Surely there is something else

Normally, I refrain from placing my personal political opinions on the net. However, occasionally there comes a topic that I feel so strongly about that I feel the to weigh-in.  Education is one of those topics (says the guy who slept through the majority of his classes)… I’ll try to contain the fury.

This week the Louisiana Board of Regents is holding its annual meeting at which the higher educational school systems discuss their plans for the upcoming year.  As part of those plans, the LSU and Southern school systems will be cutting 32% of its budget.  http://www.wwltv.com/news/local/Colleges-prepare-for-massive-budget-cuts-103355889.html

My Plea:  While I am sure that the powers that be have crunched numbers, drawn straws and worked tirelessly to find as many solutions as possible, I BEG that another look be given at the figures.  A cut of a third of a major colligate school system is not only a crippling blow to academic future of said schools and programs that allow them to function efficiently, but it will also cause deal catastrophic trickle down effect in to various other areas (economy, teacher availability, lost of intellectual resources, retention of local mind, etc., etc., etc.) which will inevitably lead to far harder escape problems. 

I know, I’m not nearly as intelligent, smart, or experienced as the great minds in these meetings… but I do know this: there is a reason why most prosperous areas usually carry with them great academic institutions.  IF YOU CUT THE BOOKS, OTHER VALUABLE RESOURCES WILL BE SURE TO FOLLOW!

Confessions of a foriegn ear

Forgive Me New Orleans, For I Have Sinned…

It was a stormy night,
You know the kind where lightin’ strike.
And I was hanging out with some of my artsy friends,
Oooh wee ooh wee oh..
Sorry, the Eykah Badu hit just so happens to be funneling in through the speaker at the moment. Truth be told, it was more of a typical New Orleans spring evening: muggy… very muggy. And while there was no sign of thunder or lightin’, there was a sound that did bring about that Oooh wee ooh wee oh feeling. There was a roll of trumpets and horns, and though there was no rumbling of thunder, the blare of tubas did seem to quake the scene in a familiar way. This was a storm of music known as The Brass Band Blowout, and if your no familiar with the local climate, you may find yourself ill prepared for the storm.

You see, since I have moved to New Orleans (and Louisiana, for that matter), I have fallen in love with many things that makes this place the cosmopolitan wonderland that it is. The food, the arts, and especially the music. I mean, I love all these different foreign things so much, that I place New Orleans near the top of my World’s Greatest Cities list (not that you really care). And while I’ve resided here for some time, people forget that I’m not a native. Here’s the story: Last night I attended the Brass Band Blowout at the House of Blues. The event was filled with all the things that make an event great: good friends, great drink prices, HOT women (some as a result of the great drink prices), and really good music. Or should I say, good foreign music. After I dropped my $20 bucks to get in, I met up with my homeboy and two lovely looking (and by lovely, I mean damn fine) old friends of mine. We had drinks, some laughs, and grooved to some great sounds. Promptly, at the one-hour mark after my arrival, I announced my departure. As usual, I got sour faces from my compadres from the abrupt bouncing on a good time. Was it the crowd? No. Too much to drink? Not possible. The company? Didn’t I mention that I was among some really hot friends? It was the music. Now, before everyone gets up in arms, understand that I love brass music. I attend shows, and even purchase music (a rarity for me in this bootleg friendly economy). As I found it hard to find the right words to explain my departure, my homeboy Wes came through with the most simple of statements. He said, “Ladies, you forget, Kenny ain’t from around here.” The statement was simple enough that even I got it. I’m not from here, and while I love and appreciate brass music, it’s not native to my ear.

This argument didn’t settle for all, as one of my lovely homegirls (I promise I’m gonna stop flirting with y’all) would reply, “And… I’m not from around here.” What she failed to understand is that brass bands are a delicacy to me. In fact it’s sushi, and man do I love sushi… on occasion. Oh well, back to the Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder albums.

Two stepping on my soapbox,
Kenny

Sorry so short… blame it on the drinks.

