In Memory of Prince

        In two weeks it will be two months since the untimely passing of Prince. Today would’ve been his 58th birthday. This is the only celebrity death that has shook me up. I’m still bummed out about it because I thought we’d have him around for a longer time.

        I'll always remember getting picked up from school as my father drove us home blasting his Very Best of Prince CD. Mom got it for him as a Christmas gift when I was in the 4th grade. That was my first time being introduced to Prince and I hated him. It was hard for me to respect Prince because I knew nothing about him. He was mysterious and weird. I didn’t understand his obsession with the color purple, I didn’t get the whole name change to symbol thing and I found it hard to believe that he held a candle to Michael Jackson in his prime.

        Dad and I would often have debates about who's more talented between Prince and Kanye. All Dad did was rebuke Kanye for relying on sampling and then say "Prince plays instruments” before going on about how he makes all of his music from scratch. Mom would hop in and bring up the fact that Prince has performed at the Super Bowl, a feat which she believes Kanye will never achieve. Maybe one day… Dad wouldn’t even mention Prince’s dance moves. I honestly didn’t know he could dance until I saw Purple Rain. The “Let’s Go Crazy” scene was a big surprise. I’ve never seen any concert footage and because of his beef with YouTube, I didn’t think he had a lot of music videos. It was hard for me to see or hear his work, all I had was Dad’s CD and the radio. 

        As the years went on my hate turned into a respectful indifference. When I found out that Chris Rock is a huge Prince fan, I looked more into “The Purple One.” I said to myself “this guy has to be a big deal if Chris Rock and my father, two people whom I admire, are fans of his.” It took me 18 years to finally appreciate his greatness. Last year, I wrote a tribute to Prince and Purple Rain as part of a Black History Month series the school paper was doing. For that article I watched Purple Rain twice and I listened to nothing but the soundtrack for a whole weekend. Through all of this I was able to see that all the praise was more than warranted. I became a fan. That summer I got 1999, Dirty Mind and the Batman soundtrack. It was like I discovered a treasure that’s been around since before my time. Writing that article brought out a special moment between my father and I. It made him proud and my newfound admiration for the artist I once hated brought us closer. The way my father put me on to Prince is the same way I’ll put my kid(s) on to Kanye. I might play Late Registration in the delivery room so I can tell them what song played as they were brought into the world.  

What I like about Prince is his productivity and his realness. At the age of 18 Prince signed a record deal with Warner Bros. and his debut album, For You, was released when he was 19. Since then he went on to create 39 albums and he has an entire vault of unreleased work. This is a guy who released an album every year and then some. He wrote his first song at 7 and he played all 27 instruments on his debut album. He’s got a lot to say and he loves what he does. You can’t help but respect someone like that. Prince was also never afraid to be himself. He wasn’t weird because he was a pretentious artist, that’s just who he was. All of the flamboyancy, the hyper sexuality, the reclusiveness, all of that was Prince being Prince. It wasn’t a gimmick or a stage persona.  

        It’s become a life goal to experience something as epic as the climax of Purple Rain. It’s on my list of the most impactful things I’ve ever seen. The “Purple Rain” performance, the close ups of Billy and the crowd’s reaction, The Kid storming off stage and having the audience roaring for him to come back on stage... it’s all so powerful. And when he leaves his dressing room he locks eyes with Apollonia who looks at him as if to say “You did it, babe” Oh my goodness it’s all so triumphant!

        I always told myself that if I made it I would introduce Dad to Prince, but now that's not a possibility. I wanted to thank him. I wanted to thank him for bringing me and my father closer, for helping me better appreciate music and artistry and for using his God given gifts to change the world. 

Catching the Big Kahuna

During my senior year of high school I applied to the Film and Television program at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts. On March 28^th, 2014 I received the following email:

Last fall I applied to the Department of Dramatic Writing at NYU and on May 16^th, 2016 I received this email:

Getting into NYU is a dream come true. It’s been a long journey to get to this point, but unfortunately, the road ends here.

