Snow reactions

Yeah, so you know we had a disaster in Buffalo a few weeks ago, right? FEMA was here. The National Guard was here. It was on some real serious steez. I don't think Buffalo had seem that type of debilitation since the Blizzard of '77. Difference here being it was October, not the middle of winter. And the snowfall wasn't monstrous. Only about two feet, which isn't unheard of, but when it comes unexpectedly in October and its dense and heavy, it'll knock a city on its keister.

Some school district are still close if the city hasn't been able to clear the roads of all the fallen trees. Some people STILL don't have power or their power is off and on. I haven't ventured into any REAL hood spots since the snowfall, but it'd be interesting to see how the city has responded there. The thing is, we have this really conscientious young BLACK mayor now (which is just unfathomable, even though Buff is about 35% which is pretty substantial if you're not a city like DC, ATL or Detroit)...and I'd be surprised if the young black dude straight up ignores his base, the way previous Mayors would disregard East Buffalo. Although, just like Mayor Royce on The Wire got comfy and greedy and lost sight of things, I'm not puttin that past Brown here in Buffalo...thats neither here nor there, though. In all, it's been a curious time in the Queen City.

I found it, on a smaller level, akin to 9-11 and Katrina in that the city was devastated, the residents were fearful and all that engendered this brief bit of comraderie.

See, Buff is a splintered city, in the worst way. Unless we're partying in the Chippewa district or chillin on Elmwood Ave, races rarely mix here, except for on the college campuses. In fact, my neighborhood, Parkside, is one of the few progressive, diverse middle class neighborhoods in the city and I think that's definitely why the cribs choose to move here when we fled the crack and guns of Hamilton Park on the Eastside. But, otherwise, Buff is one huge polarized mess. In East Buffalo you have mostlty black neighborhoods (Bailey, Fruitbelt, Jefferson, Hamilton Park, etc) and the college hood (Canisius). The Westside is comprised of Puerto Ricans (Allentown, deep west); a few Italians and upper-middle class whites (Elmwood) and students (Buff State). South Buff is mostly a mixture of ethnic white neighborhoods (Irish, Polish) and they tend to be either poor or working class (the type of disenchanted whites that REALLY hate black people and tend to view us as only sloths, criminals and moochers) and North Buffalo with the diverse Parkside neighborhood, Hertel which is the Italian enclave the Univ of Buff district and then the scattered neighborhoods of rich whites.

People tend to stay in those hoods, too. And that type of isolation doesn't exactly add to the most welcoming spirit throughout the city, even though USA Today had the audacity to call Buff one of the friendliest cities in the country. I mean, where did they find all this goodwill?

But the disaster brought everyone together. For instance, after 9-11, one of the most peculiar sights, were these black men donning NYPD hats. NYPD is the absolute DEVIL in most black NYC neighborhoods. Mos Def once called the boys in blue "a mobilized militia". But after seeing the way they handled biz and sacrificed during a national tragedy, black men disregarded their fractured relationships with NYC law enforcement and began donning hats as a public display of support and appreciation. It was so odd. It was like they were saying, "For now, we're friends."

Well we all know the national solidarity only lasted but so long. Same thing with Katrina. It was bound to happen in Buff.

When I arrived home fron DC the weekend after the storm, I would see long orange extension chords in the middle of all these streets with neighbors splicing power from the few fortunate houses. People walking across the streets with foil-covered plates of food.

Everybody was on foot, because you couldn't drive down many streets unless they were main thoroughfares. In my hood -- a usual neighborly section -- i'd see caravan crowds of pedestrians coming back from neighborhood marts with all these bags of goods. People were shoveling out cars. People were helping out random people with their front yards full of huge tree branches. People cheered and clapped for National Grid (the power company) and Verizon when they would see the fleet of trucks arrive on their streets and the workers (most working 18 hour days) would jump out and get to work. It was a sight to see.

But before you knew it, the comraderie turned to frustration. Of course, right? So u saw people leaning out windows, shouting at the National Grid trucks, "Quit blocking the **(&^%* streets you slow-service bastards!" The talk amongst total strangers at gas stations or banks went from, "So, how are you guys holding up in your neighborhood? You got power? I hope everything is OK." to "Excuse me, sir, can you not stand so close! I don't have any power at home, my trees gone and all salmon went bad. I don't need you breathing on my neck, too!"

Perfect. Even I lost it after a while. The first few times me, Pops and my lil-grown bros were shoveling and choppin and stckain and raking and whatever, it was good to see the whole hood on foot in the streets and cleaning up their yards and everything was weirdly congenial, considering the devastation and inconvenience we were dealing with. But soon, the interaction got annoying. Everytime a neighbor approached the yard to chit-chat with Pops, I felt a white-hot rage because I just wanted the work to end.

When we first moved to my hood, I was teenage dude that was real skeptical of predominantly white hoods full of people that werent scuffling. Plus, moving with a few blocks of the city park, in this huge home that was the color of some pretty drapes...that just wasn't real Wu-Tangy to me. So I scowled all the time. Neighbors knew I wasn't real cool about establishing anything more than a respectful hi-bye relationship. Not only that, but I had to balance my Pops' completely disingenuous Uncle Tomming, with a lil bit of Nat Turner standoffishness. And I say disingenuous, because Pops would put on the classic-collegial personality-outfit, chatting up all the neighborhoods, trading gardening tips, all that trash...then come inside the house and call them all "some jive whities". So I was that dude from 1995 until I left in 2000. I was ur typical young cornball. Disliking good-natured neighbors just to dislike them.

