Twisted Lemons

As much as we bumped heads there's nothing I wouldn't give to lock horns again.  To hear you laugh at my latest screw-up and laugh back at you when you tell me how you did the same thing twice. To marvel at how ridiculous you could be before realizing I might be worse. To get mad when I call you after not talking for week and you rush me off the phone or just hang up in my face.  To call and say, "MAN FUCK YOU!!! ", knowing that's just how we say "I LOVE YOU. " and that anybody that overheard would never understand. Nobody had the ability to destroy a good day with a simple phone call quite like you because nobody could tell me what I was doing wrong quite like you. You simplified the complex and showed me how. You broke bad news to me with ease and humor and showed me how. You filled a room with your presence and showed me how. You showed me what to do while doing what I shouldn't. You were my hero and once you passed I found out that I might have been yours. You told me to pack my shit and get as far away from Watts as I could. You pushed me out of the hood and into my dreams. I was blessed to have you in my life.  Blessed to be disciplined by you. Blessed to watch you fuck-up and hear you tell me not to be like you but to be better. Blessed to learn from you and be lucky enough to have a father that was open and willing to learn from me. I am now everything you were and trying my hardest to be everything you couldn't be because that is what you worked so hard for me to do. You are the reason I dig deep and strive to make sure everyone knows Bruce Allan Lemon Sr. may have been a bad motherfucker but version 2.0 is a force to be reckoned with. As I got older you couldn't pass on your shoes because my feet got too big but you took mine with a smile because you knew you made me bigger than you.  No matter what I did great you reminded me I still wasn't shit while unsuccessfully hiding how proud you were. Well played. I see your game clear, Dad. You knew what you were doing. They don't teach Lemon in schools but they damn sure should. I had the best teacher ever and I realized it too late. You hit me, you teased me, you made me feel small because you were grooming me for a world capable of much worse. You held me, you loved me, you made me feel big so I can do the same for others. You gave me the skin of a dragon and the heart of a lion. You made me a monster.
Like Father, Like Son.
Thank you.
Enjoy the show.
We're just getting started and you have birds eye view on all the action.
Happy Birthday, Father. I miss you.

Another year...Thank you.

Goodbye 25, hello 26

Let’s face it. Nobody ever really cares about their 26^th birthday. You’ve been drinking for years, seeing all the R rated movies you want, your car insurance rate has gone down and you’ve been renting cars with no additional fees for at least a year now. However 26 is special to me for a few reasons.

1. My father made it a point to remind me that no male Lemon lives past 50 years old and he even checked out at 49 for good measure. Welcome to the second half of my projected life expectancy (fuzzy logic). Now in the pass year I have abandoned the belief that I’ll die soon and plan on sticking around a little longer but I figure if I follow my favorite James Dean quote, “Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today.”, then I won’t have too many regrets when the time comes.
2. . "No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks”. I have officially exited the structured education portion of my life. I have a B.A. from Hampton University and a M.F.A. from The New School for Drama, the latter being a terminal degree. Meaning I already carry the highest degree in my field of study. This doesn’t mean I’m done learning by far. It just means that my next phase of instruction will be way off the beaten path and be far more experience based. Right now I’m taking Spanish, next I’m starting Krav Maga, and when the sun comes back to New York City I’m taking Trapeze lessons (Who’s with me?!?)

So far I’ve…

            Completed the L.A. marathon twice, driven across country, failed too many classes to finish high school on time but managed to do it anyway, changed my major too many times to finish college on time but managed to do it anyway, watched people perform plays that I wrote and watched people that don’t know me enjoy it (Early twenties b-day present to myself), drank far too much, tried far too little, jumped the gun, bit the bullet, took an L, stole a W, been a whore, refused to give up, forced to retreat, lead multiple plays, supported even more, fallen in what I thought was love, fallen in love for real, proposed marriage , been denied, watched my father die, gotten closer to my mother, became a Kappa Man, became a fucking Master of Fine Arts!, taught children, welcomed the idea of having my own children, honored with the distinction of Godfather of 3 beautiful kids, danced in Times Square, made people laugh and smile, pissed countless other off, driven too fast, moved to slow, created, destroyed, chased women, been chased, been caught, broke free, did it all over again, made really really really bad dumb stupid ridiculous decisions, made the best choice possible, taken drugs, regretted said decision, drank Four Loko, regretted said decision more than the drugs, found the champion inside me, followed, lead, and learned to do both equally as well, been heartbroken, broken hearts, knocked my teeth out, felt what it’s like to have them pushed back in, met so many amazing people, knew and learned very different things from Bruce Lemon Sr., Paul Rudd, Jared Nathan, Milton Bynum and many other amazing men before they passed; gambled, almost died, sang, danced, both at my leisure and as a performance, felt like I haven’t done shit yet, realized I’m almost there, realized I don’t know anything yet, reminded you that you haven’t seen anything yet. I’ve forgotten too many things that should be added to this list. Please, feel free to chime in.

