#which is weird because she is also a diehard harry potter fan | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joshuazev · 7 years ago

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On fifteen minutes, twice, interrupted intermittently: an exercise

I wish that more people that knew him had gone to his funeral. I heard from someone that went that the representation from the schools he and I went to were slim and that made me really sad. It was disappointing. Maybe it was because the people that knew him and also knew about the event were busy that day. Maybe they had other priorities and didn’t have means for transportation to get there. Or maybe they didn’t care. I really hope that’s not the case. Sometimes that’s the hardest thing about being 3,000 miles away is knowing that it’s really difficult to make certain get togethers that you wouldn’t ever think twice about if you were in the vicinity. Maybe my case is different. Maybe not everyone knew him for as long as I did. I was told a couple of his teachers were there. Teachers I knew of. Just thinking of them being there makes me want to cry. It’s just like everyone says. No child should ever die before his parents. A parent will be wrecked because of it. His dad can barely eat. Can barely drink. Can’t sleep. These things are unnatural to the earth’s revolution. I swear I can remember being around him like it was yesterday. Remember looking at my school photos the last time I was in Seattle and seeing him in two of my class pictures. He shouldn’t be gone. And it’s foolish to get in the why or the how, but to be stolen the way he was stolen is something I can’t forgive. It’s times like these that I wish karma was real.

Today I tried reapplying to a job that I was told to step away from. It’s one of those things that seems like a good idea to do for many reasons, but in the back of your mind you wonder whether it’s worth it, at all. It was a way to pass the time today, I guess. I went to two locations in Brooklyn to try and apply. One gave me an obvious run around. The attempt to get me to think that the person I needed to talk to was going to actually show up. I must have waited 20 minutes for him and then I realized that these people behind the front desk were just doing their job. In fact, they did to me what I used to do to other people sometimes. Like I said, it’s crazy to be on both sides of the table. They also seemed to be a little turned off when they found out I actually knew something about the job. They almost acted defensive like I was trying to take their job. And I get it, but they need not worry. I just want their job the minimal amount possible. A day a week. Two days a week tops. At the third and fourth locations I actually was freaking myself out with my own energy. I was too aggressive. The words were stumbling out of mouth instead of comporting like the calm individual that usually snags the job. It can be weird sometimes to be in that self-conscious state where your mouth is moving and every passing second is met with so much judgment that you end up appearing erratic and a little all over the place.

Sometimes I get bored in my room and look at my wardrobe and realize that, by and large, I’ve had the same clothes for years. Maybe nothing dates as far back as high school, but some of these things have been sported in heavy rotation. Luckily no one has clowned on me because of it. And then again, maybe that means that nobody really gives two fucks about what I wear except for me. You either look good or you look like shit. Does it really matter either way? I remember going through those childish phases of thinking I wanted a closet full of jerseys. One for every day of the week, plus some. Then later on, when I created a clothing line of some sorts, I remember telling myself that one day I only wanted to wear my own clothes. To hell with buying designer brands and shit with labels. If anything, I was gonna rock my own label. There was also that period of time in high school when I participated in Global Visionaries and before we left for Guatemala we were discouraged to bring any articles of clothing with labels on it. I don’t remember exactly why, but for the most part everybody stayed true to the demands. It carried over to my life back home when I got back. I started to get a lot of regular tees and regular pants without the big labels and flashy designs I used to really enjoy rocking back in middle school and early high school. The Eckos and the Sean Johns. Etc.

I wonder stupid things a lot of the time. I wonder if sometimes I wonder stupid things more than wondering intelligently. Does anyone else go into a super nice house filled with books and wonder whether those books are just for show or if the person is as avid of a reader as their bookshelves suggest. It’s one of those things that certainly gives a vibe. Intellectual. Learned. Studious. Shit, I know that my bookshelf back home was mainly filled with books I wanted to read. I’d get up in the morning, see the books in the corner and think to myself, “There goes an ambitious guy right there. He’s gonna read those books, someday.” I wonder what my count is like. Books I’ve read vs. books I was going to read vs. the amount of times I’ve read Harry Potter. I wonder if people subscribe Harry Potter to children suffering from chronic lethargy. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was scientifically proven to boost testerone and or one’s passion levels. Those books have magic in them, I’m telling you. One day, way off in the future, I’m gonna buy some crazy shit at an auction that promises to take me to Harry Potter land. It’s gotta be out there somewhere, right? I also saw in the papers and on social media that someone created Diagon Alley in Seattle. Is this true? Can I get my wand? Can I talk to Ollivander? Can I get an owl? These are vital questions. Which reminds me, I gotta go to Harry Potter land at Universal Studios.

