Quality

Good Morning party peeps, this is tha veteran comin’ to ya live from Los Angeles. So, I just moved into a new landing and as you may have experienced yourself, when you move it is a time for you to “see” everything that you own. While this is not an itemized list that I am about to share with you-that would be creepy-I will share with you my thoughts around quality. My brother is a big donator of old clothes. Invariably, what he is absolutely in love with and must purchase in January gets a very stern visual scrutiny in November. Lol, I love it. I have been the recipient of two very nice three quarter fine wool peacoat’s due to his process of elimination. I myself am a little more extreme. On my recent move I decided I no longer wanted my bed. That’s it. It’s not what I want in my new place, it’s out of here. Same with some pots and pans you know the ones that are utilitarian but not at all fly. They had to go as well. I’m currently staring at my silverware, my plates and all of my mismatched glassware…it has to bounce immediately. There was a time when none of this mattered, or more truthfully it wasn’t noticed. When you want to sleep there is a bed to sleep on-check. When you want to eat you can cook and plate your food-check. But, its funny, as you get older and you work harder you need home base to be a sanctuary. You need to surround yourself in quality as an answer for what you get up and do everyday. Take for instance your sheet game. Have you investigated your sheet game lately? Let me tell share with you what opened my eyes. I was seeing this woman who had just purchased a king sized bed and we were shopping for sheets for her. Being who I am I cruised the isles checking for size and price. Being who she is she only moved into price after THREAD COUNT. She refused to lay on anything  other than 100% cotton. No blends and nothing under 900 thread count which isn’t even the softest flyest thread count you can have but it was her line in the sand. She would not shower and slide into a bed with sheets that felt like paper. Which is what the lower thread counts feel like. Standing in the store discussing this I did not have any kind of revelation..later laying in that bed, on those sheets, under a down comforter, on 100% down pillows, the revelation was complete. This is how you are supposed to sleep. This is what a Sunday morning late wake up after a week of three am wake ups for work is supposed to feel like. You work and therefore you should enjoy some quality in your home. Now for the rub. Quality cost money. Down is more expensive than polyester. 900 count cost more than 200 count. There’s a track called the “London Skit” on the Rick Ross Rich Forever mix tape where someone is describing his cashmere socks..”100 dollars a sock two ankles you do tha math, pulled them on socks on first followed by the loafers and I know that from that day, that week, that month, that millennium that we gon be rich forever, rich forever.” Ha, I love that shit. Now, in closing in case you think ya boy tha vet is on some flossy floss for others bullshit-let me correct your thinking. Let us leave cashmere socks and venture into the world of toilet paper. Yes fool-toilet paper. You ever stood in that isle staring at your options and having the most sensible, practical, budget conscious of thoughts, “Word, twelve 1 ply rolls for thirty-five cents, I’ll stock up and wipe forever!” Yeah, you have. But my challenge to you is to think of your ass, you only get one ass. Why would you subject it to 1 ply? Spend the money and get that quilted 2 ply butter soft thick as a t-shirt shit. Yes, you will only be able to get four rolls for the price of the twelve 1 ply’s but you must trust me on this-you’ll feel better. The socks, the toilet paper, the towels, the sheets, the pillows, the comforter, the shirts, all of it makes you feel better and when do we do our best work? When we feel good. Of course, naturally you will have a painful thought as you seek out, find and realize you can’t afford tha better quality products-You need to make more scrill…but that conversation will have to wait for next time.

Get ya mind (and ya sheet game) right,

Tha Veteran

 

black espresso youtube video

ho ho hoe

On this day I hope all who hold it in such high regard have the exact experience that they are looking forward too. I’m feelin good. True Grit is in theater’s looks like it’s gonna be pretty good. New Range Rover commercial looks fruitfully, financially, festive and the Chicago Bears are going to smack tha shit outta tha Jet’s tomorrow (sorry Craig, O).

My little one’s are out of town so I’ve got some time to reflect before I head in to work. Yes, I’m going to work. Some people are looking for work so no tears here. There is a thought that brings a small tear to my eye although it isn’t a tear of sadness. It’s a droplet of pity for the Camry/Civic/Acura lady.

Let me explain-A couple of months ago I was traveling south on Westwood Blvd. Sitting in the LEFT turn lane BEHIND at least two other cars waiting for the arrow to turn green. On my right, waiting for her light to change as well so she could continue traveling south- was the Camry/Civic/Acura lady. I have named her the Camry/Civic/Acura lady because I can’t remember which of these automobiles she was driving. In any event as we are both waiting I do one of those casual look over’s for no other reason than we are both sitting there and I’ve already lit my cigarette, changed my cd and checked my rear view mirror. It could not have been more than a millisecond that I looked her way-tops.

What happened next was amazing. This woman met my eye for that millisecond and decided crime was on the horizon. She rolled up the remainder of her halfway open window while simultaneously locking her doors. Here is where the tears of pity come in….Let’s explore the thought process of this woman for a second.

First of all let us not forget the physical setting I told you about. Traffic in front and behind both of us. Stopped at a red light. On one of the busiest interesections in the city. Westwood and Pico Blvd. Store that.