Next I will…

act, write, direct, produce, get married, have kids, buy what I need, buy what I want, make my mom’s co-workers and friends jealous, make my wife the most envied woman in a 2 continent radius, help teach and bring out the next generation of artist, win an Academy Award, give away a lot of money to kids just like me and nothing like me, live in another country, sky dive, bungee jump, cliff dive, parasail, ride a motorcycle, run a company, be mentioned in Forbes, host ridiculous parties, sing, dance, act, sing, dance, act, sing, dance, act, LOVE, repeat…LOVE some more. Surprise people, impress my mother with some amazing feat that she doesn’t already expect from me (that’s going to be a hard one), nail some things down, let some things go, hold on to what I love, release what doesn’t reciprocate, read more than I watch T.V. and write even more than I read, be one of the men that come up in conversation when a young man decides he wants to be a Kappa, be a one the famous alumni of NSD, go back to Hampton University change things up and do some very dangerous work with the theatre department, be a monster, be unexpected, do this impossible, be a superhero, be a man. I can’t tell you if these are all facts or just dreams but I know that if I put them in the air, something is bound to happen. I’d tell you more but I think you’d have more fun if you just watch the show.

Life Lesson from "The Human Centipede"

Just watched "The Human Centipede" and I've learned some valuble life lessons of what to teach my children...
1. If you must take a shit on the side of road in the woods...stay alert and dont turn your back on the road.
2. Teach all of my kids especially the girls how to change a damn tire.
3. Tell them, "If you cannot fix the problem and require further assistance and a creepy old German dude offers to fuck you in exchange for help. Take the help and give up the ass then either kill him or just take it and tell noone of the event. Otherwise you might end up wandering in the woods until you stumble across the home of an even creepier dude that will drug you, shave off your knee caps and surgically join your friends mouth to your anus and your mouth to the anus of a very angry Japaneese dude."
4. # 3 can be avoided if they just learn how to change a tire and to make sure they dont fight the lesson, I'll make them watch The Human Centipede.
5. Nobody wants to be segment B.

Here it is. In long form… The Dash to the Warrior Dash. (Fuckery Defined)

I tried to write this right after the Dash and lost the whole thing on an ID-Ten-T error (I'm a nerd and if you know what that is without looking it up, then you are too)

Step 1: Register for Warrior Dash at last possible minute and pay maximum for taking so long. ($95)

Step 2: Reserve car days before trip. (Dodge Charger for the city special of $54 + gas & insurance. Booya!)

Step 3: Purchase many temporary tattoos and aggressive eyebrows and mustache. ($50 well spent)

Step 4: Shave head and Apply expensive tattoos at night.

Step 5: Apply cheaper tattoos in the morning.

 Step 6: Head into the city. So far so good. Even call Dollar Rent-a-car to insure everything is nice and ready. CONFRIMED ($2.50 Bus fare)

Step 7: Go pick up Dodge Charger from Dollar….and it begins….

Mumbling dude at counter

We don’t have any cars.

Young Bald Black Man with Tattoos on his face:

But I made a reservation.

Mumbling Douche at counter:   ßNote: Dude is now Douche

Yea but we don’t have any cars. Write your name on this list and we’ll call you when we do.

Young Bald Black man with Tattoos on his face:

What the fuck is the point of making a fucking reservation is you don’t have any fucking cars?

Note: I hate to be the guy cursing out the people at the counter because everybody there can see that it’s not really their fault and you just look like a complete tool but if you happen to be a Young Bald Black Man with Tattoos on his face, head, and arms….you really just look like a walking assault charge. (Props to Sasha for talking me out of getting arrested)

Fuck Dollar. I anit writing shit or sticking around for shit. I got places to go, fire to jump, beer to drink, and turkey leg with my name on it. There is an Avis around the corner.

