Sid Did It #2

Out of respect, all the names of the people I work with & for have been changed.

“Look at me- hey, hey- looooook at me. Neil, get ahold of yourself man. Are you a big boy or what!?!?” hands clutched to each of Neil’s shoulder, on bended knee, piercing a glare to him that’d normally see through several souls (taught to me by my dad)… nothing. “Hey hey hey, listen”, whispering to him. Bringing the tone down in hopes to grasp a fiber of attention from the carnival going on in his brain. The carnival in his brain no one was invited to, somehow I broke in. Neil turns his wandering eyes towards me. “Neil, listen to me… are you a big boy?”… Neil’s eyes lock in on my own. He whispers back, “Noooooo”.

Unmoved, I go back to room volume, “Neil… Are. You. A. Big. Boy?” I have to ask the question because Neil refers to himself as a “big boy” when he behaves well for the day. After chasing him down 2 hallways and a cafeteria, I want him to recognize that Usain-Bolting from his classroom is not “big boy” behavior.

Neil’s eyes remain locked in on my own, and now, somehow he’s reversed the soul stare. This kid has turned the tables of intimidation and mystery around on the supposed authority. He whispers “Yessssss”… and it’s official. I’ve been absolutely mind warped by a 4 yr. old. Neil, one of our few children with full-blown autism (in regards to the spectrum of special needs), has undoubtedly thrown my brain into a blender, pressed the puree button, and given it back to me.

“Then start acting like one. Can you walk back to the group without me holding your hand?” I ask him in a non-threatening tone, almost in that baby-voice you don’t realize you’re speaking in when your significant other calls. Neil directs his wandering eyes, and attention to pacing towards the group of pre-kindergarteners. I follow steadily behind him with a hair-trigger reflex for any funny stuff the kid might try and pull. It’s not that Neil’s fast, it’s that he’s unpredictable. His first move is the most daunting. When he slides under a table, sprints down a hallway, or moves from the snack area to the toy area… you might just believe the kid is the illegitimate offspring of Nightcrawler (ref: X-Men). His unorthodox timing could stagger even the likes of Ray Lewis, and potentially lead you to wonder if Neil even knows what he’s going to do next. So, I keep a close eye on him while walking back to the group.

It’s the end of the day, and as we were leaving our rec area (slides, plastic jungle gyms, run-around indoor space) to put on our coats and retrieve our backpacks, Neil made a run for it. Now, walking him back all can rest a sigh of relief that he won’t miss his bus. Ginny and Zoe, the head teachers, have their hands full enough with getting coats on the kids. Chasing down Neil could easily set off a chain reaction of pre-schoolers making a jail break for it.

Returning to the group, I help Neil find his backpack followed by a tutorial to getting his boots and coat on. With autism, a kid like Neil can already read, write, and tell you a carrot is a root vegetable… but when it comes to getting his coat on and off, it’s taken upwards of 3 to 10 minutes. He’s getting better at it. Ginny made an edited video of his record time getting ready for class. Boots, coat, hat, gloves, and all, he’s gotten close and almost beaten it a few times.

As Neil gets ready, something doesn’t seem right… seems off. Christina, one of the kids in our group, is laughing hysterically, but I can’t pick up on why just yet… and there it is. Pamela, a paraprofessional, points down the hallway, “Sid!”

His timing is a bit more predictable than Neil, but is made up in the ungodly speed he maintains down the hall. At bank-robbery-getaway-car velocity, Sid has eluded two teachers and a paraprofessional. I begin to jog after him, and quickly realize this kid might make it to the other side of the building if I don’t respect his turnover. Picking up the knees to a light sprint, Sid can hear me tailing him. Still moving forward, he swivels his head back to give me a glance. Again, ousted by a pre-schooler, I slowed a bit, let’em get to the door- the locked door- the dead-end in this process of adult evasion. The chase halts… nowhere close to winded, he turns to me, “I want to see my mommy!” I try to hold back the laughter; whereas finding anything funny, that was unintentionally comical, from Sid has resulted in a severe backlash of blind anger and disdain. “Coo, then let’s go get’er”, I reply. We walk to the bus pick-up and drop-off doors of the building. Sid finds his mother in the waiting area. Happy as can be, he clinches to her like gravity might take him away if he doesn’t. 