When I was 8 I traded in my hoop dreams for dreams of a career making movies. Before I even got to high school I did research on colleges with the best film programs. I looked up all the colleges that my heroes went to. I wanted to know where they went so I could follow in their footsteps. I wrote a list of the alma maters of George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, Matt Groening, Seth Macfarlane and Spike Lee to name a few. While doing my research I found one place in particular kept showing up. A school in the Northeast which taught the likes of Spike Lee, Woody Allen, Martin Scorsese and Neil Simon. That school was NYU.

NYU has always been a dream. There were other film schools I was looking at, but NYU was the Big Kahuna. I didn’t set my sights on the big name schools out West. Although for a brief period of time I did want to go to UCLA. But I felt that move would be too overwhelming and the LA culture wasn’t a good fit for me. There was something about New York that I found enchanting. It’s a city that boasts so much history and culture. It’s where the Harlem Renaissance took place. It’s the home of the Apollo Theater and Broadway. It’s where many writers and entertainers started their careers. I saw New York City as the ultimate hub of creativity. I thought that all the greats earn their stripes in the Big Apple. With that being said I knew I had to go to a school that was in the middle of it all.

When I first applied to NYU I knew the odds were stacked against me. I wasn’t a brainiac in high school and I had little serious film experience. The best I had to show for were my extracurricular activities and the stories I had written. Despite this I was still hopeful that would be more than enough to get in. Once I hit submit I started fantasizing about the day when I would wake up in the city that never sleeps. I often dreamt about walking around Washington Square Park and frequenting comedy clubs in Greenwich Village. I wanted to go to a Knick game on a school night. I wanted to hear authentic New York dialects and eat New York pizza. I listened to “New York, New York” by Frank Sinatra and it made me feel like I was already there. The day that I got the rejection, I was hurt but by that time I knew I wouldn’t be able to attend anyway because the cost of attendance was way out of budget.

I ended up going to a state university and I did my thing there. I wrote for the school paper and I excelled in class. All the while I still had my eyes on NYU. I knew I was going to re-apply; I just had to wait for the right moment. During my freshman year I applied to my school’s film school and I got rejected. It frustrated me but I took it as a sign that NYU was really meant to be. That summer I went back to the drawing board and looked up the deadlines to apply as a transfer student. Fall 2015 should’ve been called Redemption Time, because I spent all of my free time making sure I made the best comeback possible.

The deadline to apply as a transfer student was April 1^st. I had everything ready and submitted in November. For six months I anxiously waited, praying that I’d get an early response. I was disappointed to hear the decisions don’t come out until May. Not only was the wait too long, but it gave me barely enough time to make the proper adjustments if I were to go. I called NYU’s admissions office so many times that you would think they were on speed dial. I wanted to make sure that everything was handled on my end. I didn’t want any funny business happening when it came time to review my application. Sure enough, days before May and the start of Finals week, I call admissions and they tell me that I need to submit a new transcript and mid-term report or else my application won’t be reviewed. Once that happened, the school lost all of its majesty. I had to scramble all around campus to get signatures from my professors and get a transcript sent. I got everything done and submitted within 24 hours after receiving the news. This was rock bottom for me. I felt like all of my efforts to get things done early were a waste of time. My desire to go to NYU was at an all-time low and I grew disheartened. It didn’t help that it took about two weeks for my transcripts to be processed. At this time school was already over and we were in the beginning days of May.

I expected to be the first applicant to receive a decision. And since the decisions started rolling in May, I thought on May 2^nd I would know whether or not I got accepted. For two weeks I went about my days not knowing the results. I had people asking me if I heard anything since April so it became increasingly annoying to respond with “not yet.” There was nothing that could take my mind off the decision. It was one of the first things I thought of in the morning and one of my last thoughts before going to sleep.   

On the morning of May 16^th I was eating breakfast before heading to class. Something told me to check my email and when I did I saw that my admission decision was in. I immediately called Sunshine and told her the decision was finally in. When I read the letter I thought I got rejected because it didn’t start with the words “Congratulations.” Once I saw “it is my honor and privilege,” my heart started pounding and a smile grew across my face so wide that the corners of my lips could’ve touched.

I did it! I got in, I finally got in!!! After two years of hard work and dreaming I finally got in!

It was hard for me to sit in class that day. All I wanted to do was tell the world that I have been accepted into NYU and start apartment hunting. Mom said she cried tears of joy when I told her the news. We entertained the thought of me going for about three days. Mom reached out to my cousin in Brooklyn and asked about the best places to live. Manhattan was out of the question because an apartment there is usually around $1,200 a month. My current rent is $389 before utilities. My cousin suggested Crown Heights and Bed Stuy. We even considered me living in Jersey and taking a train to campus every day.