Nice lady at Avis

I got an Altima I can give you right now (for twice the price you were paying at Dollar)

Young Bald Black man with Tattoos on his face:

Fuck it. That’ll have to work.  *digging through wallet for card*

Nice lady at Avis

Oh we cant take that card. You need a credit card.

Young Bald Black man with Tattoos on his face:

Oh yea, of course *realizing I don’t have my credit cards because I didn’t really need them* …SHIT...I don’t have my cards. I took them out to protect me from me. Thank you.

Ok at this point my last alternative is to get a zipcar. Sure it’s the most expensive option but it’s all I got. I open my phone and find that there is ONE zipcar available on the entire island of Manhattan. It’s a Volvo and its going to cost $168 dollars plus an additional $44 bucks for the extra mileage that I will put on it during the 6 hours I’ll spend there and back. I have no choice. Bring on the pain. I click reserve and the car is magically gone. FUCK.

Now this is where any normal person would think about what is happening and decide to turn around and go home. Not me. I can never be normal, I’m a Lemon. We don’t like shallow graves, we dig until we reach the core of the earth, take a break for some whiskey and dig some more. So I hop on the bus to get my credit cards so can come back to get this Altima and hit the road. (another  $5 in bus fare) On my return I decide to stop by Dollar to see if they have cars now since I’d be spending so much more at Avis.

Mumbling Douche at counter:

I called you. You no answer. I leave voice mail.

Young Bald Black man with Tattoos on his face:

I have neither missed calls nor voicemails. (Either he’s lying or this is more Sprint fuckery)

We do all the paper work (Oh and those card i went to get were already maxed and couldn't be used anyway so my check card worked just fine) and he sends me down to get the car. Mind you my initial reservation was for 10am. It is now 1:15pm and my wave starts at 3:30pm. I have to drive 3 hours and pick up my packet at registration. GO!

Here it is. The attendant pulls my nice shiny…gold Mercury  Grand Marquis?

Fuck it. Hit the high way and I’m ghost. Speeding without a care since I’m pretty much in a cop car (or a gypsy cab. Either way, nobody wants to get pulled over or hit) I get to my first toll and realize I don’t have any cash. I frantically dig through my backpack and find a handful of change. I throw it in the bucket and I’m through the gate. Ok I spent all my cash going back and forth from Jersey to NYC on the bus but I can pull into a rest stop and get cash before I hit 87, right? Nope. The rest stops are all along 87, not before. Now I have to ride 17 until I find an ATM and can hop on 87. Unfortunately, rural upstate New York isn’t exactly ATM capitol so by the time I find one I’ve already driven pretty far up at a speed that just isn’t going to cut it.

I find a gas station with an ATM sign and pull in. I go to the ATM and begin my transaction. A woman walks into the gas station and takes a look at me, then I look at her and she walks right back out to her car and drives off.  I almost forgot my facial tattoos. Thanks for reminding me.

Now I have my cash, a Gatorade, and a protein bar since I haven’t eaten much more than an egg today. A cop car speeds into the gas station. I don’t know why he’s here but I’m not about to find out. I hop in my car and burn out as quick as possible. Hop on 87 and I’m making record time again. I’m going to miss my wave but I’m sure I can get them to let into the last one at 4:00pm.  I get up the mountain and get stuck behind a slow moving cop car. I’m frustrated but I know that if the cop wasn’t there I’d probably speed off the side of the mountain.

I pull into the parking lot at 4:20pm without paying the $10 for parking and see a sea of people covered in mud and awesomeness washing up at their cars. I’m at least going to get my Warrior Hat and t-shirt. I paid for that shit. I see the registration booth is nearly all packed up so I walk over and explain my troubles and they give me my hat and shirt without checking if I’m telling truth or not, then the guy at registration opens the sky and rains down hope.

Guy at registration

Well there’s another wave at 5pm. They should be able to get you in there. Just go over to that other booth and they should take care of it.

Young Bald Black man with Tattoos on his face:

Oh shit. It’s still going to happen. As long as I get to run, this whole clusterfuck was worth it.

I run over to the other booth and young woman says…

Oh those guys are just volunteers but let me see if you can just jump in now.

