I remember back in highschool swapping breakdance videotapes with a friend and one time, tha dood got it twisted and flipped me a DJ battle vid instead of the standard bboy battle vid that i requested. I remember rushing home from the bus, popping the tape in and fastforwarding the thing to the end hoping to see some windmills and flares but nothing. I was pretty disappointed. But then I watched the video tape again and was watching this guy named DJ QBert playing LL's Rock the Bells on the turntable cept he wasn't just playing it, he was taking LL's "Rock the Bells" expression and cutting it up like no one's business. And I remember just staring at the screen trying to figure out what he was doing, that altho i couldn't make any sense of the sounds that were assaulting me ears, i thought the whole shebangabang was dope.
Fastforward 10 years to today, i had the opportunity to teach my first turntablist workshop to the kids at my school. Before actually getting started we went around the room just to see why the kids who were enrolled in my class, were enrolled. Responses varied from, "I thought it would be cool" to "There was nothing better bra". After an hour and a half of teach the kids and lettting them cut ri-ri-rirock-rirrrrrrock-riririrock da beat da da da da beaat and f-r-fr-fr-shhhhh-fereererererefreshh over some akon instrumentals, some dem were asking me what they needed to do to become DJs. Proverbial tear down my eye (cause my tearducts are busted).
While much has changed in 10 years, my love and appreciation for this artform is still true. I've heard enough about the decrepit state of hiphop today but few understand that hiphop is what you make of it. So's the same with life. If you know what you love to do and have the means to pursue it, what's stopping you?
today i was reminded that altho i might look the part of the surfer decked out in billabong and quiksilver apparel, i probably have no right to rock them legitimately. Went surfing today in the afternoon at Ala Moana after yesterday's late night tsunami warnings (cause by the Japanese earthquake) and was served a nice slice of humble pie. Waves were a little bit taller than what I'm used to, and for the brief spell that i was in the water, much more frequent. I'd look up and there would be a wave crashing over my head tossing me off my board and into an underwater spin into the rocks. Because I use an 8ft board, it's too long to duck dive into a wave (dipping myself and board underneath the water's surface and passing under the wave) and i haven't really gotten used to turtle diving (flipping myself underneath my board). In short, for a brief 15 minutes, i went what felt like a 15 round fight of getting knocked off my board and dinged up on rocks, swimming back to my board only to get knocked away again, flipping upside down from the sheer height of the waves. After 15, i admitted defeat and swam back in wearing my head down in shame. But if a year of hearing chumbawumba on the radio and on muchmusic (in what was it, 95?) did anything for me besides trying to convince me that drinking is an effective means to treat depression, it's that nothing ever's going to keep me down. That I need to dust myself off and try again/shake it off/Be a man, must be swift as the coursing river/move along move along just to make it through/walk like an egyptian.
i've come home to the remains of what must have been an epic insect war. There are no live cockroaches or bugs of any sort... just their severed appendages littered on my countertop, on the stove, and in the sink. My archeological training and examination of the remains has allowed me to narrow it all down to two highly plausible explanations: Either cockroaches are cannibalistic and have a habit of leaving the legs unpicked or there's something more threatening than roaches in my apartment that i need to worry about... namely a new strain of bug that has mandibles and pinchers of death capable of piercing the kevlar like exoskeleton of the cocharoach...and also have a tendency to leave the legs behind maybe as a form of display of dominance and supremacy as if to say that there's no point in running from us cause we'll just severe your legs from ur body biznatch. Which is probably what happened in the end. The roaches probably realized that there was no point in running from their new found predators and staged a final stand, but ultimately were wiped out by the new strain and yeah i really have to get some sleep.
The Day After: Scratch the part about no live cockroaches. I've killed 3 big mothers so far and counting. Make that 10. I've found a nest
Evening the Day After: So I've found multiple hiding spots. 6 More Whoppers hiding in the rice bag with a litter of babies (they're multiplying!). The drawer where I house my important papers also has become a home. I've temporarily sealed off cracks which could be their entry points. Killed about 10 more with the rubba slippa. It's almost becoming routine now coming home, flicking on the light and watching those suckers scatter like u caught em cheating on your wife. And let that be a lesson to anyone in the future who even thinks of cheating on my wife. I will throw a slippa at you to slow you down, slam down the same slippa on your head 10 times until ur insides bleed out onto my carpet, bounty quicker picker up you and toss you into the toilet to a watery grave. Cockroaches (both insect and human) beware.