Grocery Gurl

CB & I were chatting over coffee (or beer… it trades off every convo we have), as we ran into the inevitable content of dating history. We exchange stories of do’s, don’ts, and turn-offs. In the effort of getting to know or re-know someone, it’s proven more beneficial to get a grasp of their dislikes… first, as opposed to appropriating what they enjoy or like, and move from there.

Flashback: CB & I attended South High School together. Strutting different sides of the cafeteria and social field, I never really knew-knew CB, I only knew of her. Now, due to the 9^th wonderment of facebook, we’ve somehow found our social footing based off a music video compliment and a random run-in at the Twin Cities’ potentially most dilapidated venue (Tiffany’s in St. Paul. No hate, it’s just I feel like Marty McFly when I step in the joint. The interior design, old bathroom cubed windows bordering the far bar, and the casino lighting… it can’t not scream Back to the 80’s). Either way, CB and I reconnect via online coincidence & real-time path-cross and shoot the shit every now and then.

When our discussion turns toward dating, attraction, blah blah blah, CB raised an unintentional point in the midst of referencing a past pseudo-boyfriend. “Wait- so were you dating the guy? Or were you two not together?” I questioned, in an attempt to get on the same page with her. Which it should be pointed out, that although you might think you mean the same as someone else when saying “seeing”, “dating”, “together”, “steady”, “kickin’ it”, “talkin’”, “hollerin’”, whatever jargon that suits your cultural palate at the moment, but it will absolutely amount to NO DICE unless you throw that shiz down in an one-on-one discussion. Man-up homie! Tell her, or him, to put-up or shut-up… maybe not in those exact words (yes I’ve said it before, and been told it before), but at least to the affect of “This is what I want, this is what I see as fair, can you meet me halfway?” CB digressed, looked to her left (the pragmatic side of the brain), “Na, we weren’t really together at all, I mean it’s not like we went grocery shopping together or anything like that…”- and it set on me… Grocery Shopping- ahhh yes, at the intersection of long-term & “jus’ kickin’ it”. CB had just laid the complex to rest in a simple staggering statement of grocery shopping with a significant other equating long-term commitment & trust.

Think about it for a minute. You grew up grocery shopping with family and/or close friends, liquor store shopping with family (depends on the family) and/or friends you planned to have a drink with throughout the evening, and damn-sure never redboxed a movie with someone you didn’t plan on watching it with. Film, food, & liquor- the flagship of any pre-planned evening, and not a single thing you’d share with someone you couldn’t stand to spend the next few hours with, let alone the entire night.

But to break it down, getting a movie with someone is easy as having to not look at them or listen to them for the next 2 hours while you watch a Hollywood spectacle bedazzle your laptop screen, or television (If you own one of those electric dinosaurs. I only rock DVDs on the laptop, it just makes sense homie… you can hate later when televisions go extinct.) Catchin’ a flick together is definitely bonding and says something, just not enough to say “I only plan on “kickin’ it” with you for the rest of the week(end)”. Which brings us to the liquor store. Yes, shopping for evening debauchery is bonding, it can bring enemies & strangers together (circle for better or for worse, here). During my 1^st junior year in college,  I never felt more a connection to my roommates than when we bought a keg together to throw our first house party… and then never felt like going Wolverine on them more than when we threw our first house party. Making plans to do the damn thing is great… just make a plan to still be able to stand each other by the end of doin’ the damn thing.

To the point, going grocery shopping with a friend or significant other damn-near seals the deal. You’re going to cook together, eat together, share food together, and share a domestic plot of roofed land together. I’m hesitant to type it, but grocery shopping is pure love- that shit is unconditional- goes as far to say you might get into a blowout verbal cannon exchange, but it’s nothing that can’t be resolved in respect to the bigger picture- for the sake of spending time with each other- for the sake of having an end in mind. Grocery shopping with someone you’re dating, seeing, or in a relationship with is on some team s—t. If I were to go shopping for groceries with a significant other at this moment and time, and we were in the check out aisle, I’d most likely glance at a People’s Mag, check out the what’s-hot-what’s-not section, put the mag down, glance over at the girl, wink, and just before the cashier was finished ringing up our lengthy line of epic edibles, I’d wink at her and say something to the extent of “Hey. You’re the baddest chick in this m----f-----n’ Cub Foods.”