Sad state of affairs

Dear friends (and all others reading),

I will spare you my usual rant to address something weighing very heavily on my heart. There has been some recent racial backlash in regards to the election of president-elect Obama. Now before I continue, I want you to know I will refrain from making any political statements beyond the following: I as an American tend to stand by the idealistic belief that all citizens are free to support any candidate of their choice. Neither I, nor any man, have the right to tell you what and how to make your choices. In fact I believe that you even have the right to be upset if the candidate of your choice was not the victor.

However, it saddens me (though it doesn't surprise me) to see so many reduce their displeasure in the choice of the next president to racial slurs, statements, and threats (particularly the recent activity on Facebook). Please allow me to state that not only as a black man, but as human (a child of the same higher power {regardless of what you call your god} that has given you and I life) I am beyond offended. It vexes me that there are a few of those who supported the non-victorious candidates, that can not seem to handle the loss with the class and the sophistication of the candidates themselves.

I understand that race will always be an issue, and there is nothing that I can do to reformat the dark hearts of others. But, to reduce a matter of such importance (the future of your country), to a few racist slurs not only is a display of ignorance and bigotry... but it holds back the progression of all (yes even you). The world not only looks at the nation's leader, but the reflection of the attitudes and actions of it's citizens. If we do not conduct ourselves and express ourselves (both our victories and losses) with a standard of class and sophistication, how can we expect the rest of the world to respect, care, and align themselves with (what I honestly do believe to be) the "greatest nation on Earth."

Stepping off my soapbox (with respect for you all),
Kenny

How good it feels...

It feels so good to be in love... And no one knows it more, than someone who's not.

Greetings folks,
I'm talking to you today in the most relaxed state of mind that I have been in sometime. So before I go on my usual rant, I would like to thank all the good people who recently held me down with their prayers, support and love. Not to sound sappy, but it honestly meant a lot to me. I love ya'll!

...And speaking of love, I witnessed it in abundance this past weekend. After taking the written portion of my comps, I decided to give myself an early B-day gift, and treat myself to a weekend at The Voodoo Music Experience. A weekend of fun, art, and music (oh, and a smorgasbord of mind altering substances). However, I noticed the biggest theme circulating about was love. Now, I don't mean to sound like your tie dye wearing hippie when I say this, but it was true. So much, that mid Lupe Fiasco set; he decided to give a 3-4 minute sermon on his "love of love." He immediately followed this with a serenade to the one audience member in the front row, who didn't raise his hand when the question was asked, "do you believe in love?" (I will concede that I thought this was a bit much). But, Lupe was on to something.

There was a vibe in the air. Not just the love of music, and the fellowshipping with a sea of fans. There was sex in the air. There were hugs and kisses. There was hand holding, and even for the hopelessly committed, there was the simple pinkie clasp. I saw an old couple stretched out on a blanket, sharing an inside laugh as they realized they didn't know exactly what a "Lil' Wayne" show would be like. There was the two teens on the cusp of losing their innocence, when the boy with the mouth full of metal looked lips with the girl in the Newman High hoodie as she was being tugged away by her posse of home girls. I even caught a glimpse of the future as I watched the most adorable couple jammed into the evening listening to R.E.M., while swaying around their toddler.

It was awesome. Amazing. Fucking Rad! Normally, since I usually find myself in the juxtaposition of being alone, I normally try to avert my eyes from mushy scenes of PDA. But this weekend, I couldn't get enough of it. I wasn't just witnessing it, I was looking for it. I was happy, because others were happy. I felt refreshed with a renewed sense of optimism. I was shuffling my feet to The Temptations, as I walked around the park and glanced at couple after couple, occasionally locking eyes with a goddess of my own. Once, at the beginning of the NIN set, I had a girl stop me on the way to the beer line and tell me "you gotta sexy scar" (referring to the spot on my face). That was it; I had fallen in love for the 43rd time that day. That's all she needed to say. Who cares if she was half way in the bag, and probably on enough LSD to think that I was some black version of Trent Reznor. She noticed me. She even noticed something about me. That was all that was needed.

