, Mom (70th Birthday) and Aunt Dee in 2009.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
...and we'll see just how many more leaves we can add to this tree as the years go by.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkF1qNC43SnQVBOp7AAUXUXe-wHUp4l91qFgitKg7OZweThD6tqWNjHrlLqaFQECkNO_x_SmRFXmistz9YUbButOkDHZTW-_1e4vu1Q5CF3hL1aKePsQwcWEgffOsPvi4sByba8sdN3gW_/s1600/ECMom-084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkF1qNC43SnQVBOp7AAUXUXe-wHUp4l91qFgitKg7OZweThD6tqWNjHrlLqaFQECkNO_x_SmRFXmistz9YUbButOkDHZTW-_1e4vu1Q5CF3hL1aKePsQwcWEgffOsPvi4sByba8sdN3gW_/s640/ECMom-084.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standing bottom center: Mom (80th Birthday), ten years later. 2019</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
The Davis Family Tree: 1,004 leaves and counting...</div>
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Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5995079614447926458.post-74887037548643421302019-06-22T10:02:00.002-04:002019-06-22T10:05:54.045-04:00Church Tales: Kenny Davis, You Are The DEVIL!I've been called many things in my life and rightfully so by most accounts: incorrigible, wicked, mischievous, trouble/troublesome, wild, touched, "not right", shameless, "crazy as hell", "the HR Nightmare", and so forth and so on. My personal favorite is the description a teacher made in reference to me in the Teachers' Lounge (so I was told): "The most predictable thing about Kenny Davis is that he's unpredictable". Yeah, I'm many things, but one thing I am <i>not</i>, despite my impish ways, is The Devil. Unfortunately, I've been called that on waaaay too many occasions. <br />
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That being said, I'm about to contradict myself by introducing a new theme to my blog series, which I'll call, "Church Tales". And ain't NONE o' them honorable enough to give you the confidence that I'm bound for that casual escalator to Heaven on the Day of Atonement. If anything, if I DO make it (and by the skin of my teeth), I'm going to be rollerskating desperately, uphill. On mud. With 5 wheels missing. Backwards.<br />
<br />
Let's begin, shall we?<br />
<br />
Tallahassee, 1987. <br />
<br />
At this point in my college career, I was in hot pursuit of a gorgeous, caramel-skinned, long haired (my weakness at the time), Journalism major whose innocence made her an absolute "must have" (dang, that DOES sound like the devil already). I saw her on her way to class in Tucker Hall one day and immediately conjured the nerve to approach her. I quickly found my opening to share a few laughs after my introduction, then waited for her outside of her class until it was over, much to her shock and (what she displayed to be) delight. I missed my class as a result, but sacrifices must be made...<br />
<br />
After days of playful phone time and hanging out in the cafeteria, I asked her out on a date, to which she agreed. I had worked hard to keep my horns from protruding from my head (along with any other revealing "growth") while in her presence and during conversations to ensure that my intentions remained a secret. Her only condition was that <b>she</b> pick the event. <i>No problem. </i>No matter what she chose, the POST-date was my endgame. My plans for her involved smooth-talkin', slow undressin', hidden body part kissin' and of course, my "Baby, I'm so weak. We can't do this" plea, but only AFTER she had reached her "Kenny, don't stop NOW" point.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiefpQGWQeSiNjfkPBU71gcIqnqIy0VS_D59eZIL06cO4JaulD7NQqCvioRcSGIOQXoGqFkVJ6mPxrutaBjr_PVP8knHsDqzMXaaaoow64A6RomknnkEI54W02mxUEVdLTGdXssYAlxZBao/s1600/vampire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="639" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiefpQGWQeSiNjfkPBU71gcIqnqIy0VS_D59eZIL06cO4JaulD7NQqCvioRcSGIOQXoGqFkVJ6mPxrutaBjr_PVP8knHsDqzMXaaaoow64A6RomknnkEI54W02mxUEVdLTGdXssYAlxZBao/s400/vampire.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, Kenny Davis, You Are The Devil!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><br /></i>
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And what did she choose as the location and activity for our date? Well, if you haven't figured it out by the title and introduction...<br />
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...her invitation was to WEDNESDAY NIGHT <b><i>CHURCH SERVICE</i></b>!<br />