During that time I really believed I was going to NYU in the fall. Then reality hit. After the celebratory high wore off, it didn’t take long for the details and fine print to make us reconsider.  The cost of attendance was sky high so taking out a loan was inevitable. Yes, I had some scholarship money coming in, but it still wasn’t enough. The reality of the situation was if I went to NYU I’d graduate with a six figure debt looming over my head as opposed to finishing my two years where I’m at and getting out with a degree and no debt at all.

It was tough to come to terms with all of this. I still wanted to go, but the facts were hard to ignore. Also, I didn’t have any type of beckoning that told me NYU was the right move. There was no sign, no voice in my head aside from my own and that voice was a mere whisper. The choice was mine and I decided not to go. I was disappointed because I felt like I didn’t put up enough of a fight. If this is my dream school, I should be doing everything I can to be able to go. I should be applying for scholarships left and right. I should be looking at all the apartments in the boroughs and contacting everyone I know in New York. I wanted to fight for it, but I’ve been fighting since August and frankly, I was getting tired. The battle was over. I won, but it didn’t feel like I did.  

I wanted to go to NYU so bad because I believed that was the best place for me to be. The location was perfect and the networking opportunities were endless. It was the perfect career move and I’d be an idiot to turn that down. This whole experience has taught me a great lesson in patience. Ever since high school I wanted nothing more than to skip everything and go straight to my career. That feeling remains to this day. I saw NYU as a ticket out, a chance to start working on my goals. Well, there’s no rush. I have to enjoy the moment while I can and not worry about the future. After all, writer’s need to live life and gain experience. If something is meant to be, it will happen. Even if it’s not in a clear-cut way. NYU is a great opportunity, but it isn’t the only opportunity. I can make career moves anywhere I go and still get where I want to be. I need to stay where I’m at and work harder to make the most out of my situation. I guess all this work was put in for me to find out that I am good enough. I am good enough to get into a revered program at one of the most prominent universities in America. I am on the same level as these kids and knowing that is more than enough for me to keep going.

So for now, I’m enjoying my summer and relishing in the fact that I got in to NYU. Even though I won’t be going, it’s still an honor and a great achievement. I’d like to thank all of you who supported me through this journey and encouraged me to remain optimistic. A special shout out goes to my good friend Jordan and Sunshine for believing in me more than I believed in myself. I love you all. I can’t find my acceptance booklet, but when I do, I’m taking it to Tally with me and putting it on my desk. 

A Tribute to My Teens

So I’m 20 now and I don’t feel any different. I can’t say I feel older. I mean, not much has changed physically since I turned 18. I haven’t cut my hair since then. Sunshine, Mom and Granny Sainvil want me to cut it, but that’s not happening anytime soon. I tried rocking a mustache for a while but that was a disaster. I thought I looked smooth. Like Billy Dee Williams or Eddie Murphy in Boomerang. Instead I ended up looking like a creepy uncle stuck in the 70s. My friend Eddie told me I looked like Richard Pryor, so that was a plus.

Anyway, turning 20 is cool I guess. In the words of my dear friend, Franco “It’s like turning 19 twice.” It’s funny how birthdays aren’t the same as anniversaries. If that were the case, we’d be celebrating the 21st anniversary of mass media releases and historical events instead of the 20th. When I was 12 the only things I thought of when I heard the word “teenager” were high school, hormones and mood swings. I had high expectations for those years. I often raved about how I was gonna take high school by storm. I was gonna be The Man. I was gonna be a D1 bound basketball player who dated the head cheerleader (or whoever the finest girl in school was) and we were going to be named Prom King and Queen. I accomplished none of those things. That’s not to say that I haven’t achieved much. (I’d be a bitter, bitter man if that were so). In my teenage years, I won accolades for writing, started this blog, travelled, went to college and met the love of my life. And that’s barely scratching the surface. I also launched a successful rap career—that “Watch Out Freestyle” had the streets on smash in Norway—but that’s a story for another post.

