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[prosenkhans]

Kobe

And they were going to a youth basketball tournament. 

Just think about that for a second. When we distill what actually happened yesterday to its essence, it was a group of parents and coaches bringing their young girls to an organized youth basketball game on a nondescript Sunday morning in January. There is nothing more vanilla than that. Then it ended. Just so suddenly.

I can online imagine the fear those 3 girls had in that chopper in its final moments, the bargaining that went on within the minds of those parents as that hillside emerged from the morning fog. I am not lucky, blessed, or even really deserving enough to know the joy of parenthood. However, even the least empathetic of individuals would be hard pressed to deny that Kobe was utterly in love with his family, and Gianna to her father. All the videos, the images, and interactions caught for celluloid and digital posterity, all of them showed a family deeply appreciative of one another. Beyond all things, that seems to drive this feeling of devastation further up my throat.

The level of tragedy is defined by the amount of potential lost within such an event. 

That fact that Gianna and her friends were 12 and 13 is more than enough to gut most people with a soul, however, the potential lost goes beyond even that. He seemed happy. Genuinely. Kobe seemed happy in what was in store for the rest of his life, his “second act”. The stone cold competitor with the icy scowl and bared teeth had transitioned into a statesman, an ever present and positive force within the game of basketball. Where once there were thorns, we now saw the pedals of the rose. Hugs and high fives. Congratulations and teachings. Puppets and children’s book. What we saw was a man secure in his legacy, and very much looking forward to the next chapter of his story.

But that story ended before the sequel could truly begin. As a group of people very much looking to see how the story would continue, we are left to wonder about what those potential chapters would have said. How would he have spoken during his Hall of Fame speech? Would he talk shit, or be humble? What number would be on his chest when his statue would be unveiled? Would he demand 2 to Shaq’s 1? Would we be lucky enough to be in the building when he and Gianna would sit courtside at a game? Would he still allow us to show him appreciation and stand an acknowledge the cheers? Would he be embarrassed by the continued adulation? Would we see him at UConn games, or maybe in an Oregon sweater? Would he be a leading voice in promotion of female athletics and the WNBA? Would he still allow us a peek in his mind, dissecting basketball games for public consumption? Would he write the stories that he wanted to tell? Would he make more art? Would he go on Kimmel and talk smack about the current stars of the game? Would he still smile and wave and take a selfie with us if we were oh so lucky to meet him? Would he continue to push us to be better? These are all questions in which we will never get an answer. 

The hero’s journey is not supposed to end like this. The hero fights the good fight, gives all he/she can give, and then ride off into the sunset. 

And I use the word here appropriately in this case. No, not a hero in the sense of how your parents and role models should hopefully provide the “hero” role in one’s life. No. Kobe Bryant was a hero in the sense that Superman is a hero to anyone that paid attention to his exploits. To my generation, a group of kids and adolescents that grew up watching him, Kobe is as much of a hero to us as Batman, Wolverine, and anyone else that wore a color coordinated uniform. He was an individual blessed with glorious purpose, a res on detra. And what made it better was that he was real. Real in the sense that we could actual see him be super, see him share his gifts, in real life, gallantry made flesh. What makes a superhero super anyway? Simple. Belief. We believe that when they dawn that cape, put on that cowl, they will be there to ensure everything is all-right. That everything gets the ending that we the masses so badly want. That they will come through when we need them the most. When Kobe put on that purple and gold tunic, he became our superhero. He gave us that belief, that sense of the universe being set right because he was our guy, and he would make it so. With him gone, it just doesn’t feel the same. 

I’ve been asked through the years on why Kobe holds such esteem in certain pockets of our culture. Every time someone asks me that question, I always think back to the quote from Norman Vincent Peale.

“Aim for the Moon, and you’ll still land among the stars.”