I digress, kinda- however if you find yourself out with your significant other at a Rainbow, Aldi, or on some upper-end shiz like Kowalksi’s then you should most definitely lean in and tell them something appreciative/creepy/funny.

Caution: The rule of grocery shopping as a means to defining your stately relationship as a stately relationship only works if you both split the bill, or take turns buying. Paying for someone else’s groceries is a gateway to sugar-daddy downhill debt, or (in a female’s case) scrub-support.

SHAMELESS PLUG:

Big Show comin’ up, I release 18 tracks of mixtape good-God goodness – SATURDAY, APRIL 30^th @ THE CABOOZE, 9PM

Tickets in Advance $10, Tickets at the Door $12

Tickets in Advance are available at Fifth Element (2411 Hennepin Ave. S.) or ONLINE HERE  http://www.ticketfly.com/purchase/event/35985

Oh, and here’s a new vid!!! Adam and I recorded it on the fly while shooting the music vid for “Ashley” song from an upcoming mixtape) HERE CB & I were chatting over coffee (or beer… it trades off every convo we have), as we ran into the inevitable content of dating history. We exchange stories of do’s, don’ts, and turn-offs. In the effort of getting to know or re-know someone, it’s proven more beneficial to get a grasp of their dislikes… first, as opposed to appropriating what they enjoy or like, and move from there.

Flashback: CB & I attended South High School together. Strutting different sides of the cafeteria and social field, I never really knew-knew CB, I only knew of her. Now, due to the 9^th wonderment of facebook, we’ve somehow found our social footing based off a music video compliment and a random run-in at the Twin Cities’ potentially dilapidated venues (Tiffany’s in St. Paul. No hate, it’s just I feel like Marty McFly when I step in the joint. The interior design, old bathroom cubed windows bordering the far bar, and the casino lighting… it can’t not scream Back to the 80’s). Either way, CB and I reconnect via online coincidence & real-time path-cross and shoot the shit every now and then.

When are discussion turns toward dating, attraction, blah blah blah, CB raised an unintentional point in the midst of referencing a past pseudo-boyfriend. “Wait- so were you dating the guy? Or were you two not together?” I questioned, in an attempt to get on the same page with her. Which it should be pointed out, that although you might think you mean the same as someone else when saying “seeing”, “dating”, “together”, “steady”, “kickin’ it”, “talkin’”, “hollerin’”, whatever jargon that suits your cultural palate at the moment, but it will absolutely amount to NO DICE unless you throw that shiz down in an one-on-one discussion. Man-up homie! Tell her, or him, to put-up or shut-up… maybe not in those exact words (yes I’ve said it before, and been told it before), but at least to the affect of “This is what I want, this is what I see as fair, can you meet me halfway?” CB digressed, looked to her left (the pragmatic side of the brain), “Na, we weren’t really together at all, I mean it’s not like we went grocery shopping together or anything like that…”- and it set on me… Grocery Shopping- ahhh yes, at the intersection of long-term & “jus’ kickin’ it”. CB had just laid the complex to rest in a simple staggering statement of grocery shopping with a significant other equating long-term commitment & trust.

Think about it for a minute. You grew up grocery shopping with family and/or close friends, liquor store shopping with family (depends on the family) and/or friends you planned to have a drink with throughout the evening, and damn-sure never redboxed a movie with someone you didn’t plan on watching it with. Film, food, & liquor- the flagship of any pre-planned evening, and not a single thing you’d share with someone you couldn’t stand to spend the next few hours with, let alone the entire night.

