Just a post revolving around many thoughts...

Before today, I had never made a pros-and-cons list and I felt like a Gilmore Girl while doing it. I am currently at a crossroad that may determine the course of my life forever. (I say 'may' understanding full well that everything changes everything; it just sounded way more "in control", which I think I need right now.) Anyhow, I have many decisions to make regarding many things and my mind is a blur of confusion.

Skipping to something totally random, I feel that I put too many eggs into baskets not yet weaved... I'm not sure why exactly I do that, but I think for my own well being that I need to find ways to dampen that urge. Some may call it the act of being hopeful but I think it's more prudent to call it inexperience. So in defining this as inexperience I should naturally come to the conclusion that time will cure this. I feel helpless in this sense, as I succumb to the urge to hope when I should be taking a normal path. Something in my past has formed this in me, and I feel like I know what it is. I just don't know how to get over it.

The path to what I will become and where I want to be is very open to interpretation. I do not usually plan, and as a result, things fall into place exactly how I feel they were meant to, yet lately I feel the urge to plan. Planning, in every sense of the word, creates expectations, and stunts confidence when one has failed. My parents have always been planners, and I take certain umbrage with that. They are, as well, both perfectionists. Of course, perfect plans seldom happen, and as a result, almost everything in my childhood was known by them to have a flaw. Though I knew that my mother and father would never admit this, there is truth in it. I have no doubt in my mind that it has and always will be a subconscious effort on their part, but it is quite hard to live in a house where you know nothing you do can ever be seen as perfect. It's always nice to be able to look at something and see no flaws, no problems to solve, and take no issue with it. Unfortunately, I feel like I have garnered some of the former from the old crones, but I have tuned it out for years now.

On friends. My best friends have almost all left for the colleges of their choosing. I need now to figure out exactly where I will be this time next year. Will I be at Mercer University, studying International Business from people who have lived and breathed everything I would like to know? I do feel that being able to gain knowledge through seasoned veterans is the best way to learn but at the same time, is it worth the debt I'll be incurring? The other positive to moving away from Jacksonville to Macon, is that I will finally have the independence I need to truly develop into who I want to be. In my other hand I hold these truths: If I stay in Jacksonville, I will attend UNF, I have a chance to develop in a different way, my business prospects in real estate will remain intact, and the possibility of growing closer to many people I already know all exist. I feel that in the long run, if I attend Mercer, I will have an opportunity to become great. I also feel that if I stay in Jacksonville I will become great. Just possibly not fully what I want out of greatness. I say greatness with humility, and not in any way attached to greed. My definition of greatness is to be able to benefit as many people as possible while still reaping the rewards of my work.

On another note, I would like to put a story down in text as it, in particular, has caused my thinking, whether directly or indirectly.

The day was Monday, It had started quite silly. I had gone to bed thinking it was Saturday, when it really was the start of a new week. I ended up missing work.

Lets backtrack, The night previous had been a strange one. Have you ever known somebody and one day you see a new side of them that really strikes a chord.. Anyways, I feel like this gal and I clicked quite well. The witty banter was there, the sense of adventure was also there, the perfect imperfectness of being awesomely quirky was there (the love of lowercase g and the hate of Z really stick out), and as a bonus I could use my 'big words' as they've been put, without feeling condescending. Anyways, we ended up talking for hours; and the most of it was quite meaningful. I was very surprised, and happy at the same time, for if I had known this about her earlier, I would have been slightly jealous.

Back on track. I suppose I really slept good, since I did not wake up on time. I had asked her the night before if she'd like to meet up before my class the next day. I had to get warmed up for my piano class anyway so I played for her on a grand piano in one of the college's rooms. I think she thought my playing would have been less desirable than it actually was. I don't fully play by ear, but my ability to introduce sound as I feel it is completely there. Witty banter got the best of me and before we knew it, the clock struck three. My class was over. At this point, I had nothing more planned, and a very nice evening ensued. I had no way of knowing what would come of this, but I decided it was best to go with what I felt. We walked out of the building in pitch black. The feeling was much like, as she put it in a few less words, going into the movies and coming out in the black of night. It was quite interesting that we had talked for five hours at that point and the night was feeling like it would end. I didn't feel like it should end, but more so that it should just be getting started. It was. I asked her to dinner though I doubt either of us knew it would feel like a date later. We went for pizza at this amazing small Italian cafe near my side of the city. The name is Nora's Pizza, but as the many signs inside remind me, the name will be changing to the poorly thought out and apparently overused "Big Mikes" pizza. I thought this was sad. Nora's Pizza has been a staple in my house for many a year. Though the name is changing, the menu is not, nor the cooks. The pizza ordered came out exactly as I had remembered. This pizza, the pie of all pies, has a thin crust, hand tossed with mozzarella cheese and the normal Italian pizza sauce. It has ricotta cheese, mushrooms, and spinach on top. Black olives may accompany, but not this night. We enjoyed a nice quiet dinner and some great conversation. About 2 hours later we decided we had had enough sitting and I can safely say neither of us wanted to go home at that point. We drove around while thinking of something fun to do. We ended up going into the depths of the Fort Caroline area and basically just drove. What I thought was awesome, was that it didn't matter where we were going, it was just about being in that time. It's a very good feeling. At this point, we pull over to check a gas station for blue Gatorade. For some, it is a myth, for others, pure awesome. Anyhow, we kept driving. I'm not sure how we decided it was time to do something adventurous but we did; the end result being us hopping the seven foot tall fence to the Fort Caroline monument. We parked off to the side and jumped the fence. I'm not sure if I have been there before, but I seem to remember a little bit of the area. I think I had been to some of the nature trail type areas around there when I was younger. We got to the monument, which was very dark until our eyes adjusted. Most of this area is dense woods, but there is a perfect view of the St. Johns from the ledge where we ended up sitting. We sat for an hour or so and more good conversation arose until we heard some strangely conscious footsteps. This definitely sounded two legged and in Florida, only two things are two legged besides crippled squirrels and they are people, and Chupacabras. Neither of which I had any intention of seeing at that point. I will give you this, though, we escaped, but being followed is a strange feeling.