I left the last the day of the fest, the same way that I came... alone. But, not sad. I had fallen in love with love again. I shared a few experiences: The cigarette I shared with two chicks getting ready for Wyclef. The girl who was friends with the kickass guitar player, who invited us to come to the bar he and she play at (44th person, but as you may have noticed, I forgot her name... hence, all the pronouns). I got a taste of it and I want more. I feel like a man out of love rehab. I had just gotten comfortable with the simplicity of being alone. The wonderful feeling of being a single man. I had gotten my life together, and devoted my time to more important areas of life. But I left rehab, and relocated to love Amsterdam, convincing myself I'd just have a taste of the good stuff and found myself jonzing for the same good high that young love brings. So, now I'm back on the streets looking for a new fix. Ladies, if you are supplying... holla. People, the hopeless romantic is back. Fellas, watch your girls. Parents, prepare your daughters. And if you are reading this wondering if you could be my next relapse into love's addiction... call me, and we can discuss all the details of wannakissmeitis.

Comfortably stepping off my soapbox,
Kenny

Analog and romance

Hello good people,
I just realized that it has been some time since I have stood on my virtual soap box, and offered my "opinion" on something (even though you didn't ask for it). But I was sitting in my apartment playing video games and listening to some MP3's, when something struck me. Technology has put all notions of romance on the brink of scarcity, and possibly extinction.

To some of you this is nothing new. Others, may find this to be illogical, unsound, or at best just a pointless statement. These are most likely the people who will stop reading about now (Farewell, and I'll catch you on my next rant). But, for those who choose to continue to read, please understand two things. 1) By romance I am not referring the "heart melting and cheesy" things usually associated with the word. I am using it as my default word for the extreme care that goes into producing a product (or sentiment) for someone or something. 2) This is also not a bashing of technology and technological advancements. Actually, it's quite the opposite. I think technology has made life of great ease and comfort. In fact, it has done this so much so, that we no longer have to toil over our "labors of love". (Think of this as my intervention to our dependency problem with technology). Believe, me I am not about to lie to you all and tell you that I'm ready to trade in my 8 ounce MP3 player that holds more songs than I actually own, for an old school Sony Walkman that you have to replace the AA batteries every 45 minutes.

However, I have discovered one simple truth... technology is not romantic. Really. I have never read an email more romantic then a hand written letter (and I have read some pretty lame love letters). Perhaps some have been more "descriptive" (and feel free to replace "descriptive" with any number of synonyms for sexy), but none more romantic. This is perhaps because of three things that are so obvious, we find often find ourselves oblivious to there significance.

The first: actual writing. It sounds simple, but we must remember that writing is the corner stone in which civilization was built upon. Now this is not to say that 10 million emails and text messages we send to our BFF's everyday isn't communicating. But, it certainly isn't expressive. There is a voice to a letter that has been hand written. I could tell how smitten she was when she made the little curly designs when she wrote my name. I could hear his pain when the ink was smudged from the tears that hit the page while writing. But these "inflections" you don't get when you read words produced from the pounding of keys on my laptop. You can't tell if I'm feeling lonesome (which I'm not), or if I'm wasted (which I am). But given the state of my hand writing, one may have clues to my mental state when writing at that particular moment.