Yesterday Mom asked me what my favorite age as a teenager was. I’d have to say it was when I was 16. My junior year of high school was definitely one for the books. Everything from the All-Star game, College Tour and my AP U.S. History class was a blast. 19 is a close second because last summer and this school year were legendary. Despite all that I’ve done, there are still a few things I’ll never get to experience as a teen. Here are some things I wish I did as a teenager but didn’t do and wouldn’t do even if I had the chance:

1.       Take my parent's car out without them knowing.

2.       Throw a house party when my parents are out of town.

3.       Take a date to a drive-in movie and not watch the movie (keep it PG-13, people).

4.       Get wasted.

5.       Go to a new school, fight the head jock and dethrone him, take his girl then teach the whole school a lesson about self-acceptance before breaking out into a big musical dance number in the cafeteria.

I guess I did #4, but not really. The closest thing I got to being wasted was drinking two tall boys of “Redd’s Strawberry Ale” way too fast while playing NBA 2K15. It wasn’t necessarily a bad time, but I ended up vomiting and singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” with my head in my neighbor’s toilet. Sorry, Mom.

There’s a lyric Andre 3000 rapped that stuck with me all year “I’m 19 with a Cadillac.” That line was said in the song “A Life in the Day of Benjamin Andre.” It tells the story of OutKast’s beginnings, 3000’s life change during the making of ATLiens, and his relationship with Erykah Badu. That lyric put things in perspective. It showed me that there are people my age and younger who are making moves. Right now there are guys younger than me entering the NBA draft. “I’m 19 with a Corolla” I thought to myself. “What moves am I going to make?” Tyler, the Creator bought a house at 22. Am I on track to do that? Here I go again, worrying myself before anything actually happens. I’m looking forward to seeing what my twenties will bring. The “Dirty Thirties” don’t seem too fun. Thank you all for the love and support you’ve given me through the years. There’s still more Mix to come and plenty of stories to tell.

This picture has nothing to do with the post. I just love this picture. I've been had the Dirty Sprite before Future. Been sipping on some sizzurp before Three 6 Mafia. Been had the drink in my cup before Kirko Bangz. All jokes, people. Just jokes..

Deion's Got a Girlfriend

           Some of you might be wondering what’s been going in my life since my last post. Well, folks, your boy’s found himself some sunshine. That’s right, I’m off the market. Ladies, please try and contain yourselves. I’m in love now and have been living the happy life of a boyfriend.    

But Deion, you’re the international lover-man! This can’t be your first serious relationship! What about the east coast girl you left the Bentley to twirl and the west coast shorties who push the chrome 740s? What about those pictures of you and Halle Berry coming out of La Quinta Inn? What about the rumored baby mamas you have in Punta Cana? Didn’t I see you leaving the U.S. Open with Serena Williams?

Listen, those were meaningless flings. Some of those stories were slander anyways. The results came back negative in Punta Cana. Conchita is just mad that I wouldn’t help her get a green card.

Anyways, yeah, I’m happy and in a relationship now. I can’t reveal her name or show a picture of her because her family is under a Witness Protection Program. She won’t tell me why. All I know is my family and I are in no danger.

We met on January 30th at a lemonade tasting. That night the Cavs played the Spurs and LeBron dominated with an effortless 29 points. It was a classic performance if you ask me. I guess you can say it was love at first sight. We both reached for the pitcher of strawberry lemonade and when we locked eyes it was magic. I’d rather not talk about our first date. All I’ll admit is that Applebee’s and Kanye were involved. I might have made every mistake in the book during the drive there. I may have had her burning up in the car because I didn’t know how to work my A/C, but we’ve moved past that! At least I had my seat belt on… I know I said I wasn’t going to talk about it but let me just say that our waiter, Thomas, was a pretty bad waiter. Folks, I’m not a hard customer to please. I only have three requests when it comes to waiters and waitresses at restaurants:

1. Try to lighten the mood.

2. Regularly check for refills.

3. Give recommendations and help me when I’m undecided on what to order.

Thomas did none of those three things. Everyone who knows me knows I’m an Applebee’s Man. I don’t even have to see the menu. I know what I’m going to get, a strawberry lemonade and a Quesadilla Burger. When I told Thomas my order I specifically said “strawberry lemonade.” He replied “Lemonade? Alright, got it,” and he walked away. Minutes later a woman hands me a regular lemonade. I contemplated going to the back and causing a scene. The only reason why I didn’t was because this was our first date and I didn’t want to reveal Thug Life Deion just yet. So I gritted my teeth and sipped on my regular lemonade. I was going to give Thomas a bad tip but nobody told me that women look to see how much a man tips! I was ready to give this man a quarter but before the pen touched the paper I looked up and saw her eyes locked in on the check. Thomas, if you’re reading this, thank Sunshine for the 15% gratuity you didn’t deserve. 