Within the fast majority of the collective consciousness of sports fan, there is one name that is always associated with Kobe Bryant. And that is Michael Jordan. Now I was lucky enough to have watched Jordan as a very young kid, fully appreciating the skill and special athlete I was observing. There is no denying of that. However, Kobe was different. Coming in during Jordan’s waning years, Jordan and Kobe never clashed at their individual apexes. A spry and almost cocky kid, you were drawn to him. He was just a few years older than I, and thus making him a huge part of those who would call themselves a millennial. While Jordan was seen as God upon high, the antecedent ruler of the NBA, Kobe quickly became the scrappy upstart. As the years went by, we were able to follow him on his hero’s journey, watching and developing into what he eventually became. A transcendent figure in basketball. And his game was so beautiful. The efficiency in his ability to score. The complete mastery of all phases of the game. His footwork was exquisite, it was art. His ability to hit the most impossible shots, and give you the faith he would make it. You had the sense watching him that no other human had ever played basketball as beautifully, skillfully,and as passionately as Kobe Bryant. You have to remember, Kobe played for 20 years. For most of my generation, that is more than half our lifetimes. We literally couldn’t imagine basketball without him in it. But why was his story so compelling? Simply put, Kobe was really the only one daring enough to challenge Jordan at his own game, the apprentice succeeding the master. He shot for the Moon, and had no qualms letting you know that’s what the hell he was doing. And I’ll say this. He touched down on those sands, stomped his feet, and pounded his chest, as to say “It’s mine now.”

The whole comparison debate and legacy really doesn’t hold much water. The game changes. Everything about the sport changes. The names change with each passing generation. However, Jordan and Kobe represent something quite different. While the pioneers and legends helped move the rocketship of basketball through the void of space, we can honestly say that Jordan was the first man to touch down on the Moon. He is the Neil Armstrong of basketball in a sense. All credit given. However, if he’s Neil, Kobe is Buzz Aldren. They are on that same rocket ship together. Jordan may have touched the sands of immortality first, but just like Aldren, Kobe followed him down that ladder and followed those footsteps to the same place. His legacy, his imprint, is right up there with the first. It is the sequence of history, with one’s value not diminishing the others’.  And just like Aldren’s actual footprints on the moon, Kobe’s legacy will be set eternally, looking down upon us from high.

But what will that legacy be? There is this silly debated, a national question of “who is the greatest Laker, Magic or Kobe?”. I always found the question silly. In short, the wrong adjective is being used. Magic, who is naturally gregarious, warm, and a welcoming personality became a leader and 5 time champion in his legendary career. Apparently you can’t be in Magic’s presence without wanting to hug him. He is the most beloved Laker. Beloved. Kobe, simply put, is the most revered. Revered. Kobe once said, “I always want to outwork my potential.” That was Kobe as a Laker. Sometimes cold, often surly, he was a driven kid that became a man obsessed with being the best. And it drove some people, competitors, and even teammates away at times. However, as a person who was privileged enough to watch his entire career, he did the one thing we can only ask for as fans. He lived up to his potential. As the world of athletics change into self branding, load management, and disconnected passion for the process of improving as a professional, Kobe stands as the shining example of someone who literally gave all he could to his craft. By blood, by sweat, and by tears.He dared to be great, unapologetically striving for perfection. He knew he was the best, and made sure that all his competitors and people watching were aware of that fact. He accepted the responsibility of the dawning the mantle, of being the standard bearer, the face of a sport. He certainly failed at times, but he never wavered in his journey. Often the most talented player in the room, his work ethic and drive was that of a player with a fraction of his gifts. And we loved him for that. You never felt cheated when you saw Kobe Bryant play. He squeezed every ounce of the potential within himself and left if on the hardwood floor for all of us to behold. He gave us championships, memories for the rest of our lives. He gave us that. He gave us himself, and we were so happy to see him walk off that court, thank him, and let him enjoy his next chapter. And now he wont.   

I can go on and on about this. I still don’t have the ability to eloquently describe all the thoughts and feelings about all this. I’ll just lastly state that we are lessened by the loss. Not just as Laker fans, or basketball enthusiasts. We are lessened as a generation when our hero’s depart with words left unwritten. We are lessened by all potential lost. But we go on. Jerry West, with tears in his eyes, said it best about his surrogate son.

“A singular word, Kobe, will resonate forever.” 

