Friday, October 24, 2014

Five Reasons I Never Became a Rapper

There are very few people in our world who have not, at some point in their life, desired to be a rapper.

Timmy poses as his rapper alter-ego T boy


And for good reason.

From the pen of Dr. Seuss to the microphone of Dr. Dre the power of the rhyme has never ceased to amaze, engage & mesmerize.

And really. Who doesn't love wearing a whole lotta bling?

Yet among the multitudes who dreamed of rockin' the mic freestyle...only a few actually tried. Among those who have tried...only a few have excelled. And among those who excelled...there is, and will only be, one MC Hammer.

Ever since my mother encouraged me to "use my words", I've sought to expel the darkness from this world while wielding the sword of language. Ever since my mother told me not to use "those" words, I've attempted to do it with more socially accepted language.

From inspirational speaking to writing to singing there were clearly multiple paths I could have journeyed down, but the lure of being as cool as Ice (Cube or T) was simply too great. Or rather...simply too "fate".

It was incredibly obvious I was destined to be a rapper. Unless you talked to others.

As a scrawny Caucasian boy with big hair and a penchant for both colourful headbands & tight pants most people in my 'hood pegged me for becoming a legend of Rock. But then...the world stopped.

It collaborated. It listened.

The door had swung wide open. The table had turned. The baby had been spilled with the frozen bath water. Equality had finally arrived...riding a vanilla horse and singing a strangely familiar tune.

It no longer mattered that I had been raised on the not-so mean streets of an elitist neighbourhood. With a little creative word play, a cool moniker and a 100 lb. gold chain (or clock face) I would now be free to spread a message of peace, love & joy in the same way Public Enemy did.

But...it was not to be.

Believe me, if I had entered the world of rap the bar would have been noticeably raised. Because in my rap universe...there would be no 50 Cent. It'd be 75 Cent, minimum. Maybe even 80 Cent!

People often ask, “Why? Why did you never take your rightful place among the rap elite?”

The answer...is complicated. However, I've managed to summarize it this way:

The Top FIVE Reasons I Never Became A Rapper

1) I simply don't possess the upper body strength needed to carry the gold chains.

2) Once “Q-Tip” was used...all the truly great names were taken.

3) Boi. Def. Kool. The spellings are absolutely horrendous! (Not to mention the many misplaced apostrophes)

4) I like ABBA way too much.

And,

5) I couldn't busta rhyme even you gave me extra...minutes.


Have a good one,
Timmy

*Placed 1st in the Faithwriters.com Writing Challenge - October 23,2014

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

#timmyandjillian Day 13 - Jillian Michaels Fried My Brain

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Today I chose to graduate myself.



The decision to move from Week One to Week Two of Jillian Michaels' “Ripped in 30” was eerily reminiscent of my school days.

First, there was the all-encompassing dread of getting physically beaten up at the next level (experienced from Grades 6-11).

Even though each new school year proved the fear to be based on nothing but an old episode of Leave it to Beaver, I knew today was different. Jillian was about to hurt me for real. She was about to hurt me bad.

Secondly, there was the uncontrollable sobbing for my mommy...BEFORE anything happened (experienced in Kindergarten & from Grades 9-14).

Look, not only is it okay to cry, it's an absolute necessity. I can't remember the exact context but my mother once told me, with great conviction, "If you hold the tears in...you WILL go blind!" Wait, maybe that was for something else. Regardless, after experiencing Week One with Jillian the prospect of a second week would make anyone a little weepy.

Thirdly, there was the extremely tight shorts (worn for a record 17 straight picture days).

Simply put...I've got legs and I know how to use them.

And finally, there was the complete & utter non-existence of any signs indicating I was ready to be advanced forward (Senior Kindergarten & Grades 6, 8, 12 & 14 come to mind).

I had already spent 12 days on Week One & completed the workout seven times. Ready or not, if I wanted to be ripped, I knew I couldn't stay there forever. As a grown-up I am now able to make mis-guided decisions for myself.

So, I mustered up what little courage I've carried into adulthood, wiped my tears, hiked up my shorts to show a little more thigh & repeated my life mantra...

“I will NOT go blind. I will NOT go blind. I will NOT go blind...”

Good news. I didn't go blind.

However, within the first few minutes I remembered why I never joined an aerobics class. There was so much “left, reach, kick, up, alternate, kick, dip, right, down” happening at such a feverish rate, I think it put me into a brief coma.

When Jillian said, “Repeat!”...

...my brain exploded.



It was intense, but I will be back at it again tomorrow.

“I will NOT go blind. I will NOT go blind. I will NOT go blind...”

Keep on laughin',
Timmy

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Tuesday, July 15, 2014

#timmyandjillian Day 12 - The Push-up Cam

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"Are you really doing it?"



That's the question I've been asked most over the last 12 days in regards to the Jillian Michaels "Ripped in 30" exercise program.

Other questions like, "Are you on the 'roids?", "Have you had work done?" & "Aren't those shorts a little tight?" come in a distant 2nd through 4th.

Some people would say one of the more frustrating things about working out is not being able to see immediate results. I'd certainly agree, but would add a qualifier. One of the more frustrating things about working out is OTHERS not being able to see immediate results.

"Am I really doing it?" Yep.

Can I prove it? Nope.

Quite frankly, after eight work-outs there is almost no tangible proof I've been exercising at all.

I can't show you ripped abs, because my body is still very similar to the one I had two weeks ago. Although, I'm convinced something is definitely happening underneath the surface. I can feel it.

Oh, can I feel it.

I can't show you the cramps I'm experiencing in four muscle groups I didn't know existed.

I can't show you the wounded ego I've received after hearing Jillian chant "C'mon Girls!" as I, once again, laid motionless & cramped in a pool of my own sweat.

I suppose I could bottle & label my sweat for you, but that system has lost all credibility due to the Tour de France.

So, I figure the best "proof" I can offer you is some video footage of me actually working out.

Ladies & Gentlemen, I present to you...

The Push-up Cam! Enjoy.



This brings my extended version of Week #1 to an end. Tomorrow, I'm taking it up a notch as I take on Week #2. You'll just have to take my word for it.

Keep on laughin',
Timmy

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