cultural marketing

there is much to say on this topic. but i'm not going to now. it's 2:30 in the morning and i have a ton of work to do tonight. all i know is that, i saw this commercial for mcdonalds, and i get it, i really do. yet, at the same time, i don't. i comprehend the satire placed on the formulaic r&b songs, and even apprehend the silliness about singing so passionately about chicken nuggets. i get it, i do. and if this were a case of just being silly; had it just been a spoof on SNL or some other sketch comedy show; had it just been a youtube video by people with too much time on their hands; i would be able to appreciate the creativity and wit of this commercial. however, it is not a simple spoof. nor is it a satire created for the purposes of entertainment and comedy. this commercial is just that, a commercial. no message. no meaning or selling points. it's decent, but infuses a level of culture that makes me consider how this was even arrived to in the boardroom. in the ad department of mcdonalds, how did this concept get from someone's brain, out of their mouth, onto paper, into print, and then filmed without someone saying, "hey, this is a stupid idea".

for all intents and purposes, i have included, below this stupid commercial, a actual funny commercial. in my opinion, sprite had the best infusion of black culture mixed with commercial marketing to date, with their "image is nothing, thirst is everything" ride about 8 years ago. the bottom commercial here is, by far, one of the best commercials i have ever seen. enough for it to have stuck in my head for nearly a decade. indeed mcdonalds, "what, what is your motivation?"

thank you.

less naps (part 2)

i'm spending money like i got it,
doing things like i don't need sleep,
not giving a damn what i eat,
relationships lasting all but a week,
and i brag,
like the nerve of this shit doesn't make me look bad,
i'm not mad, i'm just pensive,
so i talk like i'm deep and stuff,
using four syllable words and such,
like the fundamental quality of my brain's as much,
and then contract my lexicon to say "fuck",
i mean,
i front like image isn't important,
while knowing all the while that image is really the only thing that we've got,
if reality is relative, then perception is real,
even if the image that's perceived is not,
and then i'm caught in my rants again,
writing blogs when i should be looking for jobs,
or sketching my plans,
acting like my life is not in my hands,
it's at my fingertips, it's on her pretty lips, it's just a grasp away,
sigh,
inhale,
hold it,
exhale,
through the mouth,
think,
i heard a man say once that you have to make your next move your best move ya'dig,
he added the ya'dig, not me,
i just added the audience,
i try to pay attention even though it may seem i'm not listenin',
my distractions are sincere though, random, but true,
and though i'm in no way obligated to explain my way through,
it's just pleasant to know i have that chance to tell you,
i may never be the man that i wish to be,
i may always have these faults that i fight every day,
but if i ever get the chance to die for what i believe,
i'll go down, tell the world i lived not in vain,
tell the world that we tried it, every way we could see,
tell them not to be afraid to get hurt, or to bleed,
tell them...ha, there i go on my rants again,
if you need me, i'll grinding,
get at me then.

(this is dedicated to the 90min sleep i was about to take, but decided not to for the sake of productivity. r.i.p. dreams, you won't be forgotten)

less naps (part 1)

i have come to some theories since i have been here in puerto rico.

1. assimilation is a skill. adaptation and transformation is a craft. just like any other. just like playing the trumpet. just like riding a bike. it's something that is learned, and afterwards, must be practiced. i have noticed, i went through a lot when i moved to new york. i had to go broke several times in order to get used to my budget. i had to get lost several times in order to learn my way. i had to lose several friends before i learned how to keep in touch. i had to lose my mind, lose my way, lose my faith, lose my motivation and lose myself...all in order to find them again, broken, and fix them to what they had to be in order to survive in my new environment. i had to build upon myself in order to live. it was a part of the process, i know that now. i had to change in order to adapt. it's the very essence of the word, it's the very definition. i was foolish to assume that i could adapt without changing. that's like one saying they're going swimming, but not getting in the water. like, they don't want to get wet. you can't adapt without change. you can't assimilate without having become something, someone new. something different. and as such, puerto rico is my second round with this assimilation thing. and i have found, that just as anything you practice, i have gotten better at it. the very things that it took me a year to do in new york, i have done in 2 months here. the changes i had to endure the first round are but preliminaries now. in the last 2 months, i have lost what was necessary in order to rebuild, and i am conscious of the changes that need to be made. that's something that took much longer while in the ny area.

what concerns me is what comes after that.

once i have expedited the assimilation process as i know it to be, what comes after? all i know is that there is more. i only know that this is just the beginning. i am grasping the notion of how grand the task before me is. that everything that i have exprienced up to this point in my life was simply training camp. just practice.

very soon, the refs are going to tell me to take my mark. i will get in my stance, ready or not, mentally going through every skill i have and know, analyzing what i will have to use, and when, in order to finish the race. let alone win. and what's more, what's most important, is that when that gun goes off, all of my analyzing, strategy, planning, preparing and thinking will go straight out of the window. life at that point will be 98% instinct, as the speed of my existence will dominate the force of my drive. leave 2% for sleep. all within the framework of God's will and the forces of those that seek to destroy that which is good and righteous. for we all operate within that framework, whether we are conscious of it or not. it is this practice, the tools that i have gained in my time away from home that will craft and mold my instinct, that will be the base and foundation of my decisions. even the replies to my prayers are telling me to make my own choices, based off the tools and resources that have been granted to me. "racing to the starting line" (thanks G).

but again, that's the 1st running theory since i've been here.