In a city that is defined by the brightness of its stars, the most brilliant of them all has dimmed from view, and future seems so much more caliginous than it did just a day before.

[prosenkhans]

A master of creating dynamic and powerful lines, the artist brings Dragon Ball Z’s Vegeta to life in this impressive portrait.

“Vegeta” by iVANTAO http://bit.ly/2ImQVR5

[prosenkhans]

Your body is not a temple. It’s an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.

It had to be the Salt Fish & Ackee. And the fried chicken. Of course the fuckin’ fried chicken.

Bourdain called Miss Ollie’s a taste of the “shiny, new Oakland”. You don’t see many tourists here, thank goodness, but the air of gentrification is present. Considered “Downtown Oakland”, you got the not-so-middle-class 20-30s something transplants messing about, bumping head long into 5th generation locals with A’s paraphernalia dangling from twin strollers. You’re just as likely to have a conversation with a person drinking craft IPA out of a laser etched glass to a person brown bagging a St. Ides 40 oz, chasing it with a Hennessy flat bottle they bury deep in their back pocket. It’s a normal thing here. The modern pressing against the traditional. “New money” and the “old school” of things. The social and economic divide that is prevalent so much here in the Bay Area. And still, the willingness by most to close that gap. The whole idea of “who’s town is this” will not be settled tonight. No. There is fish to be eaten. Chicken to be dunked in batter, fried golden, and devoured without utensils. People seem happy enough. Why not? The game is about to start.

It’s about 5:15 PM. The restaurant has yet to open for their dinner shift. And that is where I find myself, in an awkward situation as per usual, waiting in front of a door and peering into a kitchen staff hastily prepping for a Friday night. The idea was to order food and get the fuck home. I did not want to be around IF the Dubs won game 4 (they did). Not that I don’t enjoy a rowdy drunken crowd. Well I don’t actually. Not any more. Besides it wasn’t my victory, it wasn’t my team. Celebrating another’s victory just didn’t seem right, lighting fireworks and screaming in glee whilst turning over cars. Those aren’t my fireworks. I didn’t earn the drunken mob mentality to vandalize vehicles. I just didn’t want to be a buzz kill. No no. No, the only reason I stood there was because I wanted that damn salt fish and chicken! It had been a long day, made longer and mentally uncomfortable by learning that Bourdain had killed himself. No. Get the food, go home, take my pants off and sit on the couch and not so gently devour this stuff. Call it a half ass homage to the man whilst giving me some quiet time to really come to terms with all the thoughts running in my head. Oh and there was whiskey there. Pre-bought whiskey. Lots of it. Which undoubtedly has lead to this ranting essay.

When one writes shit like this it's impossible to avoid IT. The cliches, the flowery anecdotes, the over simplifications, and the glorifications of the recently passed individual. The stuff comes up because it's what we think about. However, I will say this. It a given family and friends are impacted most by a loss. Duh. Condolences, prayers up, what have you. It’s stating the obvious. What I think is escaping a lot of people is maybe we are never as close to someone we would like to think. We may love them. We may relate, appreciate, respect, and even be exceptionally close to them. But it’s becoming more and more evident to me that that UNDERSTANDING is a solo endeavor practiced by individuals specifically for their own self awareness.

We share only what we want people to see of us.

The word I most associate with Bourdain is “natural”. I know most people will go on and talk about his knowledge of the culinary world and his appreciation for amazing food. They’ll talk about his worldy travels and his willingness to immerse himself in the truest space of a city/country’s culture. People applaud and as well they should. Bourdain became the totem for all people with an ever growing sense of wanderlust. The question is why? There are plenty of who know food and culture and travel the world. Hell there are TONS of people on TV that do it and are dull as shit. So why Bourdain? Why is he, now that he is gone, ever so much more deified by those who wish to see our lives as 1/17th compelling as what he lived on screen? He was a natural. Or better yet, a “compelling natural asshole”. Yeah, that’s better.

