Here We Go.

 Here we go. I hung with my old homeys from the neighborhood last night. Watched the Miami/Chicago game at a local bar and it reminded why I will never forget how great it is being around the people that know me best. We talked shit, argued over who was better Magic or Jordan in their heyday, who invented the crossover, Isiah Thomas or Pistol Pete, how Carmello will never be a champ because he doesn’t play a team game, if Gretzky was better in Hockey then Magix was in hoops etc… I swear I was more passionate about Lebron’s weak ass Decision and the hope that Dirk and The Mavs whoop his ass then I was about getting my movie edited on time.

I love that. Never forget where you’re from. The biggest reason for that is because one day no matter where you are the real you is going to pop out. You might not even be aware. You’re chillin in some Hollywood after party thinking you’re looking cool and a country song comes on and you rush and turn the volume up. Yeah you’re a redneck and the rest of the party is looking at you like you’re weird. You try to cover it up and say you thought it was a Gaga remix, but no, you knew exactly who it was. And the beauty of that is…who cares??? Simple and plain, you are who you are, embrace it, love it and live with it. Sure if you grew up on a farm and your cousin banged a sheep in boots you don’t have to share that story with the people at the party, but the fact is you’re country and it’s okay to have grown up there. Trust me, you show someone in your new city how to make your own moonshine you’ll be the hit. Everyone is always trying to run and hide from who they are.

 I love that I’m from Detroit, I love that I grew up with black, white, and arab kids and I wouldn’t change it for anything. I know what I am. I know the reason I once in awhile have violent thoughts and get real quiet when trouble is around. It’s because I’m part gangster…I can’t help it. I thought my Grandpa was the most honest man in the world but how could he be when he owned The Purple Pussycat, told Paul Anka to get lost in the 60′s for being late to his show and periodically dropped off envelopes to Italian men in houses off the lake where we boated every summer.

 Be you. Don’t hide. You’ll find you every time.

Peace – Single Mike