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<i> </i><br />
Fast forward to Wednesday night: the two of us, standing and clapping in rhythm to a gospel song. Service was held in a rented space located in a strip mall. There were about 30 people in attendance and, if I'm to be honest, I thought I was standing amidst the members of some two-tamborine, one-guitar cult from the Bible Belt (in fairness, they had a lead, a bass AND a drummer, so I'll give them that). Anyway, that's how it looked to someone who grew up and only attended fully-sized church buildings with carpet floors, stained glass windows, a choir loft, pulpit and pews with plum-colored cushion seats. And the pastor? The pastor was the very same heavy set, deep breathing, still-had-an-early-80s-jheri-curl, man who owned and served me at the soul food shop next door on many occasions. Thank God I never acted a fool in there or took a date. Or had I?<br />
<br />
My memory fails me. Oh well.<br />
<br />
But it gets <b>worse</b> (I know, the Christian in me should be saying, "It gets better", but not during THOSE years). <i>For the record, I'm not that guy today, so don't go gathering a small mob and a bunch of stones. This was back then...</i><br />
<br />
Towards the end of service, the pastor began "seeing" the congregants' individual needs for prayer and healing.<br />
<br />
"I see someone who is struggling with indecision. Someone who is at a crossroads in life. Someone who is fighting for family unity... "<br />
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Of course, someone came forward, as a random person did with each and every "vision" he received. They each received the "laying on of hands" with his anointing oil as he pressed his large palm firmly against their foreheads as the other held them in place by the nape of their neck. He prayed mightily before pushing them into the waiting arms of this gargantuan bust sized woman who caught them as they fell backwards, arms outstretched.<br />
<br />
"Blessed by breasts", I thought to myself. <i>I know, I know. Kenny Davis, you are-</i><br />
Hush. Keep reading.<br />
<br />
I was trying not to laugh because through it all, I was waiting on the traditional "man in the wheelchair" to receive his <i>healing</i> before struggling to his feet and eventually performing cartwheels back down the aisle. <i>I'm sorry, y'all. I love the Lord and always have, but I had a different agenda that day.</i><br />
<br />
He started again...<br />
<br />
"I see someone who is drowning..." (the church screamed "AMEN!")<br />
"Fighting for air but spiraling downward in a whirlpool of sin..." (AMEN!)<br />
"Enslaved by lust of heart and desire for the flesh..." (AMEN!)<br />
"It's <b><i>Kenny</i></b>. Right?" he asked as he looked directly at me, supposedly <i>feeling </i>my name.<br />
"Come on up here, son..." <br />
<br />
<b>AMEN!!!!!!</b><br />
<br />
<i>Wait. WHAT?!?</i><br />
<i>LUST?!? ME????</i><br />
(He was right, but HUSH)<i> </i><br />
<br />
I froze in shock before looking over at my so-called date with my "niggah, you sold me out" face (I know that's wrong, but hey, better the n-word than the b-word).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUygRZJC0SPIW0rx_jOxzFiSW28ZgI4CiuP1WoDX39f23hH5d37RD7p7a-tlwQa2GijXCjJ9WH-CVATsy0b8k_KFkjIf3asBeSLcfffd1mXvIMeApz2UpzlQWMtgJUmsQmnvjiOwWuPZ6/s1600/Denzel-Training-Day+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="298" data-original-width="443" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUygRZJC0SPIW0rx_jOxzFiSW28ZgI4CiuP1WoDX39f23hH5d37RD7p7a-tlwQa2GijXCjJ9WH-CVATsy0b8k_KFkjIf3asBeSLcfffd1mXvIMeApz2UpzlQWMtgJUmsQmnvjiOwWuPZ6/s400/Denzel-Training-Day+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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She smiled, clapped and shouted "Amen" as the nearby worshipers <i>helped </i>me to the front.<br />
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<b> </b><br />
I stood before him, associating his face with those delicious pork chops and gravy that he so skillfully cooked and served during the week. Pavlov's Dog syndrome made me salivate with the thought. I guess to him, I looked like a lost soul, possessed by king demon Pazuzu, in need of exorcism.<br />
<br />
