Thank You, Jay Dee.

RIP, J Dilla…

Honestly, I think it’s extremely lame when after celebrities die, people post “RIP” tweets and take to blogs and Facebook or some other terrible social networking site to express their grief. I truly believe that most of these people are seeking retweets/attention and just want to fit in with a large number of people, which absolutely sickens me. Most times, these celebs weren’t even afterthoughts until they died and their passing will have little to no effect on those who are supposedly affected. Regardless of what you think, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to go to such lengths to express sorrow. How many fucking times do you need to retweet people telling a celeb to rest in peace? It all just seems so…extra, and I loathe it. I wouldn’t dare tell anyone how to grieve over someone’s passing, so I tend to keep these thoughts to myself, even when it’s clear that there are people who are doing way too damn much.

J Dilla, on the other hand, is a different story. I wish that I was blogging in February of 2006. I wish I had a Twitter or Facebook account then. I would’ve blown everybody’s shit up with blog posts, status updates and songs and videos honoring his memory. I bullshit you not, J Dilla saved my life. I was in the darkest of places; despair consumed me like you wouldn’t believe. To say that I was depressed would be the understatement of the century. I longed for depression; I craved that shit. What I felt at that time made me want to jettison myself towards the Sun without any hesitation at all. I truly didn’t give a fuck about living. But, J Dilla and his soulful sound served as my lifesaver. I purchased everything that was ever connected to James Dewitt Yancey and played it endlessly while I smoked “instagram” blunts of Strawberry Cough and Chocolate Thai. His music brought me back from the brink and I will forever be grateful to not only Dilla, but his mother for bringing him into this world. You see, I know I am not the only one whose life has been saved by Dilla. And, I’m absolutely certain that there is currently someone, somewhere, who is being resuscitated by Dilla’s work. Words cannot describe the amount of gratitude I have for this man; for his ability to make my worst days nothing more than a distant memory.

To quote a serene-sounding woman from my favorite Dilla mixtape, “Thank you, Jay Dee…”

Tiger’s original apology…

Elin, I’m sorry. You have no clue how horrible I feel for the way I’ve treated you. I have publicly humiliated you, time and time again, for the past 4 months with my actions. I love you, and I am not too proud to say that I am not worthy of you.

Seriously, I’m not worthy. C’mon, look at me. Now back at yourself. Now back at me. Now back at yourself. *chuckle* I was doing the Old Sp…ya know, the black dude… *crickets*Moving along. Elin, you are HOT. I mean, like, DAMN. Educated at one of the finest institutions of higher learning in the country, that is the word I use to describe you. I, on the other hand, look…well…kind of funny. I’m not really “conventionally handsome”, but when you’re worth a few hundred million, you suddenly become a “sex symbol” if you don’t look like an ogre. My first name is Eldrick, and I go by Tiger. I’m not exactly “suave”. I never got the girls like you in high school or college. And I was on the golf team. I finally got the hot girl, and I got cocky. Call it what you want, but it’s the truth. I know a lot of people are telling you to do this and that, but listen to your heart. And the $10 million diamond ring taped to the bottom of your seat.

To my daughter, Sam, and son, Charlie, I hope when you are able to understand what I’ve done, it won’t affect our relationship. I don’t care what that snot-nosed little brat says at recess, I will always be here for you. Hopefully, you’ll look more like your mother and become a new breed of bourgeois socialites.

Mom, I have shamed you. Still, it really didn’t help to see the woman I love most be so submissive to someone else while I was growing up. I gotta be honest. I thought women are supposed to walk behind their spouses, everywhere, until I was in college.

I want to sincerely thank and apologize to any of my friends and peers that have supported me through this ordeal. I realize I’ve put a few of  you in a bad predicament with your families, and I could not be more remorseful. But let’s not act like I went to Atlantic City, Vegas, The Hamptons, and Paris by myself.

My sincerest apologies to Phil Mickelson, Vijay Singh, Steve Stricker, Y.E. Yang, Padraig Harrington, and everyone else on the PGA Tour. I think it would be better for all of us if I would just take over for a while.

To my detractors. Not only am I going to break Jack Nicklaus’ record, I’m going to obliterate it. No offense to “The Golden Bear”, but even he knows its simply a matter of time. He won his 18th at 46 years old. I have 14, and I’m only 34. I know most of you didn’t go to Stanford, but you should be able to do the math. In addition to that, Nicklaus did his winning over a span of 25 years. I’m beginning my 14th. Also I’ll break Sam Snead’s record for career PGA Tour wins by the end of 2011, because I just love seeing my name in the record book.

I’d also like to express my disgust with a few of you in particular.

You ask me question after question about my private life in some Buddha-awful interview, you community college journalism hack? I’m smarter than you. How could you possibly think you’d get me to answer a question the way you’d like by “attempting” to reword it?

Addressing TMZ, and especially Harvey Levin: Grow the fuck up. Anybody can walk around with a pen, pad, and a camerman while being a flaming douchebag and call themselves a “reporter”. You’re nothing more than the National Enquirer magazine on TV. Another thing. I’m a little sick of some of your white staff seemingly thinking that all Black people look alike. And why the hell am I still seeing Levin on “People’s Court”?

Any of you endorsers that chose not to stick with me, your loss.  When I’m sitting on 25 majors in 2015, you’ll be “all up in my grill”.

Et tu Parnevik. Parnevik, Parnevik, Parnevik. YOU. ARE. TOAST. “Elin should’ve used the driver”. What the hell, man?! You better pray on your kids’ lives that we’re not paired, ever, because if we are, I will make it my personal goal to embarrass you. I’ll throw away my driver, and destroy you using irons and wedges. Maybe hit  3-wood every now and then. Left-handed. You can bet your broke ass we’ll be seeing each other on the course.