Now this lady, who’s car is so non-memorable that I have given it three possible model names believes one or all of a couple of things:

A) That I value her car more than my own.

B) That I value her car’s contents  more than my own.

C) That I’m driving around at 2 in the afternoon just waiting to get my chance to commit crime. Particularly, at stop lights.

D) That I am a criminal black superhero.

A) In this scenario, I am so overcome with desire for her Camry/Civic/Acura that I hop out of MY OWN FUCKING CAR and jack her for hers. Not a very good plan on my part because remember there are stopped cars to the front, back, right left of her since my own car is now stranded on the left of her with no driver.

B) In this scenario I hop out of my car-approach hers do some very well lit, conspicuous, car content jacking and then go back and sit in my car surrounded by others waiting for the light to change…hmmm again I’m no criminal mastermind but even I can see this  may not the best plan.

C) See C above.

D) Now this may be the one. I love comic books and I know that in said books people walking amongst us are capable of some amazing feats of strength, speed, power, etc…this is the only partially, minutely plausible, scenario that she could have really been thinking was about to take place. Somehow I was going to commit the act’s of A, B and C and then either turn my car into a fucking hovercraft getaway mobile or pull out my cape and fly away (which by the way, if I were able to fly would I really need anything that could possibly be in her car? just a thought). Or, she simply believed that the person to her left fairly navigating traffic well enough to reach this destination and operate a couple of tons of motorized steel with wheels attached to it-has decided that she is worth jacking and then driving forward into a stopped car-reversing into a stopped car-turning right and crashing into her or turning left before reaching the intersection and crashing into oncoming traffic only to be arrested and possibly injured in the crash for the life changing opportunity of possessing her gum stuck $7 dollars and  35 cents from her center console.

Dear Camry/Civic/Acura lady..turn Fox news off. I’m in my car at the light. I’m thinking about my trip to Kentucky later this year, I’m thinking about maybe moving to a different house, I’m thinking about work, my kids, my brother, this new chick I wanna see. I’m thinking about going to see Wu-Tang sunday night but I work at 4am Monday Morning. I’m thinking about Mike Downs in New York is he o.k.? I’m thinking about writing a treatment for a video that I see in my mind. I’m thinking about Trader Joe’s smoked gouda cheese-that shit is delicious-and I live close to Trader Joe’s. I’m thinking about not being able to go to yet another one of Bryces basketball games due to work. I’m thinking this TooL album I’m listening to in the car sounds as good as I remember…..

I’m not thinking about you hoe.

Peace,

Tha Veteran

 

dont drink tha kool aid son!

Now is the time to get creative. Better yet now is the time to return to creativity.  Many of us have been lulled to sleep and the scary part is that we have no idea. We got busy with busy work. Yes, I’m calling it busy work..all of it.  9 to 5?-busy work, raising tha kids?-busy work-painting tha house?-shoveling snow from the driveway?-organizing the carpool?-staring at the excel spreadsheet one more night even though that shit hasn’t moved an inch?-all busy work.

Everyday there is an opportunity to do what you want to do. How did we forget this? Because what you want to do doesn’t fit your life. You, my friend, have been drinking forty’s of tha’ kool-aid for a long, long time. That’s why.  Self help books line the shelves of every bookstore and they all say basically the same thing.

Let that old shit go that has you shook and get busy.

I watched a flick the other night and character A was explaining to character B why he lived a life of no regrets. He explained how his father had a fraternal twin and they were as different as night and day.Character A’s dad was “by the book.” Never as much as a parking ticket.  No nonsense. Clean shaven. Taxes paid on time, completely in step with society. One day, Character A’s dad died of a massive heart attack at age 54. His brother on the other hand drank as much as he could consume and slept with as many women as he could find. He was constantly in and out of jail.  He lived in different cities, shaved when he felt like it etc..

The wild brother (Character A’s uncle) died the day after the straight and narrow brother died. It was a car accident out in California not at all his fault. Now, I’m gonna take a few liberties here. First of all, I’m not suggesting you let the kids sit by the side of the road crying when it’s your turn to monitor the crosswalk at school or walk into your job and piss on your desk. But why haven’t you taken that writing class or actually called the dude on craigslist that offers guitar lessons on your schedule? at your pace?

Have you ever met someone who plays four instruments and speaks as many languages? Have you ever met someone who has already been to more places on this earth than you have on your “to do one day” list.  That shit is sobering.

I sold a desktop cigar humidor to a cat on craigslist once. We met in the parking lot of Ikea in Carson.  After he made sure I wasn’t selling bullshit and I made sure he wasn’t trying to jack, everyone calmed down and we rapped a taste. He told me he and his wife take their income tax returns anduse them to take as many as four little mini trips every year. The last trip was to Thailand where his wife had family so they could go to the real off the beaten path places and explore. They went to backalley restaurants where tiger was on the menu. Eating tiger is illegal and I’m not here to debate if that shit was fly or not. I don’t care.  The point is he worked full time. She worked full time. They did not have wealthy parents or some rich uncle. They had the only thing that is required to see this entire planet one trip at a time…desire. They got creative. When you get that figurative cup of kool-aid out of your hand and stop clinking and making the same life toast that everyone else is making you can do some shit.