2. the second theory is that between all the assimilating and adjusting, i'm not really spending my time here well. i stay in a lot. and though i know that that's somewhat due to the "being broke"/"being lost" aspect of the assimilation process, AND somewhat due to my opinion that there's not much to do here beyond beach and clubs, i also acknowledge that it's really just me. hesistant to really go out and adventure. not taking advantage of the xperience in it's fullness because, honestly, i think that i've done well just making it this far.


just yesterday, happy thanksgiving, i traveled with a friend to celebrate thanksgiving with they're family. it was cool. the turkey was good, the stuffing was the truth, and they kept serving me wine for some reason. i had one glass and said it was good wine, and after that they just kept up filling it up. it became "the American's bottle of wine". it was odd, but neiter here nor there i suppose. the point is that i had to drive to an entirely different part of the island. and it was beautiful. and remote. for fun, the teenagers were riding skateboards and horses down the street. yes, same time, same street. it was a little paved hill. at one point, one would lay on his back on the skateboard, and speed down the hill. and just after him, another would jump on the horse and gallop after him as if it were a race. but it wasn't a race, it was just something to do. just as the neighbors next door built a huge skateboard ramp. the kinds you see on ESPN and G4 stations. just built in the backyard. and everyone was on it. some people were just chilling in the middle, the others were dodging the people in the middle as they skateboarded around them.

but you don't get this type of stuff on my block. i live in the city part of the island. i'm here. i made it, but i have become content with my accomplishment. after praying, planning and preparing, i have survived to this juncture, and have forgotten that one simple thing: that there's more. and i don't know exactly when that more is enough, but i know it's not now. i know it's not yet. just as i knew that it was the right time to venture from brooklyn to here, i have to hope that i realize the same of this place. but i can't do that staying on isle verde ave. i have to go out to where the horse race the skateboards. to where chickens cross the roads and it isn't a riddle. to where random pizza/fruit stands are on the street corners like beef patty stands are on the blocks in Queens.

and that's just all i saw yesterday.

3. there is a three, but one and two were dense. i'll save #3 for another time, another post. i need to get out and reflect, walk on the beach or something. go strike up a random conversation in spanish and try to learn something from it. or at the very least open up a window, play some music, and not take another nap.

enjoy the day. live it up. and don't eat any morcilla.

these nights don't drop from the sky

it would have been of those instances that my Aunt Essie B. would have used an adage to explain. she would have told me that good women didn't grow on trees, drop down from the sky, don't pop out of thin air. she would have told me that if things seem too good to be true, it's because they are. she would have told me to count my blessings, stop being so naive, and to eat a tablespoon of honey to make me wiser.

to make everything clear.

you see, it wasn't that i didn't know the game, i just didn't know the rules. it's like those friends you have that don't know how to play the card favorite at the party. the ones that say, "i know, i know, i should know how to play Spades, i just...don't."

the way it happened was typical of our current generation and time. it was simple. sincere. genuine. but also technological, which made it hard to explain to the elders. even hard to explain to the traditional facet of my own psyche to be honest. she approached me on the internet, facebook to be exact, with the very general premise of "you look familiar". being familiar indeed, a lost face from her childhood, she a lost face from mine, i replied, "hmm...i'm not sure, you look familiar too." hell, when fate and irony dance all they need is the beat of the raindrops and the melody of the wind. it doesn't take much. it's easy yknow. the actual messages literally might have varied but one or two sentences more than that, but instantly, they became paragraphs of back-and-forth conversation about past, present, future, hypothetical situations, family members, friendly arguments, the ideal, the tragic, the intimate and the unknown.

we were friends before she hit SEND. we were entwined before i hit REPLY.

needless to say, this carried on for several weeks before phone numbers were even exchanged. and even after they were, they weren't used. not until the opportunity arose to finally meet. and even then, it all felt orchestrated. but in a nice way. pleasantly scripted. the off-chance i was in town, the off-chance she was free that night, the off-chance that she her plans fell through for her birthday. it was like reading a book. the conversation was a string of questions, all of them answered with "yes". the talk led to a schedule. the schedule led to a meet. the meet led to an embrace. a hug. a drink. a conversation. all a part of the plan. all a part of the script.

then i found out she was my cousin.