Some of you have expressed your dislike for my decision to return at the Masters. Allow me to explain. Jump off a bridge. If you’re so offended by my actions, don’t watch me dominate. When I go, golf goes, and you honestly won’t be missed. People will still fill the galleries, watch major tournament rounds on the weekends, watch the GOLF channel, and listen when ESPN mentions golf–because of me.

The therapy was just a ploy. I’ll give you that. I did what I wanted to do, because I knew I could. It wasn’t a sense of entitlement or the result of straying away from my religion, just cavalier behavior. But if you think I’ll lose my passion to play golf because 46 year-old Michael Waligora from Austin, TX won’t cheer for me anymore, you’re nuts. Hell, I wouldn’t mind it if I had a few less fans. Seriously, what other golfer has to deal with the shit I have to deal with? And if you really want to light a fire, come to the tournaments and heckle. I’ll find out who your favorite player is and find a way to embarrass him, too, even if it’s on a mini-golf course.

I see that some of you are bored, and frankly, I don’t care. Your ears perk up when some sleazy broad tells you about me choking her during sex, but not when I’m being genuine for a change? Showing real emotion?! Tốt!

See you bastards at the first hole. Woods, out.

Relationship summer school…

Oy vey. Is what I said a little over 4 months ago. My whole world seemed to come crashing down. A king, without his queen, I was. I was in more of a funk than Parliament in their heyday. I had something that seemed so genuine, so thorough, so…dope, and suddenly, it was no more. One nonchalant “I’m kinda blah about it” and it was over. There would be no more “us” or “we” or “you and I”. We would go our separate ways, which was something I honestly, before that day, never thought would happen. I didn’t understand what the hell happened. The blame was pretty much placed squarely on me even though I pretty much made anything we had actually exist. I went all-out, 24/7/365, and when I was told that any future efforts would be futile… Wow. I wasn’t sure how I would get over it. Then, I woke up one morning and realized that I’d done everything that I could for her. That SHE at times wondered if she reciprocated the love properly. That even though we’d both gotten out of toxic relationships, she was still holding on to her feelings for her ex, and simply wasn’t ready to let go. I was HER rock, and it hit me: Maybe she just wasn’t mine. Maybe her efforts, or lack thereof, wouldn’t have been conducive to the married life. Her reasoning for the split was, and still is, in my opinion, total bullshit. I’m not sure why she felt that way, but not too long ago, I caught a case of the let-go’s. I stopped caring. I still love her, and there’s even a part of me that wants to tell her that. However, I ask myself, ‘For what?’ Really, what would that accomplish? Shitted on and treated as if I don’t exist, and I’m sitting here semi-pining to hear her voice, to see her smile, or to goofily walk down the street with her. It wasn’t HEALTHY, mentally or physically, to stay in that state of mind. There were pieces that needed to be picked up, and a new path that needed to be walked upon. Sometimes, some of us beat ourselves up over the end of a relationship; especially when we’re made out to be the antagonist or reason for its demise and eventual death. We do this because we KNOW we gave the relationship everything we could during its duration…and all for naught. To not even be acknowledged, to be questioned and doubted. To be hurt, lied to, and seemingly led astray. To be told that everything is fine, when in reality, it was the complete opposite. It hurts us so because we care SO much. Can you imagine being ready to spend THE REST OF YOUR LIFE with ONE PERSON? I was ready. She claimed she was ready. Optimism and hope filled our lives moreso than the air we breathed. Which led to sublte doubts. Which led to uneasiness. Which led to the end. I beat myself up because I wanted so badly for things to back as they once were. Those of us that carried the relationship, whether emotionally, financially, or physically, tend to do that. It’s not kosher, people. Did we make mistakes during the course of the relationship? Of course. Could we have done better, overall? Again, of course. What separates us from them, though, is that we were willing to do whatever it took to right any wrong that had presented itself. We were more than willing to face every obstacle and hurdle…together. The thing is, we understood that no matter what transpired, there was a common denominator: a committed relationship. We committed ourselves to every little good and bad thing that anyone or anything could possibly detect in “them”. We accepted their flaws as a part of them, and not some sort of completely separate persona or behavior. The problem? The favor wasn’t returned. Whether you’d been lied to, cheated on, beaten, or just downright treated like shit, know that you didn’t deserve it. Working on ourselves afterwards is vital. Not for an undeserving ex, but for a more deserving potential future partner. I’m determined to not have my heart broken and put back together with stale, weak ass Elmer’s glue. I’m determined to be a better person. Not because I wasn’t a good person before, but because I want the next woman to know that despite the past, I’m better than ever. Despite any flaws or shortcomings, I’ve fully acknowledged that moving forward is the best thing to do. Moving forward with her. If love is a science, it is the biggest mindfuck of an experiment that there has ever been. Consider all of the variables. There are too many to count. Often, our hypotheses and conclusion are worlds apart. Mainly, because we’re in the lab while they wait around for the results. Don’t ever work late hours in the lab, with the test tubes, bunson burners, and laptop by yourself again. I guarantee that they’ll find a way to be disappointed by your findings. And you’ll have nothing to show for all of your experimentation and scientific research. Bill Nye the Science Guy should’ve aired a show on how to find the perfect love, because people like us truly deserve it. To all my fellas and chicks that STILL put in work in the lab: Your efforts will someday be greatly and wholeheartedly appreciated. Just make sure you don’t allow a slacker lab partner to take credit for something that they shouldn’t. P.S. I miss Karen! P.S. #shoutout to Peach(good look), my future wife aka @CookieMonster, Fowler, and last but not least…KMo.