But to break it down, getting a movie with someone is easy as having to not look at them or listen to them for the next 2 hours while you watch a Hollywood spectacle bedazzle your laptop screen, or television (If you own one of those electric dinosaurs. I only rock DVDs on the laptop, it just makes sense homie… you can hate later when televisions go extinct.) Catchin’ a flick together is definitely bonding and says something, just not enough to say “I only plan on “kickin’ it” with you for the rest of the week(end)”. Which brings us to the liquor store. Yes, shopping for evening debauchery is bonding, it can bring enemies & strangers together (circle "for better" or "for worse", here). During my 1^st junior year in college,  I never felt more a connection to my roommates than when we bought a keg together to throw our first house party… and then never felt like going Wolverine on them more than when we threw our first house party together. Making plans to do the damn thing is great… just make a plan to still be able to stand each other by the end of doin’ the damn thing.

To the point, going grocery shopping with a friend or significant other damn-near seals the deal. You’re going to cook together, eat together, share food together, and share a domestic plot of roofed land together. I’m hesitant to type it, but grocery shopping is pure love- that shit is unconditional- goes as far to say you might get into a blowout verbal cannon exchange, but it’s nothing that can’t be resolved in respect to the bigger picture- for the sake of spending time with each other- for the sake of having an end in mind. Grocery shopping with someone you’re dating, seeing, or in a relationship with is on some team s—t. If I were to go shopping for groceries with a significant other at this moment and time, and we were in the check out aisle, I’d most likely glance at a People’s Mag, check out the what’s-hot-what’s-not section, put the mag down, glance over at the girl, wink, and just before the cashier was finished ringing up our lengthy line of epic edibles, I’d wink at her and say something to the extent of “Hey. You’re the baddest chick in this m----f-----n’ Cub Foods.”

I digress, kinda- however if you find yourself out with your significant other at a Rainbow, Aldi, or on some upper-end shiz like Kowalksi’s then you should most definitely lean in and tell them something appreciative.

Caution: The rule of grocery shopping as a means to defining your stately relationship as a stately relationship only works if you both split the bill, or take turns buying. Paying for someone else’s groceries is a gateway to sugar-daddy downhill debt, or (in a female’s case) scrub-support.

SHAMELESS PLUG:

Big Show comin’ up, I release 18 tracks of mixtape good-God goodness – SATURDAY, APRIL 30^th @ THE CABOOZE, 9PM

Tickets in Advance $10, Tickets at the Door $12

Tickets in Advance are available at Fifth Element (2411 Hennepin Ave. S.) or ONLINE HERE: http://www.ticketfly.com/purchase/event/35985

Oh, and here’s a new vid!!! Adam and I recorded it on the fly while shooting the music vid for “Ashley” (a song from an upcoming mixtape) HERE http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l_fEHIN97Y4

The Honda Chronicles (Prelude)

We wake up to whatever audible noise was blowing through the window at the time. The feeling struck my gut in an instant that it should have been my phone that woke us up. The damn thing was underneath a pillow, out of sight, out of my attention span. Shit! It’s 6:30am and the flight leaves at 7:45am. I was supposed to get this girl to the airport 15 minutes ago.

We go into business mode- getting dressed, worrying about the essentials, and making sure our haste makes as little waste as possible. She’s leaving for the Dominican Republic, so missing this flight would be damn near irreversible/soul-crushing. We rush down the stairs, and all of a sudden it hits me. Hits me worst than the feeling of waking up late for a flight- missing a flight- missing Thanksgiving dinner (I’ve done all 3, don’t ask). However, it hits me… I’ve been here- in this situation- in this predicament exactly a year and some months ago. It “hit” me because the previous situation wound up becoming a $1500, 2 month long, situation… Ha, it’s different this time though. I have my own car, and things can’t possibly get as criss-crossed and screwed to hell as they did last time.

Stepping outside, the snow is coming down in thickets covering the ground and any hopes of spending April outdoors without cursing Minnesota to hades. Where is it? Where the hell is my car? This street doesn’t have 2-hour limited parking until 8am. Shit! Where the hell is Honda!?!?

