From now on, I will limit my use of the word "random." I feel it is used loosely, especially for thoughts that are simply more important to one person at that immediate moment than most.The most extreme example is the occasional streetwalker carrying on an intense, but confusing, conversation with him/herself or whoever cares to listen...you know, the Red Line train tweakers.Anyway, I said that to introduce this blog and it's purpose. I'm dedicating this to THE BROWN PAPER BAG.Oh yes, the brown paper bag. As I take a sip from my 24 oz Red Stripe I keep it in its brown paper bag not because I'm too lazy to remove it but because it belongs there.Almost like hood insulation, keep the brew cold. This inatimate object has as much history in my 23 years of existence as Saturdaymorning cartoons. Details are my specialty...When I was young the brown paper bag represented straight up good times. I ate cafeteria lunch often, so when I rocked the BPB it meant we were going on a field trip. HELL YEA!! Plus my mom used to hook my lunch up, sometimes needing assistance from the ever present plastic Walgreen's bag (church). After school we'd walk to the candy store and go ham, running through the neighborhood trying to swap the best of the best of other kids' BPBs. "Aye lemme get 10 of yo chews for these lemonheads!" My mom used to work in our church's bookstore, making sure she buy me some candy and an occasional book in what else? As I grew older the BPB became a part of my everyday. My best meals came in one, acknowledging the best tasting has grease spots included. Rip it down the middle, instant plate. My friends and I had some of the best times drinking beer from one,most of the time just chillin and reflecting.The BPB also played a part in my reality. Unmentioned family and friends falling victim to what they always kept in the BPB. Drugs, illegal money, or too much liquor...many of us have seen what the contents of a BPB can do to a life. Some risk their lives to get what's still kept in the BPB, street business. It is what it is. at age 7, I found something in a BPB in the alley near my house, the first time I would ever hold a gun. For some reason, I feel there are others who got the same love and hate for the BPB as I do.I'm not promoting any illegal activity, I'm just talkin bout what I know and remember. And as I look back, there are many small items that can instantly throw me back into a certain memory. And the BPB is one of those things. It's right up there with soul food, CTA bus cards, and any song by The ISley Brothers.SO the next time you see a BPB let it be an inside joke between you and I. Lol to be honest, I feel I'd be a totally different person if it wasn't for the BPB. And if it sounds ridiculous, that's cuz you simply can't relate.
And I understand, you know, cuz EVERYBODY TELLS ME I'M SO FUCKIN RANDOM...BUT nevertheless, this is for The Brown Paper Bag, not me. Thank you, BPB, for being such an almost invisible staple in life.Now I'm gonna take my drunk ass to sleep.
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