First and foremost Bourdain was an artist. All of his shows went WELL beyond the norm of his contemporaries. In hindsight, his OG shows and the times in which he filmed them, they were damn near revolutionary. As budgets increased and skills got better, it became less so of an educational eating/travel show but more so of a docu-series of a man living in various moments. A man given the opportunity to perform a “dream job” and knowing fully well how damn lucky he was. Secondly, he was a writer. A good one. People will try to quote him in eulogy these days, but I find it hard to really pare it down. His shows were written so well that it felt like a never ending fount of inspiration meme fodder. Just Google it, you’ll see. And last, he was “cool”. And in the non pretentious type way. We just seemed like what he said, what he wore, what music was playing, hell what type of pop-cultural factoids he would equally praise and lacerate came not from a “marketing analysis report”, but a genuine opinion from a man who seemed unconcerned about the camera in his face.

What I can say is the dude gave off a vibe that drew people in. Or at least thats what he wanted to put out in the world.

I had to wait 15 minutes before I could order. Fuck. Hungry. I was starving at that moment. So even though I was annoyed and rather irritable after such a long and mentally draining day, I made my normally anti-social self do something Bourdain may have approved of. I mingled with strangers. Oh and I bought a beer. And a sausage. Of course a sausage.

Rosamunde’s was getting more crowded as the start of the game grew closer. People in their blue and gold, some with NBA Champion 2018 hats already on, even though the game hadn’t even started yet. Weird. But I made my way up to the shop keep and got my tube of meet and glass of malted hops. Yum. So with 10 minutes to kill I engaged in polite conversation with 2 gents hugging the wall. They were cousins, one local and other from LA. Of course naturally the conversation lead to basketball and the probability that all the people in this restaurant would be drunk off victory and tequila by nights end. They would be. It was a consensus. I wont prattle on about the specifics of the conversation, but within that short 10 minutes I found myself bouyed by their energy. They knew the good times to come, and they were eager to get there. And in that moment, they seemed genuinely happy. As the clock drew closer to the half hour, I started to excuse myself from the conversation. “Just stay, man! We gunna win, and then we’re gunna celebrate!” But I couldn’t. So with one last “Salanche!” (I had to teach them that Irish word), I bid them good evening and their team good luck. It wasn’t my place. Not right now. Besides, fried chicken awaited!

As I stepped away, a smile on my face, a thought in my head. Its natural when someone you admire leaves, especially in such a manner. People will focus more the WHY than anything else. I’ve resigned myself to a simple truth. We DO NOT know what anyone else is thinking. To say we UNDERSTAND another individual so completely that we can approximate their feelings, intent, and mannerism is foolhardy. It's arrogant. If there is anything that I’ve learned from Bourdain is this simple truth.......You don’t know shit. So stop guessing. Try and actually gain knowledge of, well everything. It simple requires effort and openness. And sometimes the willingness to look foolish and fall on your face.

I place my order with the lovely lady. No menu required. I knows what I want. I order a Mauby for the wait. “It’ll be like 10 minutes. You’re the first to order,” she says with a smile. I’m pretty sure she thinks my fatass is ordering for 2. Ha, oh well. I drink my weird soda and wait. And try not to dwell on the WHY.

I’ll simply state that I appreciate what Bourdain CHOSE to show us. All of it. Watch an episode of any of his shows, there is something unique about it. In every episode, Bourdain will turn from cocky asshat, to worldly listener, to foody goofball, to hipster hating old man, to a poetic soul, to an appreciated world travel, to an unwilling celebrity. There will be a facet of all those personas in each show. Every. Single. One. Now I can say that what he CHOSE to show us was a 61 year old man, full of success within a career that any of us would envy. A father of an 11 year old girl who did seemed truly proud of her developing into a full fledged human. A man who found passion and love in this “late” phase of life. A man who has grown healthier and wiser. A man, while still driven, seemed content with it all. And it apparently wasn’t. At all. So people can keep asking WHY all they want. I choose to look at it in a much more cynical view. If Bourdain, the master of the world, chose to exit it in such a state, where does that leave us?

It’s a sad thought that unicorns don’t exist.