Second: I took the TIME to WRITE you a letter! Do you know what that means?!?! It means I looked for a pen (or sharpened a pencil), found paper and began to write! I had to constantly check my spelling (as to not appear like a dumb ass if I accidentally write their instead of they're), because "spell check" can't save my ass. I may have taken the time to lick a 35 cent stamp and hike over to the nearest postal box, just to get it to your location. I even risk the ridicule of my atrocious hand writing, just to send you a message. That's a lot. It reminds me of another long lost analog art... the mix tape. Say what you will about mix tapes, but there was a magic to them. When you sent a mix tape to someone, you sent 60 minutes of your every feeling (no matter how cheesy) about a person. And there was a reason for this- you took the time to make sure that it came out the exact way you meant it to. Let quickly analyze this. You had to first, find a song that described your feeling. You then had to press play and record at the same time, and then listen to the entire duration of the song. And once the song was over, you had to hit stop just in time to not catch any unwanted audio that may ruin your slow jam cassette. And after all of this you have to repeat the process at least 20 times to fill the tape. Whew, that's work! But, it was worth it. You knew that as soon as she pressed play on your "masterpiece collection" of "smooth" sounds, that she would know exactly how you felt (and possibly feel a certain way about you too).

Lastly: I came in an envelope... and there are fewer things more powerful then the contents of an envelope. There is something about a sealed envelope that's almost mythical in a way. In fact, I can prove it's very power through a simple experiment. The next time you receive a bill in the mail, open it while standing in front of a mirror. After you read it look into the mirror and notice your facial expression. Now repeat this experiment, but this time replace the bill with a check you've received. The difference between the to facial expressions are that of night and day. Besides, there is an intrigue to the contents within. What does it say? How long is it? All of these secrets that can only be answered after you tear open, the very thing that has been sealed to guard words meant only for your eyes (think about it...).

So I say to you today, there is nothing wrong with being a little analog in this digital world. If this is our generations version of taking the time to smell the roses, then I say to you "sit at your desk with a pen, and write of life's many aromas." Go out and write letters, and make mix tape (or at least burn mix CD's). Show that you actually put a labor in to your love.

Peace and gummy bears,
Kenny

PS
Sorry, for the length.

Aging...

December 19, 2007 at 8:42am

 

Good morning friends,
I write you with a heavy heart my friends... as I am sad to tell you that, I'm getting old. Yes, old. You see I have often been suspicous of the fact, but have just ignored the signs. BUT on this sad morning, I was hit in the face with undenyable proof.

You see, it all started last night with me making the statement, "I think I'll go to bed now, because I want to go jog tomorrow" at 9 PM. Now, I certainly didn't see this as a need for alarm as I was: 1) a bit tired from being quite productive earlier in the day; and 2) just generaly bored as fuck. But then a rare occurance happend. At 3:30 I woke up... and couldn't go back to sleep. I tried, and even sometimes I could catch thrity minuets here or fifteen minutes there... but for the most part I was awake. Well, I knew that my mom had to wake up at six, so I decided to remain in bed until she got up. Why? Not because I was afraid to wake her up, or was waiting to ask her something before she scurried off to work... but because I refuse to get up on my "vacation" with nothing to do, EARLIER than the 49 year old woman who actually has to be at work. I got pride!

Finally, she wakes up and I dart out of bed. I grab my shoes, and I hit the road... because as much as I hate running, I determined to defend my youth. After my TRIUMPHANT run (casulties include: joints, muscules, feet, and a strange twitch), I decided that because I had absolutely nothing to do (and because my mom finally upgraded her cable) that I was going to do something that would definatly reclaim my glourious youth. I decided I was going to drink... LIKE A FUCKING CHAMPION! You see brothers and sisters, long ago there was a legend by the name of "K-ROCK". And he could drink. And he could party. And the very mere whisper of a party or an all night drinking binge was sure to summon his presence. And not just parties and large gatherings, but he even drank with you on an intimate level. Let's recall the hits:

"Congrats on your A in math... let's get wasted!"
"Say man, she ain't worth it... let's go get you a drink"
"Fuck Valentines Day! Who wants a buttery nipple"
The loveable, "WHO WANTS SHOTS!"
"Hey anyone wanna get bombed and watch all the Jay and Silent Bob movies" (thanks woody).
"Pourin' some out for my homies who ain't here... "
And of course the classic, "Did I just drink myself sober? I...I think I did. Crap, now I sober. I need a drink" (weep, for mardi gras and beerfest memories).