Sunshine and I went through some reeeeally humble beginnings. Nothing was more humbling for me than the night of March 3^rd. That was the night of our second date and our first kiss. It was definitely a day that separated the boys from men. You see, not only am I a former international lover-man, but I’m also a gentleman. I let the women go first in everything, this includes kissing. Usually women are so overwhelmed by the rush of emotions I cause them to have and it makes them want to swallow me whole. This time around it was different. Remember that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark when the girl closed her eyes and the words “love you” were written on her eyelids? It was kind of like that. The signs were clear as day and I was just frozen.

Once she went back home I knew I made a huge mistake in not kissing her so I immediately scrambled to the drawing board to devise a plan. The plan was to tell her I forgot to give her something, show up to her place with some flowers and kiss her. The only problem was there was no place around that sold flowers after dark. Walgreens and CVS did not come through. I went around neighborhoods looking through lawns for anything slightly pretty. A frightened soccer mom called the police and her husband took it upon himself to wrestle me into a submission hold until the authorities came. After explaining my situation to the police and cursing out the husband in my head I decided to ditch the flowers and kiss her with no props.

The drive to her place was a long one. I didn’t listen to any music and I didn’t feel anything. There was no point in being nervous because this was something that I had to do. It took me a good twenty minutes to find her exact place because for some strange reason the building number and the apartment number aren’t correlated. In the process of finding her place I lost a shoe and got hit by someone backing out. When Sunshine and I finally met I looked like I had went through Hell. My clothes were wrinkled, I had one shoe and my hip was broken. I skipped the cliché banter and just went in. It was a peck, but a respectable one. I counted one and a half Mississippi’s in my head. I walked back to my car with a fist held in the air like Bender from The Breakfast Club. 

The kiss was a crucial moment because it was days before we parted ways for Spring Break. During that time we realized we really missed being around each other. She’s one of the few people in the world who I never get tired of being with.

So far I’ve learned that falling in love is a process. The first time I got bit by the love bug I didn’t know if it was real or just some rollover hormones from my early teens. But once I knew, I knew. I didn’t have the butterflies or anything you hear about in the movies. It wasn’t an epiphany. As a matter of fact, one text was all it took for me to know. I was about to go into work one morning when I received a text from her: “Hey, did you take my remote by accident?” I was smitten.

It took me a minute to tell her. I’m not gonna lie; I was nervous. I tried hinting at it with hopes that she’d pick up the signs and say it first so that I didn’t have to. But of course, that didn’t fly, so I finally declared it while we were watching Along Came Polly. There was a brief pause before she said it back and when she did I swear I heard a million trumpets sound. I couldn’t tell if it was from the movie or if it was the orchestra of angels playing in my head. Either way it was a magical moment.

Being with her has made me the happiest I’ve ever been. My peoples are telling me that I have a “glow” now. I haven’t noticed it, but I’m sure it’s true. Love songs are starting to make sense to me now. You know that song “For Once in My Life” by Stevie Wonder? That’s how she makes me feel every day. I love you, Sunshine. Here’s to a long relationship filled with happiness and stolen remotes.

Let Me Explain (why Kevin Hart can be greater)

     This week saw the release of the trailer for Central Intelligence, a buddy cop movie starring Kevin Hart and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. If you follow either of the two on Instagram, you might remember them recording their hijinks while on set last spring. 

Here’s a question I’ve wrestled with ever since I finished seeing Think Like a Man in theaters, when will Kevin Hart carry a movie on his own?