7 swigs into my cane sugar soda, all the tables are filled. The room is bustling and the noise level increases. Smiling faces, happy banter. There is an energy in the air. But even in this moment, surrounded by the humanity, I felt alone. Lost in my own thoughts.

Bourdain once said he was “addicted to celebrity”. He wouldn’t have been as successful as he was did he not have the drive and arrogance to achieve it. Still, one would think that being placed upon a pedestal as a cultural and generational icon would become waring. On top of the 250 days of travel, he was Anthony fuckin’ Bourdain all the damn time. People see you and may potentially be expecting a life altering moment, a chance to be inspired by a simple word or action. They think they know you. And that’s with the cameras off. Even when they were rolling there are times where it is evident Bourdain was uncomfortable in his own skin. That he was crossing the velvet rope where he knew he shouldn’t. Where he was torn between enjoying a meal given to him by custom and his reluctance to be so decadent when there are impoverished families just feet away. We see a misfit become potentially what he never saw himself being. A standard bearer, a bougee VIP. A man who inspired a legion, a world of people to open their minds and hearts to other cultures through food and drink, through conversation over a meal. To take the back alley, and skip the IHOP on Main St. Ask a stranger where to get a drink instead of a guide book. To eat something you can’t pronounce. To let go of forethought and allow yourself to take the moment in. By doing so he became accepted as the norm, as how a utopian world should be. And while I hope he is proud to some degree for showing the world a new way to think, a part of me questions that by becoming a living legend, he lost that “outsider rebel” aspect of himself, his persona. That misfit.

The bell rings. My order is ready. The young lady puts everything in a bag. 2 sets of utensils. “I knew it,” I mutter to myself. “Did you say something honey?” she asks. “No,” I chuckle slightly. She smiles and turns her head to give me the inquisitive side eye. “Are you happy with everything,” she asks whimsically. I look down, and smell the food. I smile. “Yeah. Right now I am.”

So as I sit at home writing this, the last of the Ackee scrambled across my plate, I do feel a sense of sadness, but certainly appreciation. To Mr. Anthony Bourdain. I can only say “thanks”. I truly doubt we will know his full impact on society until years, generations later. But in this moment, I thank you. I probably wouldn’t have eaten this fish and chicken without him. And that in itself is worth a toast. Solanche, mutha fucker.

[prosenkhans]

[prosenkhans]

I'm a masochist. Not physical pain, but emotional turmoil is my thing.

Shameless

[prosenkhans]

I have a high art; I hurt with cruelty those who would damage me.

Archilocus, 650 B.C.

[prosenkhans]

[prosenkhans]

"Dark Knights" Custom #2 based on Neal Adams' blue costume from the 80's and 90's. You know, when I was a littler nerd. It's also a "Nightwing" colorway based off of my boy @duhz10 awesome cosplay. Yeah, I'm jealous. #thosemusclesarentpartofthesuit

[prosenkhans]

It's always easier to do sh*t you don't care about.

Life Mantra #53

[prosenkhans]

First attempt at painting a custom ended up being way more labor intensive than expected. Still, I enjoyed the paint fumes. #nikesbdunklow #periwinkle #clearanceracksaretheshit

[prosenkhans]

Ah so many reasons to watch Chuck over and over. Her mean RBFing is prolly #1. Side note... Australians are already meta humans. Apparently Polish Australians have transcended even that. #yvonnestrahovski #underrated

[prosenkhans]

Going on 4 days. I'm starting to hear things that I'm pretty sure aren't from this dimensional plain. Who needs methamphetomine sulfate when you have insomnia?

