Last night’s game. Jesus Daequan Christ.
I need all the prayers, petitions to the Universe, and kind thoughts because I don’t see how I make it through this NFL season without a having heart attack or brain aneurysm. Peyton is old. With a bad neck. He can’t afford to have a steaming pile of garbage lined up in front of him. The hell do you build an alleged “run-heavy” offense when your offensive line can’t block worth a damn?
I pray this is Peyton’s last season. I can’t do much more of this.
I’m a month late to the conversation about Dr. Dre’s Compton album but it’s running neck-and-neck with Skyzoo’s Music for My Friends as my release of the summer. The first half of the album is a little uneven, but it ascends to awesomeness with Deep Water. Dre’s production is top notch as always; Kendrick is swaggering, rapping ass Kendrick (which I missed on the brilliant but heavy To Pimp a Butterfly); and Jon Connor’s verses remind me how much I liked his mixtape material.
With projects from Warren G, Scarface, and TIP (IT’S THE KANG, BITCH) released this summer, I’m happy to see elder rappers releasing listenable hip-hop for the mature listener.
While I’m talking about music, I have to mention the Red Light Special podcast for hipping me to some pretty dope R&B projects. Bridget Kelly’s Summer of 17 EP has been in heavy rotation this summer, as has Audrey Rose’s Chapter One: Guns & Roses.
We are officially in Mercury Retrograde, which means my friends sending panicky CAPS CAPS CAPS messages worrying about the world falling apart.
Yes, A-Team. I’m talking about you. The more astrologically savvy I become, I appreciate retrograde periods as a time to be more patient and mindful. We worship convenience so much that we’re offended by delays. Mercury Retrograde is a nice reminder that the Universe doesn’t give a damn about our to do lists.
This particular retrograde is a thoughtful one for me, as it ends on my birthday (I am officially three weeks from 32). I’m using the time to revisit Year 31; where have I grown, what have I changed, where have I regressed. I’ve fallen into a trap of validation-seeking which I’ll tackle in the coming year–focusing on acceptance and authentic self-expression. Then there’s the book. I tend to treat “edit” like a four-letter word but reworking and compiling my work has been eye-opening and pretty damn fun. I guess this is how it feels when I work with the energy I’m given instead of fighting it. Who knew?
Posting here feels so different without archives. Blank canvasses arouse me.