My roommate has this thing in our main area called “Alexa.” She is basically Siri on crack. You can literally just say, “Hey Alexa…” followed by any question or request and she’ll do her best to answer it or get it for you. I’ll be honest, it’s kind of a scary device and as long as she’s plugged in, she’s pretty much listening to everything that’s being said, even if we don’t call her out beforehand. It got me thinking…that’s damn near like having a microphone in your room listening to every single word. That’s some Big Brother type stuff. I was wondering if she could be used as evidence when crimes occur in the house, if that were ever going to happen, at all. I mean, obviously she’s not a camera, but sound can be used, too! I have enough problems and scares with Siri. The fact there are microphones that are damn near robots that exist in our phones and are standing at attention 24/7 is mind boggling. This is 2017. What’s it gonna look like five years from now. How will the powers that be keep their eyes on us. Who knows? I’ll tell you this much. If certain powers that be continue to be in power for the next seven years, then Alexa will be the very least of our problems. Years ago I remember—or wait, maybe it was the movie “Enemy of the State” that said there are key words that send signals to security organizations when mentioned on the phone. That was a movie and that was 1999. It’s 2017. Food for thought.

As you can probably tell I’ve decided to write last minute again, so in being unfair to my creative energies I’m struggling a bit to find topics to talk about. I’m not sure if it’s the current situation or the fact that I’m nearing the end of the year, so naturally coming up with 365 different things to discuss or observe or talk about has its own challenges. I was on a YouTube binge earlier today looking at interviews on the VLAD TV channel. Two interviews I’ve been watching lately have been Michael Rapaport, the sports shit talking captain of the world right now and DeRay Davis, a comedian and arts professional whose work I greatly admire. Michael Rapaport was going in on the lack of respect these younger NBA guys have today, specifically Lonzo Ball. He can’t stand the Ball family. He calls it “Big Baller…uh Bullshit. His words are hot right now and he knows what to say to rile up the people and get conversations going. He’s a diehard Knick fan and a huge LeBron hater, so much to the point where he looks ridiculous talking shit about the best player in the league right now. Meanwhile, DeRay Davis is basically going in on true Hollywood stories. His demeanor has changed as of late. He used to be clowning nonstop on people, but recently has changed his approach. His latest special on Netflix was a little disappointing. Great material, but subpar execution. Maybe it was because I watched it after Hasan Mihnaj’s special. That might have been unfair.

I was talking to this girl the other day about how cool it was to be in Uptown sometimes because all of the young boys and girls would be wearing their bat bags with the bottom of the bat poking out of the top of the backpack. All of them looked like they had been playing since diapers. They had that attitude, that way of carrying themselves that gave me the impression that they were not to be fucked with on that baseball diamond. I remember a couple times earlier this year when my guy from the gym, Rafael, and I would meet up and play catch in front of Yankee Stadium. I was high falootin and cocky about warming up and still being able to throw the ball as far as I usually could except Rafael put me to shame. He was a catcher. (He ended up going to play D1 ball in the midwest). By the time we were done throwing and I was done trying to show off my forearm would hurt like a mug and he was still firing lasers from the backstop to second base. All those days growing up, never icing my arm. My arm is still fine today. I wonder what it will be like years from now. I wonder when those potential signs could come back to haunt me. Maybe they won’t. No need, mother nature. I’m fine just the way I am, thank you. Tell you this, though. My kids are gonna be icing their arms. As much as they need to. As much as they want to. It’s time to sleep.

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