     Let me just say that I am in no way discrediting Kevin Hart’s success or belittling it. I am a big fan of his work. I am simply a fan with some questions. It’s been a while since we have seen a stand-up comedian assume rock star status. Eddie Murphy is the epitome of the rock star comedian. His success and star power had been compared to Kevin Hart’s for quite some time now and rightfully so. They’re both the best standup performers of their times with successful stand-up comedy films and plenty of box office breaking feature films. One of the things that Eddie Murphy has over Kevin Hart aside from Hart’s lack of writing credits on one of his films is poster space. Yes, poster space. For over thirty years Eddie Murphy has had many movies where he’s the only actor on the film poster. There isn’t one Kevin Hart movie where he is the only person on the film poster.   

     Like I said, I’ve been wrestling with this for a while now. It makes no sense. He’s big enough to do it. I don’t understand why it hasn’t be done. Plenty of other black actors and comedians have been the only star on the poster. Chris Rock is the only person on the posters for Head of State, CB4 and Down to Earth. Richard Pryor, though a legend as a standup comedian, isn’t known for having as iconic of a film career but he still had the sole poster space in Blue Collar and Which Way is Up? Martin Lawrence is by himself on Blue Streak. Will Smith is by himself on Hitch, Hancock, Seven Pounds, and Concussion. Denzel Washington is by himself in The Book of Eli, John Q., He Got Game, and Flight.

(Some of you might be reading this and thinking “what about Dave Chappelle?” Dave Chappelle doesn’t count. He hasn’t starred in five movies.)

Anyways…

     Some examples with white comedians include Seth Rogen in Knocked Up and Observe and Report; Steve Martin in The Jerk and Sgt. Bilko; Adam Sandler in Happy Gilmore, The Waterboy and Click. For goodness sake! Even Rob Schneider has sole poster space in the Deuce Bigalow, The Hot Chick and The Animal.  

Are you seeing my point yet? If Rob Schneider can sell a movie with a poster featuring just him, why can’t Kevin Hart?

     Some of you might think that this is a trivial thing to put a lot of thought into, but I assure you it isn’t. Most comedians don’t have Oscars. For some comedians, having a movie with just themselves on the poster is like a kid having an aced test put on the fridge. It’s something to display, something to be proud of.

     Let’s get back to Eddie Murphy. Please understand that this is from a millennial speaking on something that occurred over twenty years before he was born. But I’ve done enough research and seen enough interviews to know what I’m talking about when I say Beverly Hills Cop was Eddie Murphy’s first breakout film. Prior to that he was in Trading Places, 48 Hours and Best Defense. In all three movies he is sharing poster space. In the first two he plays a sidekick to a white actor and goes through enough racism to cause a nationwide outrage in today’s society. Beverly Hills Cop was when it all changed. Eddie Murphy was no longer playing second fiddle. He was the main event. There isn’t one racial slur uttered throughout the movie. In fact, Eddie’s character, Axel Foley, dances around the notion that a white cop was taking the blackness out of his partner. Since Beverly Hills Cop, Eddie Murphy has been the sole face on a poster in a majority of his movies.

     Eddie owned every second of every scene in Beverly Hills Cop. He made it so that no other actor could ever play the role of Axel Foley. He’s a fast talking Detroit cop with a lot of ambition that often gets him in trouble. Once he’s out of his comfort zone it doesn’t take long for him to kick his feet up. The moment Axel set foot in Beverly Hills he made his presence felt and he did it with style. He was cool and confident and people took whatever he threw at them. Could the movie have been as impactful if Axel was a bumbling idiot? Maybe, but it would definitely have an effect on his career. If Axel Foley were more like Inspector Clouseau it might have taken a bit longer for him to do a film like Boomerang.

     The thing with Kevin Hart is that his comedic style feeds off other people’s reactions. Eddie’s style feeds off of Eddie. To speak in basketball terms Kevin Hart is a playmaker and Eddie is a player who can create his own shot. Kevin Hart is Steve Nash and Eddie Murphy is Allen Iverson. Kevin Hart can be Allen Iverson if he had the right pieces. All he needs is the right role and script and he can be the main event for the rest of his career. All it takes is one knockout performance. It doesn’t even matter if there are some flops afterwards, the name still holds weight. Once again, look at Eddie Murphy’s career. He has plenty of flops and he’s still the main event in his other films. Even when he isn’t in the spotlight he can steal the show. Does anybody remember his Oscar nod for Dreamgirls? These are things that Kevin Hart can do right now if he wasn’t always the sidekick or the wise cracking friend.