Fuck it, we have absolutely no time. “We’re taking your car”, I tell her (not asking). We hop in the huge Dodge and zoom to Terminal 1. She’s good, makes her flight, all is well… except for the fact, I’ve wound up in the exact same position as oh-so-long ago. I have her car.

You see, once someone has given you the keys to their car, anything that happens to it is on you. Even if a meteor were to land on the hood of the hunk of metal, it’s on you. If a schizophrenic were to attack the car in a fit of psychotic blood lust, it’s on you. If King Kong missed the toilet and happened to shite all over your friend’s rusty late 80’s ride, it’s on you. Don’t be disillusioned by the rule of doing someone a favor by driving them to the airport… be afraid, very afraid, of the fact you’re steering the wheels of destiny between you and the owner of the machine you’re sitting in. The state of the car, will indefinitely become the state of the relationship between you and the owner. Be it friend, valet, or family… shit is real homie. And as they say in Bad Boys and Hot Fuzz, shit just got really real for me. I take the highway as careful as I can back to her house to hopefully find my car steep in snow, and not trailing the ass of a pickup back to the downtown tow lot.

Huzzah, Honda’s here. Covered in snow, rarely can I not tell Honda from the lot, but this particular street full of shitty cars had me second & third guessing all of’em. I make sure to park her car in the apartment lot where no harm or tow truck can accost it. Stroll to Honda, dive in the driver’s seat, and take off. Within 30 minutes… I avoided thousands of dollars of drama, months of bullshit, and (the most valuable of all) sanity. However, of all the turmoil that occurred last year between a simple airport drop-off and motor vehicle, I have to credit it as the most worthwhile string of soap operatics I ever went through… because in the end, it was how I came to own Honda.

How did this all go down a year and some months ago, you ask? Here, I’ll tell you. It all started with a similar airport drop-off, an epic New Year’s Eve, and a near-death highway collison…

To Be Continued…

Sid Did It #1

Out of respect, all the names of the people I work with & for have been changed.

The doors swing open, spilling paraprofessionals and teachers through them both ways. Cast your gaze a few inches downwards and you’ll notice each one of the adults are holding the hand of a kindergartener or pre-schooler, ushering the youth in & out of the building. It’s my first day on the job, and I’ve been called in to take care of a specific situation. Usually I work with kids from low-income neighborhoods with troubled families. Mentoring anger to a reasonable dialogue, or simply talking someone out of daily violence has been my forte. My dad was/is horrible with kids, and my mother generally worked with the sick & dying, so I have no clue where I get it from. Maybe I’m not a fan of seeing a kid go down the same hallway I did throughout my early academic tenure, or perhaps it’s the quickly passing work hours.

My mind’s wandering and the confidence I usually stone-face thru a school building is looking a bit lost, at the moment. I can’t tell which one of these 4 ft. tall pre-schoolers is my specific situation. I’ve been hired to deal with one kid, one kid in a class room apart from the others: Sid.

My immediate higher-up, Ginny, explains each child in our classroom as they tumble through the doors. Sid’s not here yet, at least not to any measure of Ginny’s previous description of him. Her and Zoe have explained Sid as tougher than nails, sporadic as a Prius with shoddy brakes, and a right hook like Tyson in his teenage years. I’m not fully intimidated, but the amount of build-up has to be taken seriously. This is a secondary school, and Ginny & Zoe have been working with kids with special needs for decades. The amount of expertise between the two teachers could tempt a university to throw them the keys, and fire their entire adolescent psychology department. In short, when Ginny & Zoe say the kid has issues in an issue-based classroom… word is bond.

The fast pace plethora of exit & entrance slows a bit, and the smallest/shortest child of any of the kids I’d seen throughout, enters hand in hand with a woman I assume to be his mother. Ginny welcomes him, “Hi Sid! How are you today?”