[prosenkhans]

Choose designer lingerie, in the vain hope of kicking some life back into a dead relationship. Choose handbags, choose high-heeled shoes, cashmere and silk, to make yourself feel what passes for happy. Choose an iPhone made in China by a woman who jumped out of a window and stick it in the pocket of your jacket fresh from a South-Asian firetrap. Choose Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Instagram and a thousand others ways to spew your bile across people you've never met. Choose updating your profile, tell the world what you had for breakfast and hope that someone, somewhere cares. Choose looking up old flames, desperate to believe that you don't look as bad as they do. Choose live-blogging, from your first wank till your last breath; human interaction reduced to nothing more than data. Choose ten thing you never knew about celebrities who've had surgery. Choose screaming about abortion, choose rape jokes, slut-shaming, revenge porn and an endless tide of depressing misogyny. Choose 9/11 never happened, and if it did, it was the Jews. Choose a zero-hour contract and a two hour journey to work, and choose the same for your kids, only worse, and maybe tell yourself that it's better that they never happened. And then sit back and smother the pain with an unknown dose of an unknown drug made in somebody's​ fucking kitchen. Choose unfulfilled promise and wishing you'd done it all differently. Choose never learning from your own mistakes. Choose watching history repeat itself. Choose the slow reconciliation towards what you can get, rather than what you always hoped for. Settle for less and keep a brave face on it. Choose disappointment and choose losing the ones you love then as they​ fall from view, a piece of you dies with them until you can see​ that one day in the future, piece by piece they will​ be all gone and there will be nothing left of you to call alive or dead. Choose your future. Choose life

Mark Renton, Trainspotting 2

[prosenkhans]

"If you wanted to go see Cirque de Soliel you came to see the Lakers. If you wanted to go dig a ditch, you watched the Celtics."

Jerry West, "Lakers/Celtics - Best of Enemies"

[prosenkhans]

To my Sister’s Brother...

It is said by some that family is not given, but chosen. Lineage, DNA, and other patterns in nucleotide chains doesn’t represent the defining answer to the question “what is family?” Yes, we may look alike, but are we alike? Do we reflect and appeal to the baser nature of the human good found in each individual? Nuclear fission has shown us that even the strongest atomic bonds can be broken, with devastating effects. Some bonds, however, can not be so easily severed. Through all phases of life and the passing of time, a bond will remain between individuals. If THAT bond is formed, to me, represents the adamantine chain that defines what family truly is.

And it can start by simply bumming a cigarette.

I’m not going to lie. To know someone like Joey is akin to knowing a foul mouthed Care Bear. I never associated thr word understated with him. Exuberant, LOUD, and exceedingly positive. People like that scare me, let alone annoy me. And I mean that in the most positive way. As low key and demure as I can be, I am insanely envious of the people who can muster the ability to live life in technicolor every single moment. To relish just BEING. The ability to do that without it seeming overproduced, over exaggerated, and insincere is a rare gift. Do you need a Snapchat filter to express the glee that is inside you? Joey didn’t. Even in his weakest moments, he was a far stronger and vibrant personality than most people can ever aspire to be.

It’s because of this I can only thank him for representing the other side of the coin. On the outside looking in, the relationship he forged with my family, my sister in particular, became a verse from Shel Silverstein poem. At a time where I was unable, or more so unwilling to establish the type of kinship with my own sister, Joey did. My calm, deadpan demeanor was not the reflecting pool my sister needed during, well, you know those angsty teenage years (which continued well on into her 20’s. Haha.) In her new brother, she found someone who not only understood and sympathized with the internal struggle of being an ambitious, forward thinking, hyper-passionate unicorn in a world filled with regular old pigeons. He was a fierce kitty in his own right. Right down to boy troubles and explosive diarrhea. Being the sounding board, the only stable and encouraging light in those times forged that bond between he and my sister. And also my family. As the inevitable wheel of time rolled forward, the blood members of my wonderful family were crushed by the weight of his persona. And we are all the better for it. My cousins. My parents even, as conservative as they might have been raised, can no longer state that love is defined by a singular construct dictated by some book, or antiquated notions of place or society. They were in witness of a living breathing embodiment of what love, compassion, and strength truly is. And I’m sure it fit none of their preconceived notions. It’s not hyperbolic to say that Joey saved my sister’s life, and completely altered my parents. And or that I can only say Thank You.

So as his energy passes into the next phase of existence, I’m left with only gratitude in witnessing and being a small part in such an incredible journal. Like a star shooting across the sky.

[prosenkhans]

Lip Gallagher is my Spirit animal

[prosenkhans]

"I should be fine then....." - Laura, Logan 😭😭😭😭😭