     Once an answer is given to when Kevin Hart will really star in a movie I can get into some more burning questions. I’m waiting to see who the next black Box Office Buster is going to be. Chadwick Boseman? Michael B. Jordan? Or maybe it will be an actress. One with beauty, class, and no nude scenes. That’d be nice. 

     Who’s going to be like Will Smith and own the theaters every 4^th of July Weekend? Who is the next generation of black entertainers going to grow up looking up to?

If there were a sequel or remake of Harlem Nights right now who would make up the Big Three? Who best represents of the three generations of black comedians? If I had to say right now it’d be Kevin Hart in Eddie Murphy’s role, Chris Rock in Richard Pryor’s role and Eddie Murphy in Redd Foxx’s role.

     He is currently 36. It’s also worth mentioning that Eddie Murphy made a name for himself during a time when it was tough for black people to get good roles in films. To further put things in perspective Eddie Murphy was 23 years old when Beverly Hills Cop was released and that was his fourth feature film appearance. Kevin Hart was 24 when Soul Plane came out and that was his fifth film appearance. He is currently 36 years old. 

Watch Out Freestyle, thank you

     Every so often I have to take a step back and acknowledge where I am and how far I’ve come. 2015 was a year of superlatives. Last summer was the greatest summer of my life. So much got done: David P and I launched Emphasis, Thirst Responsibly was in the works, and The Adventures of Smurf and Smiley is back from hiatus. The productivity didn’t stop when I got back to school either. I kept writing for the school paper and I kept keeping you all in the Mix which included a music video with ThatDude and a New Year’s extravaganza with him and Kali.

In celebration for all that’s happened I recorded a freestyle. I was watching 2Chainz’s music video for “Watch Out” and somehow it inspired me. I even made a Rap Genius page for it so you can sing along and decode the lyrics. In the intro I shout out a lot of people and the things that they’re working on. It was too long for me to transcribe so I’ll explain it all here.

     Right now ThatDude and I are working hard to get Thirst Responsibly published and out to the masses. Speaking of which, if you see anybody on social media shamelessly thirsting, send them the link (deisainvil.blogspot.com/2015/09/thirst-responsibly-finessing-on-social.html) with “#ThirstResponsibly.” David P and I will be getting back to work on Emphasis this summer. I’m also editing an unpublished book that a friend and I wrote in middle school. There’s no time table for that yet. My cousin is busy with his clothing company, Freshco Fly. He's got a new line of products coming very soon. My other cousin Alex is working on his mixtape, “Trap Care.” There's no timetable on the release, but it’s also on the way.

• Support my friend Andre Bolourian by reading his blog and watching his videos.
• Support my friend Kali by reading her blog and going to her comedy shows if you’re in the area, (she’ll be performing at Bird’s Aphrodisiac Oyster Shack on Feb. 10)
• Support my cousin Chris by pre-ordering some clothes from Freshco Fly.
• Support QuinceLu and listen to his latest mixtape, “A.L.I.E.N.”
• Support ThatDude and read his blog which he recently updated with a new post.
• Support Ms. Agostini and buy a card from her 
• Support my cousin Alex and listen to his music on Soundcloud

     There are two people who I have to thank especially. Dilia Suggs and Dario Phillpe. Dilia is the one who told me I should create a blog. I was a 10th grader and had no idea what to do with my own site. Regardless, I kept writing and writing until I started feeling like this was going nowhere. That was when my Sunday school teacher, Dario, told me to build up In the Mix. I was about to delete the whole thing, but he saw something in it that I didn’t. If it weren’t for these two, I’d be playing video games right now. Or watching Taken for the 25th time.

     None of this could’ve happened without God. Thank you to everyone who’s been down and has supported me in anything I did. From Coral Springs to Tally and beyond, thank you. With all that being said, brace yourselves for these dope rhymes (click the picture):

http://genius.com/Deion-a-sainvil-watch-out-freestlye-lyrics

Chronicles of the College Boy: Road Trips and Road Rage

            Hey all, before I begin let’s have a moment of silence for the A in my European History class that didn’t get to see the light of day. It could’ve been but I got a 70 on the second quiz. I knew the date Hitler became chancellor: Jan, 30, 1933, but I didn’t know that Willy Brandt was the first chancellor out of the SPD party. If I knew that I would’ve still had a chance. So here’s to you, A. You were a beautiful grade that was gone too soon.  