Sid gives Ginny no answer and tucks himself towards his mother’s leg to hug her. It’s the sort of hug that says “Look, I know I have to be here, and you have to leave, but if you were at all going to reconsider dropping me off at school… now, would be the time to get me the hell out of here”. Sid let’s go acceptingly and takes Ginny’s hand. The entire time looking at me, and for a moment I understand what the ruckus is all about. The furrow of Sid’s eyebrows rests naturally to the look of or Clint Eastwood’s face (circa 1984) or an olympic high jumper mean mugging the bar before striding towards it. This child doles out respect where it’s due, not where teacher told him to. There is no filter between his speech and his heart, the truth is common sense, and he’s more than willing to call bulls---t if you try and pull that adult nicety crap on him.

“Who is he?” Sid asks Ginny. “Oh, this is Toussaint. He’s one of our new helpers”, she responds.

We ascend the stairs to the classroom. I take a spot in a short line of 4 year-olds yet to be, or already diagnosed, with autism, asperger’s syndrome, or an emotional behavior disorder. Welcome to your first day on the job as a pre-kindergarten paraprofessional.

Spyder Baybie Bight

March 24^th, 2011

The Cabooze’s bouncers will go hand-to-wrist-to-exit on your ass if you try and flier outside their venue… so I flier’d inside.

 After the Big Zach CD Release show got out, I passed out fliers for the Bight Club show this coming Saturday at The Varsity. Dave took the outside and got touched within the same moment. Guy didn’t even get thru a dozen flys before one of the bouncers told him to scram. Running through the crowd of familiars, hipsters, not-so-familiars, and did-we-go-to-middle-schoolers, my stack was running low- the promo was going well. Most folks recognize Bight Club’s picture, and even more so Jeremy.

Jeremy is one half Bight Club, the frontman, the voice, the rapper, the face… the meal ticket, if you’re trying to promote the group as a headliner. Jeremy also works with another producer by the name of 2% Muck. When performing with Muck, Jeremy goes by the moniker of Spyder Baybie Raw Dog 3k… however, when he’s with Bight Club, he goes by the name of Nutz… short for Nutzman, his last name.

Back to the grind- couldn’t find a single flier that’d hit the ground yet (meaning the people, that I handed them out to, were actually holding on to them). Almost to the bottom of the stack- there she was. Had to be the apple of someone’s photography, music video, iris… there was something to her that carelessly smirked, “motherfucker please, I don’t audition- director’s call me”. Bright red lipstick, long arms, a presence that made you feel like the next time you see her could possibly be on the cover of Cosmopolitan next to the latest “how to manipulate your boyfriend” segment-  my momentum half-halted, I wasn’t backing down to some suburban bombshell turned urbanite showing to a hip-hip show to garner street cred. Bah, I’m being too critical, maybe she’s good friends with Zach, Big Jess, someone that performed tonight- or maybe I’m going into immediate defense mode (side effect of extreme intimidation) and am in denial of potentially retreating from handing her a flier… fuck it. I hand her the damn slip of paper.

(The next 2 seconds) The bombshell took an unusual amount of time to look at the flier- was more like a stare than anything. Her eyes filled with a reaction to the paper. She blinked rapidly, broke character, glanced to her right, fake smiled- I almost made a clean getaway until she murmured something.

“Sorry, you okay?”. The flier, now on the ground, the gal still considerably affected by the picture on the flier. “I’ve already seen these guys. No thanks”, she claims while slowly regaining her composure. I pick up the flier from the ground, “Sure you don’t have space on your fridge for it?”. Brushing her hair aside, breaking composure and character this time, “I dated Nutz. 2 years. I’m done”.

The most attractive woman in the building had a few more choice words, but it didn’t stop me from still cordially smiling and going about my business with the rest of the stack. “Good God, who is this man?”, I thought to myself. Jeremy Nutzman, the myth, the frontman, the ex-boyfriend. Had absolutely nothing to do with the gal who almost spat in my face over a flier, but the sheer reaction the picture evoked out of the woman was damn near legendary. Almost made me intimidated to look at the piece of paper…

this

SATURDAY, APRIL 9

THE VARSITY THEATER

BIGHT CLUB (Jeremy Nutzman & Tony Rabiola)

THE BLEND

DJ FUNDO

LARVA INK

and a break dance showcase by

NEW HEIST BREAK CREW
18+ $10 – 8:30PM