I awoke at approx. 5am
I Walked three blocks to Myrtle-Wyckoff and waited approx. 10 mins.
I Took the Canarsie-bound L train from Myrtle-Wyckoff to Broadway Junction and waited approx. 8 mins.
I Took the Queens-bound J train from Broadway Junction to Sutphin Blvd and waited approx. 3mins.
I Took the Airtrain to JFK and waited approx. 10 mins in the security check line, another 7 mins at the gate, then approx. 35 mins on the tarmac.
I Took a United Airlines Boeing 767 Jet from JFK to SFO
I Took the AirTrain to the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit)
I took the BART to 16th and Mission.
I ate a burrito.
WATCHING THE THRØNE…DISAPPEAR
A straight-ahead, real-ass, power-to-the-people review of Kanye West and Jay Z’s new collab. (click the picture to get to the review)
A short film about my first trip to Coney Island.
Shot on the iPhone 4 using the 8mm app.
Filmed by Adam Jessup & Ming Fearon in June 2011
Edited by Adam Jessup
“Irene” by Caribou
There are a surprising amount of documentaries about the swift-footed heavyweight champion of the world, Muhammad Ali, available on netflix instant watch. On a recent lonely Tuesday evening I could have watched Muhammad Ali: Made in Miami (2008), When We Were Kings (1996), Muhammad Ali: The Greatest (1969)—all biographical documentaries—or two features: Body and Soul (1981), and Money Talks (1972). I must admit, my only criteria for choosing the film I did was based solely upon the use of Ali’s given name in the title. I thought perhaps this was indication that the filmmaker would be exploring Ali’s early life as well as his heavyweight champ days.
I remember when my interest in Muhammad Ali spiked. I had unearthed an anthology of Norman Mailer’s non-fiction called Vintage Mailer in a thrift store and had been working through it when I came upon a piece he’d written about the infamous Rumble in the Jungle fight between Ali and George Foreman in 1974. (The piece may have been excerpted from The Fight, a much longer oration on this event, but I cannot now be certain.) Of course I grew up with a knowledge of who Muhammad Ali was, my father once told me he was the greatest fighter who would ever live, and my brother and I had a brief obsession with backyard boxing thanks to a misguided christmas present wherein, at the rise of any sort of dispute we’d take quickly to the gloves and pummel each other until either blood or tears emerged. But I understood little about what Ali meant to the sport of boxing, the black community, and the world in general. And I understand now that he meant a great deal more than I could ever imagine.
What you see throughout the film is that Ali’s character is unfalteringly consistent, even in the days prior to his conversion to the Muslim faith. He is equal parts braggart and gentleman, talking more trash to his opponents than anyone in the history of athletics but doing so in verse and without the employ of vulgarities. What you also see is that while much of what Ali says to the camera, the reporters, and anyone who will give him the chance to open his mouth, seems like outright arrogance on his behalf, is really nothing of the sort. This is because most of it is true. When he says that he’s the prettiest thing on two feet, it is difficult to argue that he isn’t. He is beautiful, but Ali’s beauty extends further from his physical appearance to his utter mastery of boxing.
Boxing is a brutish sport, yes, and I know little about the technique or strategy of it all. I know that when the bell rings two lumbering men emerge ready to cut the other in half with gloved fists. But when you watch Ali dancing around in the ring, dodging punches with a blithe ease, landing his own punches on the opponent’s face whenever he wants, it is evident that Ali is after something much larger than just victory. At the time I’m sure it seemed to boxing spectators that Ali was merely celebrating his own aptitude at the sport to inflate his already oversized ego. But I think the important point the film drives home, which is echoed here, is that throughout his career, Muhammad Ali was rarely fighting for himself, he was fighting for the black community. The day after he took home the heavyweight champion belt, he converted to Islam and shed Cassius Clay, a slave name given to his family generations before him, and was rechristened Muhammad Ali. This was more than just an act of Ali finding salvation, it was him saying I’ve fought and clawed my way up to the top of the white man’s sport with the name he gave me and now that I’ve got his belt I’ll have my own name too.