The oiled palm reached my forehead. In my imagination I swear I could hear the "Kali Ma" tribute chant from "Indiana Jones And The Temple Of Doom" as I waited for Mola Ram to remove my beating heart from my heathen chest. I respectfully closed my eyes as he prayed fervently for me. I had no choice. I had already been publicly shamed and felt like a pornhound, thanks to her. I wasn't going to insult the church as well. As he continued to pray I wondered what he actually <i>knew </i>about me. Had she told him what she perceived to be my intentions? Had he already deduced my "sin state" from some past activity in his deli?<br />
<br />
Like I said before, my memory fails me. Oh well.<br />
It didn't matter, the moment had arrived.<br />
<br />
He completed his prayer and then gave my head a soft shove as I stood with one leg braced behind the other. Surprisingly, I didn't move. He pushed again, only harder. I stood firm and held stronger. He applied even greater force, but I wasn't budging. The unstoppable object was about to learn that there was an immovable force, strengthened by the devil on my shoulder, whispering T'Challa, the Black Panther's Wakandan war cry "Yibambe" (Zhosa for "hold strong") in my ear. And Yibambe I DID! There was no other explanation for my reluctance to accept the word of Christ and shed my original plan.<br />
<br />
Seeing that he wasn't going to win (Lord forgive me for that), he told me to turn and rest in the "bosom of mother" as he weakly rotated me to face the big-boobed woman (NOW we're talkin'!!!), welcoming me with open arms. She pulled me in tight as the sweat beads rolled down my face from our battle of wills as the church rejoiced, applauding and shouting in unbridled jubilation. I held her for as long as I could, enjoying the comforts of her "pillowy" rest as I took in her sweet, aromatic combination of perspiration, perfume and baby powder.<br />
<br />
Shortly after, I walked back to my metal folding chair as my "date" received me with a huge hug and grin as my arms rested on my sides in defiant expression of betrayal and disgust. I don't think she caught the gesture, but I made it.<br />
<br />
I finished service, resigning myself to the thought that I had a cold shower ahead of me, but it was cool. I got what I deserved. I had plotted and schemed, as apparently had she. In the end, she won the day and as we all know, "you win some and you lose some".<br />
<br />
During fellowship I shook hands and hugged various church members before leaving to walk my host back to her dorm room. I made sure to get a 2nd, a 3rd, and eventually a 4th <i>extended </i>hug from Mother Mounds (as I had privately named her), who kissed me and told me she'd always be there for me if I needed her (and I don't care <b>what </b>you say, I'm quite sure that smile she gave me was <i>not </i>the same as the one she gave others).<br />
<br />
Before you accuse me of being Damien Thorn in "The Omen", please remember that I didn't burst into flames in there. No monkeys went wild at the zoo, nor was I struck by lightning as I walked home in the rain (which strangely only began after I dropped her off). I DID however get horribly splashed by the water from a passing speeding car, so I'm sure God found a subtle way to voice His disapproval in me.<br />
<br />
Was I wrong? <b>Yep</b>.<br />
Am I in need of Jesus? <b>Absolutely</b>.<br />
Did I return to that church the following Wednesday night for more healing and <i>FEELING</i>?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTF0IjOGX_drjCKOZ2UFPl6KYfoMiwhZPIwMLOiws8S1VDjYn8oUUf3_pIWl6TtXKmvfUolPdEV8gaqe_LukR7W9IDo9FOt2dmsnc4nsJzzw7hdTOYlPvu8XAlCUYcIrsYC6Z9VFU91nY-/s1600/Sam-Jackson-01-GQ-16Nov15_Daniel-Riera_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="967" data-original-width="751" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTF0IjOGX_drjCKOZ2UFPl6KYfoMiwhZPIwMLOiws8S1VDjYn8oUUf3_pIWl6TtXKmvfUolPdEV8gaqe_LukR7W9IDo9FOt2dmsnc4nsJzzw7hdTOYlPvu8XAlCUYcIrsYC6Z9VFU91nY-/s320/Sam-Jackson-01-GQ-16Nov15_Daniel-Riera_b.jpg" width="248" /></a></div>
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What do <i>you </i>think?<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Kenny Davis, you are the DEVIL!</div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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Zoot580http://www.blogger.com/profile/00822095178762469770noreply@blogger.com8