OK. It’s not dead yet. I’m still going to earn this Warrior Hat!

Young woman at booth

We are so glad you were able to make it down here get you stuff. We have the mud pit all set up and food and beer and tons of people.

Unfortunately they just started taking down the Start of the course a few minutes ago and because of insurance and liability we cannot allow you on the course.

It takes a second for her words to sink in. I was already wearing an ear to ear grin because I saw light at the end of this tunnel. She writes my information down and says they might be able to offer me a discount for next year’s dash, although I’m sure that post-it has been lost. I got there just in time to no compete. I walk into the arena and see all the people with beer and hats. All the families and groups of friends covered in mud and smiling. Not a single person walking, sitting or standing alone. Except me. By myself and clean. I walked out to the parking lot and there’s a motor home with what could only be the local NRA chapter yelling at cars as they pass by. There are more families embracing each other and how awesome it was. I think I actually saw one of them finish the race when I walked in. Then I saw a young black couple playfully rinsing each other off with water bottles. Laughing. Happy. I hop into my car and just sit there. I want to cry but the tears won’t come.  I drive out and hit the long road home.

My mom told me that with the events and my frustration with it all that I sounded exactly like my Dad, if only she could see how I shaved my head to look just like him as well and dedicated the Dash to him.  She told me how he’d get into situations where all he could do is sit there and think, “Shit. I fucked up and there is absolutely nothing I can do anymore.” Pushing as far as possible to salvage what he can, even to his detriment. I now know why because I’m the exact same way. I fought to make this happen with everything I had in me and lost. I spent lots of cash and time, both of which I’m not even really concerned with. The money is just paper, it literally comes from trees. They print more everyday and you can always get it if you really want it. The time will never come back neither will the time I spent writing this or the time you spent reading so it’s also a non issue. I haven't seen my watch since that day. That sucks. I search for it every single day. But what really hurt is my pride and maybe a few other intangible feelings that I’m now pretty bad at covering for long.  I tried my best and I lost. I know that actors are supposed to have tough skin but over the past couple of years that skin as all been rubbed away. Fortunately I still have an obscenely hard head so that should carry through until I grow new skin. As an isolated incident this wasn’t that big a deal and I can now laugh about it, but since it’s part of the glorious shit storm of what have been the BEST and WORST years of my life so far…well…I guess it’s easy to see why I’m raw and in many ways I’m broken.

I hope you got a laugh out of the first 95% of this.

My life, your entertainment.

RUN

I just want to run until I can't run anymore and when I hit that wall I want to keep running until my lungs can't pull in enough oxygen and my body can't take any more pressure and when I collaspe I hope that I have pushed myself enough to earn the right to embrace you again cause memories just aren't cutting it anymore.

Clarence Carter- Strokin'

This your new favorite DJ Curvy D-ontha-V on the station that keeps it crackalakin'. If ya lickin' thatz WBALLZ. Now I love my gangsta shit but I got an oldie but goodie for ya tonight. I know somebody out there is Strokin' right now or at least thinking about Stokin' or trying to start Strokin' or might be mad cause your not Strokin'. Whatever your Strokin status might be, let the sounds of Clarence Carter be your guide.

recharge rhyming is soooo therapeutic

Felt a little discouraged when I woke up and had to recharge myself with a little braggadocio and a workout. Writing and sweating will snap you right out of that sucka shit real quick.

It’s easy to get discouraged but it’s hard for me to quit

So until I stop breathing I’m gonna keep talking shit

My loved ones barely know what I’m really dealing with

Fighting for my kingship, but opposition is a myth

There’s nobody in front me saying what I can't do

So I’m looking in the mirror asking “Nigga, who is you?”

My chest is hardened steel and my heart pumps gold

And after God made me, I bought and broke the mold

The only man built like me is in a box in my room

And if you think you come close then please lead me to my tomb

I’m on my Highlander and there can only be one

So I’m swinging for your head until my soul rest with the sun

My eyes are to heavens and I’m picking out some stars

So I can pluck them out the sky and replace their light with ours

What the world’s willing to give me will never be enough

So I’ll take what I want and naysayers will get snuffed

I’m building an empire so try and catch me if you can

You can roast in the flames or you can take my hand

Either way, this train is moving so please get off the track

And if you really wanna roll, join the party on my back