Tha kool-aid tells you that someone else can do what you can’t do. Tha kool-aid has you searching on youtube for the funniest video’s while your own homeboy/homegirl has had you and your friends laughing your asses off for your entire life. Why aren’t you filming him/her and posting your own shit?  Not for money, just for life..just for living. If it turns into a little paper all the better. There will always be a job for you. Even in this economy there will be a job that pays enough for you to eat and watch other people on television who are, for better or worse, trying to be creative and live.

I’m willing to bet that most of them drink 8 to 10 glasses of water per day. What are you drinking?

Peace,

ThaVeteran

Suede Pumas or Stacey Adams..can they both exist?

Hello good people. This is the first addition to the Thoughtz from tha veteran blog. I can think of no topic that has more need of exploration than the one I present to you now. You see I am 40 years old and a proud member of that era’s hip hop generation. That is the problem so to speak, that era’s hip hop generation is older now. Older, but not out of the game. I am here to join us all together and provide if nothing else, a place to voice our confusion? denial? love? nostalgic rememberences? of the good old dayz as well as a forum for us to figure out how to exist in this era’s generation with our new realities and responsibilities.

Some may be thinking, “what’s the problem? I have all of my old school jointz and I play them in the car or when the kids are sleep” or some other closeted form of enjoying what you once lived for. I am saying that for me and I am sure many others..that itself is the problem. I bought my ex wife two tickets to the “men of soul” concert for her birthday the other day. The men of soul concert is where I, as a grown up, should be gettin my salt and pepper shimmy on. That I can think of no other evening that would appeal to me less causes me some inner discomfort. And the worst part is that it has nothing to do with the artist per se. Jeffery Osbourne, Howard Hewitt, Freddie Jackson, and Peabo Bryson are all talented, accomplished artist that I respect and admire. The problem is they are not the primary soundtrack of my youth. They were on the fringe. And I did not live for the fringe..I lived for the core. That core still drives me today. I love shell toes. I love puma’s. I love sweat suits. I like suits. I like dress shoes. I love hip hop. I like the “men of soul”.

How does a non teen or twenty something year old male pick up a date rocking the new E-40 album? Or god forbid, The Clipse-which is in constant play in my car? You must admit it says a lot. I like what it says because that’s who I’ve always been but I do recognize the ability to polarize or even ostracize that is in lockstep with those music choices as a divorced father with kidz. In 50’s new book with Robert Greene “The 50th Law”he states, “the biggest fear people have is the fear of being themselves” I believe that is a true statement. And I try to stay on guard to make sure I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing per societal rules…to a degree. I mean we must have the basics in place: shelter-check, transportation-check, employment-check, vices either gone with the passage of youth or non self destructing-check, car insurance-check, you get the idea. But after that, those of us who grew up listening to Run Dmc in the era of Run Dmc should not have to file those away and proclaim we listen to Rev Run with the same fire in the belly appreciation.

Now, I’m not stating that we need to disregard the age old wisdom of “a time and a place” for everything. I just want to know when is the time? Where is our place? I do not want to be nostalgic. That to me is the kiss of death. Conversely, the thought of going to a gang infested super hip hop concert today is far from appealing. Yes, I just made a very large and broad and possibly foul generalized concert statement as pertains to “super” hip-hop concerts. But, to be clear, I know of what I speak. I attended a Mack 10, E-40, Ice Cube concert many moons ago and a couple of things happened. Number 1, I was blown away by Cubes ability to recite all of his verses and run around the stage end to end for his entire performance. As a retired MC myself I can appreciate what it takes to get that done. Number 2, E-40 was and is one of the most underrated rappers in the game. Number 3, I knew someone was gonna get knocked the fuck out! I was there with my latin homeboy and a white girl from South Africa that I was trying to personally end apartheid with. The gang count was thru tha roof. I didn’t give a shit. I grew up on 33rd and Market street in Southeast San Diego. Didn’t faze me in tha least. I knew how to navigate that environment. And if I’m honest here, the element of just under the surface possible danger made the beats bang harder.The rhymes crisper. The night was alive and undetermined. Anything could happen. Everything could happen. That’s why we went, no?

But my friends that was four apartments, many jobs, one marriage, one divorce, three kids and a lost mortgage ago. I’m not a child. I like to see people get knocked tha fuck out now on pay per view. But I still love that music. I still get a physical reaction to the music. I played “Rebel without a Pause” in my house the other day and for three minutes I lost my mind. I was inside of that music. I didn’t even really know what to do with myself. Other than rapping along…loudly. Jumping up and down searching for a way to express the perfection of that song. I’m not giving that up for the “Men of Soul” tour just because the latter is age appropriate! In the wordz of Whitney..”hell to the no”. So where does that leave me/us? That is the question maybe one of you can answer. What the hell do we do? and Where tha hell do we do it?

Until next time peace,

DamnUniqueThaVeteran