For now, you lot will have to deal with this much, There is a possibility this will be edited later, but for the time being I've gotta go help someone.

As always, have fun!
~Curren

And for searching purposes this post includes topics on Speculation, Females, the fact that nothing good ever happens after one a.m., and 8 points that should have made me feel better but sadly did not accomplish their task.

This is reality, not racism.. Suck it up and promote change

I snagged this article off Fox Sports. I don't actually read Fox Sports but it had an interesting hyperlink, so I clicked it :). Anyways, this article speaks volumes. Don't take it as racism, but as truth based on years of statistics based on an entire population. Besides if you are a racist Abraham Lincoln will apparently attack you with the north. ("The Office" reference, if you don't get it, you should!) Anyhow, here goes...


"There's a reason I call them the Black KKK. The pain, the fear and the destruction are all the same.

Someone who loved Sean Taylor is crying right now. The life they knew has been destroyed, an 18-month-old baby lost her father, and, if you're a black man living in America, you've been reminded once again that your life is in constant jeopardy of violent death.

The Black KKK claimed another victim, a high-profile professional football player with a checkered past this time.

No, we don't know for certain the circumstances surrounding Taylor's death. I could very well be proven wrong for engaging in this sort of aggressive speculation. But it's no different than if you saw a fat man fall to the ground clutching his chest. You'd assume a heart attack, and you'd know, no matter the cause, the man needed to lose weight.

Well, when shots are fired and a black man hits the pavement, there's every statistical reason to believe another black man pulled the trigger. That's not some negative, unfair stereotype. It's a reality we've been living with, tolerating and rationalizing for far too long.

When the traditional, white KKK lynched, terrorized and intimidated black folks at a slower rate than its modern-day dark-skinned replacement, at least we had the good sense to be outraged and in no mood to contemplate rationalizations or be fooled by distractions.

Our new millennium strategy is to pray the Black KKK goes away or ignores us. How's that working?

About as well as the attempt to shift attention away from this uniquely African-American crisis by focusing on an alleged injustice the white media allegedly perpetrated against Sean Taylor.

Within hours of his death, there was a story circulating that members of the black press were complaining that news outlets were disrespecting Taylor's victimhood by reporting on his troubled past

No disrespect to Taylor, but he controlled the way he would be remembered by the way he lived. His immature, undisciplined behavior with his employer, his run-ins with law enforcement, which included allegedly threatening a man with a loaded gun, and the fact a vehicle he owned was once sprayed with bullets are all pertinent details when you've been murdered.

Marcellus Wiley, a former NFL player, made the radio circuit Wednesday, singing the tune that athletes are targets. That was his explanation for the murders of Taylor and Broncos cornerback Darrent Williams and the armed robberies of NBA players Antoine Walker and Eddy Curry.

Really?

Let's cut through the bull(manure) and deal with reality. Black men are targets of black men. Period. Go check the coroner's office and talk with a police detective. These bullets aren't checking W-2s.

Rather than whine about white folks' insensitivity or reserve a special place of sorrow for rich athletes, we'd be better served mustering the kind of outrage and courage it took in the 1950s and 1960s to stop the white KKK from hanging black men from trees.

But we don't want to deal with ourselves. We take great joy in prescribing medicine to cure the hate in other people's hearts. Meanwhile, our self-hatred, on full display for the world to see, remains untreated, undiagnosed and unrepentant.

Our self-hatred has been set to music and reinforced by a pervasive culture that promotes a crab-in-barrel mentality.

You're damn straight I blame hip hop for playing a role in the genocide of American black men. When your leading causes of death and dysfunction are murder, ignorance and incarceration, there's no reason to give a free pass to a culture that celebrates murder, ignorance and incarceration.

Of course there are other catalysts, but until we recapture the minds of black youth, convince them that it's not OK to "super man dat ho" and end any and every dispute by "cocking on your bitch," nothing will change.

Does a Soulja Boy want an education?

HBO did a fascinating documentary on Little Rock Central High School, the Arkansas school that required the National Guard so that nine black kids could attend in the 1950s. Fifty years later, the school is one of the nation's best in terms of funding and educational opportunities. It's 60 percent black and located in a poor black community.

Watch the documentary and ask yourself why nine poor kids in the '50s risked their lives to get a good education and a thousand poor black kids today ignore the opportunity that is served to them on a platter.

Blame drugs, blame Ronald Reagan, blame George Bush, blame it on the rain or whatever. There's only one group of people who can change the rotten, anti-education, pro-violence culture our kids have adopted. We have to do it.

According to reports, Sean Taylor had difficulty breaking free from the unsavory characters he associated with during his youth.

The "keepin' it real" mantra of hip hop is in direct defiance to evolution. There's always someone ready to tell you you're selling out if you move away from the immature and dangerous activities you used to do, you're selling out if you speak proper English, embrace education, dress like a grown man, do anything mainstream.

The Black KKK is enforcing the same crippling standards as its parent organization. It wants to keep black men in their place — uneducated, outside the mainstream and six feet deep.

In all likelihood, the Black Klan and its mentality buried Sean Taylor, and any black man or boy reading this could be next."