Yes friends, K-Rock was a party legend. And then the day came, when he said to one fellow party goer "I think that I'm going to stay in tonight... I've got to study." Before he knew it, he began to lose his youthful powers. He began to consume water, and juice. He started to read book... yes, books (even the ones without the pictures!). He slowly fell into the trap that is adulthood and lost joy of drunken youth.

Well today ladies and gents... I try to resurrect the spirit of K-Rock! I decided after my shower that I would relive an ancient tradition. See long ago, K-Rock shared a great manor in the region of Sherwood Forest in the land of Baton Rouge. In this manner he resided with three of the most notorious of drinkers: Clint "they got 99 cent tallboys" Gallo, Keegan "My taco, Bitch!" Roberts, and the youngest of them Kyle "twin chicks" Roberts. One day Kyle and K-Rock (more commonly known as "The Oreo Twins") woke up on an early morn, much like this one, and proclaimed, "I don't wanna go to class today... lets drink on the roof instead (warning: do not question the infinite wisdom of the great wise drunks.) So they set out to do so. At 8 AM they went to a grocery store and purchased multiple cases of fine beer (Red Dog, and High Life) and returned to sit on the roof top and bask in the zen of alcoholism. So today, I attempted an all day drinking fest. At around 8:45, I opened one. Now at 9:24 AM, it saddens me to tell you that I am still holding that beer (thank God for frosted mugs). Though I will try to fight this through my friends, I must say that the situation is quite grim.

Though I sit here, fighting the losing battle of aging... I ask that where ever you are (at 5:30, because I know your at work or still sleeping right now), that you pour a drink, crack open a cold one, and raise a bottle high in the memory of your youth. "LONG LIVE KROCK!"

Good day,
Kenneth

Random Ramblings

Sunday, December 16, 2007 at 12:38am

 

Hey World,
I'm here again to share some thoughts on my mind:

1) Scholarship- In light of my recent academic triumph, I have decided that I really was a dumb ass to not get good grades when I was an undergrad. It really is easy... find an interest and work hard at it.

2) Time to get my body back. Since I'm back in VA and bored as hell, I have been thumbing through some old photos and decided that it's time to get my body back. Now over the past few months I have lost some weight, but it was more from stress than health and fitness. No, this does not mean that I will be returning to powerlifting... well maybe. What it does mean, is I will reestablish my love affair with the heavy weight training. It also signals my next random thought of volunteering.

3) Service- You know, although I have done a lot of volunteering over the past year... it's time to get back to working with kids. They keep me active, and I love being able to share my knowledge and experiance with them.

4) Lovers and friends- Lots of one... few of the other. This year highlighted many moments (good and bad) in my personal relationships with people. 1) made many new friends, 2) unfortunatly, didn't do the best job at keeping up and staying in the contact with old friends (sorry, I'm working on that), 3) went that the longest I've ever been with out having sex... a very long time (good and bad... depending on perspective),and 4) broke the sexless streak (not so good).

5) I have a few friends that (as Wes would say) don't need to be "just my friend." I have often been afraid to cross the line with some friends, because I was to scared to chase them out of my life. Now, things are a little different. Now, if there is a chemistry there, I am more likely to be less calculating and more impulsive. So, in the new year a few people (stop guessing! chances are you don't know who they are) may here a lil' less "How was your weekend" and a lil more "How about you stay here tonight?"

6) The only thing worst than no sex... is bad sex. Enough said. It really sucks when the chick is having good, and you are ready to find the nearest exit. REALLY!

7) Please, don't drag me into your drama. I'm already a magenet for that crap.

8) Vices- I have tamed most of them. I'm working on some. I'm just trying to find a balance.

9) Ladies... well, we'll do that another time.

10) I just wanted to put ten on the list to make it seem official.

I'm out,

Kenny "K Rock" Reynolds