"what do you mean? we're cousins?"
"yeah, as i was walking out the house, my mom called. i told her i was going out with one "hayes". she replied that we might be kin."

i'm not sure what to do. i had just bought this girl a drink! i was in the process of vetting her, to get her to the dancefloor, to put my arms around her waist! what will my friends think?! who can i even talk to?! how did i succumb to being this country overnight?! what if we fall in love and can't help it?! what if we have some weird, extra-martial, incestuous relationship behind the backs of our spouses?!!? people are looking at me! someone has heard our conversation!! i need to find a way to split the tab!!! maybe it's not too late to try to make this a friendly, family, platonic outing of the night!!!! what do i do?!?!

"damn, you're mom said that?"
"yeah, she had me worried for a second too! but then she told me that it was through marriage, a generation back or so. i think my second cousin married your grandpa's sister, something like that. then she told me to have a nice time."

oh.

i was still not so easily moved. i wasn't sure what the rules were for dating in-laws were. i had never come across it before. and at that point, i had had enough Jack Daniels to question my own logic. eventually, we took to the dance floor, where i was still in platonic mode for the first few songs, keeping the distance and making "small dance" with the people around me. i guess she caught on to this, and proceeded to make me feel more comfortable by moving in on me. i followed her lead. one song led to the next and by time i looked up, we had broken a sweat, our things we over in a nearby corner, our empty drink glasses were gone, and a slow song had come on.

these nights don't happen often.

but when they do, they're great. when everything just goes right. the right songs. the right drinks. the right mood and people and atmosphere. when you find that that the girl you're diggin is your cousin, but then find out it's ok, because it's not by blood through some random cousin's marriage. it's nice when it happens like that yknow. everyone gets home safe. call each other the next day, like, "i had a really nice time" "yeah, i did to, we have to do it again sometime" "yeah, definitely".

speaking of the next day, i thought about it some more. i called a few friends (thanks pam) and talked to a few people and indeed the whole dating in-laws thing is legit. maybe not smart. but legit. it would be like dating my brother's wife's sister, or my dad's brother's wife's sister's daughter, or my mom's brother's sister's neighbor's granddaughter's niece's classmate. either way it goes, she's not related to my Aunt Essie B. and at the end of the day, that's all that matters. no spoonful of honey needed or anything.

maybe they do grow on trees and pop out of thin air. how else can it be explained?
maybe they do drop from the sky.

dead jellyfish

my health level is currently at: low.

for that matter, so is my wallet level, sleep level, romance level, and career level. if i were a Sim, i'd be dead. funny enough though, I have consider myself blessed as none of the aforementioned things affect my comfort level really. it would be nice if all of those were on "medium", but "low" for those particular levels i seem to be content with. things are have been shaping up quite well since the last several posts. truth be told, things were good at the last post, i just wrote it when i was disappointed and was too much in a funk to publish it at the time. but things are good now. i've got food, a little gold, a friend or two, and a bed. hell, i've even got electricity, and internet to match. i cannot complain at all. life is good. just the other day even, i managed to jog over to the drugstore just before it closed, and made it just in time to pick up some badly need toilet paper.

and that's when it happened.

getting to the doors, i stopped my jog, and sweat instantly ensued. it wasn't that far of a run for me to be in such bad shape. but alas, i was there, sweating as if i had run clear across Puerto Rico, when it had only been a matter of blocks. over the next few days, i paid closer attention to my health. noticing i was gaining weight, sleeping harder, easier to frustrate, and poorly motivated to do anything. in hindsight, i suppose the only reason i have remained remotely in shape has to be credited to my 3-year tenure in New York, walking everywhere and hanging with people that worked out, hence making me work out (thanks Charlie).

so today i ran. on the beach. in the afternoon. in a t-shirt, gym shorts, and Puma's. and needless to say, it kicked my ass royally. ROYALLY! it was a mixture of my lack of working out, running on sand (which is just as difficult as everyone says), and the heat. it sucked then, but now, an hour later, i feel great. i even saw a dead jellyfish in the sand. i look forward to doing it again, but know now that running in the water is not a part of running on the beach. that was a stupid, stupid thing i did. rinsing sand and sand water out of your socks and shoes in the bathtub is not how you want to spend your Tuesday night.

so, what will happen is that I will feel vindicated by my 25 minute death jog and go eat at KFC in abotu 30 minutes. then, i'll catch the Itis, and take a nap for 2 hours. waking up at 10oclock to eat some Frosted Flakes and watch cartoons before going to bed at 1am. tomorrow, I'll go to work, tired and looking forward to the end of the day so I can go home to take a nap. Then, after said nap, I'll wake up and eat dinner. I'll look out at the dimly lit 8oclock sky and claim it's too dark to jog. I'll watch TV for an hour, surf the web for an hour, talk to somebody on the phone for an hour, then go to bed to do the whole cycle over again. i'll make it out to jog again once i start wheezing on the way to the refrigerator in three months.