With the holidays ending most of us must prepare or already reacquainted ourselves with the terrible experience of road trips. You really get to know a lot about people from how they drive on the highway. From my experiences so far I’ve learned that road trips are a test. A test of patience, pride and narcissism. The next time you’re on the highway, ask yourself these three questions:

1.  Am I patient enough to endure this journey knowing that my speed has a greater impact on my gas tank than my expected arrival time?
2.  Am I that prideful that I won’t move out of someone’s way or allow them to get in front of me because I think my pace is good enough and they just have to deal with it?
3.  Am I that narcissistic to be zig zagging around everyone because my time and where I need to be are more important than anyone else on the road?

My school is a seven hour drive from home. There is no playlist or artist I can listen to that will keep me pumped for that long. No matter how fast I go, it’s at least a six hour journey. My first time driving home I got there in 6 and a half but I had to do many things I wasn’t proud of to achieve that feat. A few Bambis lost their mothers that day.

Last year I saw my friend tailgate the hell out of a dad in a green minivan for slowing us down on the fast lane. I thought my friend was being belligerent. Here am I today doing the same thing. I’ve become a jerk. I even have a celebration routine. After I make someone switch lanes I make my fingers into a gun and shoot them down. My motto is you can’t be going 75 on the fast lane and act like you’re going places. When you’re driving on the fast lane, you made a deal to go at least 20mph faster than the person behind you. Once you don’t hold your end of the bargain, it’s time to go.

The first time someone flashed their high beams on me I was confused. I thought somebody I knew was behind me, but my friend told me it was because I was going too slow. Mind you, I was doing 85 on the fast lane. A speed which can land me a $200 ticket. Instead of speeding up or moving out of her way, I turned up my music and slowed down so that I was adjacent to the person on the right lane. She was trapped. The more she flashed me the more I blasted my music. Once the song ended I floored it and she was left in the dust. She didn’t even accelerate, she just stood there. Score 1 for Deion.

I’ve seen and been a part of my fair share of races for pride. During my first time driving home I was up against this 50 year old white guy in a white Ford Fusion and this young Chico in an old, grey Civic. The white guy was behind me and I saw him shimmying to finesse his way in front. When he saw that he couldn’t he raised his hand to say “Ugh, this is ridiculous!” Once he was able to he was gone. He had to have been pushing 100 with no regard for his gas tank. I passed him a few times but he kept coming back. It was just me and Whitey for the first twenty minutes. Chico wasn’t really a threat until the end.

For a good five mile stretch I was ahead and I thought I left them in the dust. Out of nowhere I saw a white dot in my rearview and it was getting bigger and bigger. It was Whitey! Buddy had his dress shirt unbuttoned and he was drenched in sweat. He looked like he went through hell, like an old wrestler protecting his championship belt. I could’ve sworn I saw him raise his fist in triumph and flip me the bird when he passed me for the last time. After Whitey ran through the tape, Chico came in happily accepting second place.

The fact that I couldn’t hang with a 50 year old was a crippling blow to my ego. But it goes to show that when it comes to speed demons, there are the OGs and young guns. I’m a starter pistol.

The most humbling feeling comes after trying to pass the person in front of you only to see that the person in the next lane isn’t going any faster so you have to get back behind them. When that happens to me I imagine the person in front of me grinning at the rearview mirror saying “that’s right, fall back in line.” I know that’s what he thinks because that’s what I think. There have been times when I’ve sped up to prevent being passed. Like I said, it’s about pride.

Quick word of advice on traffic jams: grab a snack, text and work on your novel. Follow the semi-trucks. They always seem to be on the fastest moving lane. This is for two lane roads, results may vary for three of four lanes.

      I could go on and on about my misadventures and gripes with road trips, but I’ve already said a lot and you’ve probably had a long day. So I’ll leave you with this—the highway is filled with people who want to get to their destinations in a safe and timely manner. Some have different ways of doing so than others. It doesn’t matter if you’re a tortoise or a hare, road trips are a marathon, not a race.