...or, i'll jog again tomorrow, and not be a lazy sack of shit.

time's a snitch.

dealing with disappointment

when my brother was a young guy, he used to be a crybaby. he would cry about anything. most times, it was actually stuff worth crying about - getting in trouble, hurting himself, getting in trouble again, hurting himself again. just stuff. one day though, my dad turned to him, apparently in a time that he had hurt himself, and proceeded to tell this little boy of 5 or 6 years old, to say "fuck it". my brother, confused, and somewhat entertained, stopped crying immediately at the surprise of hearing our father even say a cursing word. the part about him saying it hadn't even sunk in yet. so dad told him again, "frank, say, 'fuck it'".

this being one of the words/phrases that was in my brothers' "do not say" section of his lexicon, frank still looked perplexed, trying to figure out if this was a trick, or some weird gesture to get him into trouble after being hurt. kinda like an "injury to insult" thing. acknowledging this confusion, my dad stopped down to look him in the face. whatever it was frank had been crying about was addressed when dad said, "hey, is crying going to fix it?" frank replied, still of tears in his throat, "noo..." dad continued, "is crying going to make it better? or solve the problem in any way?" frank, now catching on, and replying with a slight inflection in tone to imply as much, says, "no..." dad continues, "is there anything you can do to change what just happened? or to do anything about it now?" frank, not able to do much at 6 anyway, but catching the gist at this point, looks dad in the eyes and says firmly, "no."

so, say, "fuck it" and leave it alone, dad says.

frank, eager and excited now with both his new understanding of the way of the world, and realizing the authority and permission to curse in front of dad, says enthusiastically, "yeah! fuck it!"

"say it again!" dad says with a sly grin on his face.

"FUCK IT!" frank exclaims, and with all the energy and exuberance you would expect a 6 year old to say such in front of his dad with permission. he even held his head in a way of authority, cocked ever so slightly to the side to really give him the gusto in owning the phrase.

present day, ain't too much that can get to my brother. and "fuck it" is in the daily vocabulary as, apparently, things often come up that need to have themselves fucked. milk spills, batteries die, stained shirt, out of gas, burned toast, girlfriend pissed, dropped food. all of it is easily remedied with the simple, eloquent phrase of "fuck it".

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i bring this up because i've had to say "fuck it" quite a but lately. disappointment is real. it's a part of life. it's a necessary facet in the equation of growth and endurance. it is inevitable, but never is it permanent. it's strong, but we can be stronger. and where "fuck it" might easily take care of getting hurt, and getting in trouble, it is but one step in the path of dealing with disappointment.

what's more, living in puerto rico now, it has been a constant chore to remind people that i do still have negative experiences. this was something i had to grow to accept though. it's hard to gripe about things when you just moved to a tropical island full of beautiful women and cheap liquor. it was hard for me to even admit to myself that negative experiences were even a part of the equation here. how could i be down when i live on the beach? how can i be running into hard times when people are walking around in bikini's at the end of October. it didn't even make sense to me, so I dared not share it with others, for the risk of sounding obnoxious or selfish. but fuck it. shit does happen, even on a tropical island full of bikini-clad island models. it does! i promise you it does!

so, when disappointment strikes, you gotta deal with it. so, this is what i do. the Reggie strategy for dealing with disappointment:
1) take 10-15 minutes to feel bad about it. cry, pout, hit something, yell, curse, whatever. vent.

2) drop it, and do something that makes you feel good. and i mean, makes you feel great. not anything like masturbation or scratching your back on a tree. no, those are too physical and too temporary. this has to be an act of significance. something that makes you feel good every single time you do it. like, cooking, or painting, or exercising, or watching your favorite tv show, or tripping up joggers in the park, or shooting pigeons, anything. (mine is frying chicken, while drinking beer and listening to great music).

3) plan. after you've vented, and after you've felt better, now it's time to plot your revenge. how can you make up for your losses? how can you take your result in a new direction? what is your ext course of action?

4) pray. meditate. moment of silence. i know many might think this should be first, but nah. doing this step before the others just relocates the venting step, and then nothing gets accomplished. this moment is to guide the productivity of your future, not to console the misfortune of your past. that's what the fried chicken is for.

and there you have it. the 4-step plan to getting over disappointment. doesn't work all the time, but definitely does the job most of the time. and if it doesn't get the job done right, fuck it. you'll be alright, one way or the other right.

have a nice day.