Well, after a few years of being away, I would return home every now and then and my perspective changed. I've yet to come across too many city neighborhoods as cool as Parkside and appreciated it much more. From the trees, to the aesthetically pleasing houses, to the proximity to the park, to the friendly neighbors. So I made it a habit to smile and all that during my visits. And nothing changed when I came back recently for my little hiatus. I've been a big neighbor dude. Waving and smiling at everyone. The disaster-comraderie was just a further indication that the new leaf was here to stay. But going to sleep in a cold house and not even being able to read after 6pm got to a nigga. By Thursday afternoon I was 1995 Twist all over again. No eye contact, mumbled greetings and an incessant scowl.

The big thing for everyone to do was come up to the crib and comment on their heart ache over our fallen tree. We got a lot of visitors over that and it began to irritate me, even though it was so appropriate.

Parkside is one of those neighborhoods where they have house tours. Some of the cribs are really ornate and the gardens tend to be pristine and the homes are very old. Its a gem, actually (which is why I big up my Pops for pulling it off). Our street is lined with a bunch of lush trees that looks splendid in the summer and will take your breath away during fall. The tree in my parents front yard is unique though. Its about three stories tall, meaning, you can see just over the top of it from Chrish's room in the attic...but it big-time expansive. I'd say it's 30 feet wide. You have to duck to walk up the drive way and the front steps because the branches hang so low. In the summer, you can just sit on the porch, in the shade, kop a book or throw on some Rick James (Buffalo's first son) and lounge (no, Rick James isnt for lounging, but...).

Well, the storm killed it. The weight of the snow just decimated it. We had to get the National Grid folks up on a ladder to snip off this brach and that brach. By the time they were done, it was just an ugly, barren skeleton. It made my mother cry. And neighbor after neighbor came up to Moms and Pops and apologized for the trees fate and shared similar stories about their trees. Several said they shed tears over their trees. It was kinda odd to me, that human beings formed these attachments to these plants. But when I looked at my parents naked, broke-down tree, I could see where that sadness came from. That tree, on an odd level, was like a family-member, an occupant. Well the neighbors empathized and everyday had to keep coming up, acting like they were offering condolences at a funeral. By Thursday, I had enough and the old 1995 Twist was ready to take a reciprocated saw to their jugulars.

And speaking of trees, and ladders and reciprocated saws and annoyances -- let me close with a few tidbits about Vince Sr.

He's a workhorse even though he keeps trudging further into his 50s. Dude, unlike his son of the same name, will be up at 8am, working outside. He's industrious like that. So dude was on his grind after the storm. When I'd wake up a few hours later, I'd rustle the brothers and have them join. But his delegation and orginizational steez on the cleanup tip was SO fractured and zany and frustrating. Everything was, "OK yall, lets hit the backyard and get them branches off the lines...well naw, you know what? I wanna get this front situation all the co-reck. So lets keep hittin this. Hol' up...yall hit this while I go do this reciprocated move on them trees in the back yard."

The Reciprocated. Pops is one of those dudes that will tout the spit out of one of his new possessions or anything associated with him (u see where I get it from). I mean, if he makes an apple pie, the whole evening will be: "You taste that pie. I had that badboy co-cinnamon'ed up, ain't I, Vince?!....How you like that crust? On the sugar-top-tip!"

We shoveling? Well Pops is gonna most definitely continue to tout his shoveling technique as the only way to go. Back in the day, he'd physically remove the shovel from your grasp and give a physical tutorial (much like his Listerine Gargling Exhibitions) and show you. But he's 52 with a bad back, now, so he can only do so much...but you still get frequently peppered with random "See, I like to get under it like this! Uhhh!"

Well his thing ever since the storm was to get out his reciprocated-saw and handle biz. So when the neigbors offered to use the chain saw, it was (in the most translucent, condescending, faux/cartoon-caucasian cadence and enunciation and tone): "Oh no, Jason. Thanks for trying to accomodate us, buddy. We really appreciate it, man. But you know what, buddy? I got this reciprocated-saw that I think is really gonna do the ol' proverbial trick. I think it's gonna really be a surprise boon for us. I got it a while ago, never knowing this would happen. And then this happens...and I'm almost ecstatic that the tree is decimated!!! Now I get to use the ol' reciprocated, ya know?! But thanks again, buddy!" And it be littered with intermittent chuckles, the hearty, fake kind that would curdle their blood if they knew when they turned their backs he was smirkin them saying things like, "Nigga get that cornball chainsaw out my face, 'fo I snatch that jackleg-situation and slice the rest of the hair off ya momma's upper lip."

And he'd also carry on all his conversations at decibels so loud that you could probably here it two blocks away. Basically, he was performing. And much of his performance always had these references to his reciprocated-saw. Someone would come by to offer a bit of empathetic sentiments about the trees downfall and he'd slip in a reciprocated reference (once again in the Tom-tone): "Well, you know Johnny. As much as I hate to see it go. I'm kinda excited to get this reciprocated-saw out and det to work. Ya know. Hahahahaha...hearty-har-har-har."

With me and my lil bros, he knew we didn't wanna hear it. So he'd just say thing under his breath to himself, but really to us. Things like, "Man, look at that branch. That bad-boy is co-humongous. We gon' need that reciprocated for that jive-lame."

So he finally a chance to use the saw, or "the ciprocated" as he began calling it. But the initial blade was working well, so he had to go buy a few more. When he got back and went to work, he saw that the ciprocated was workin well. This pleased him, since he was consistently trying to let neighbors know that his lack of chainsaw was not a manifestation of any equipment inferiority. Actually, it was frugality and prescience on his part. The ciprocated's bang for its buck was off the charts in Pops' estimation. Which is why he shunned any chainsaw assistance with the declaration that his ciprocated would do the job just fine. When he finally got empirical evidence for this gut-feeling, he had to let the world know. Which meant he had to keep screaming and grunting out his self-love trumpet-blasts. And they all began with "Uhhh", which was grunt that was 70% James Brown and 30% Master P.

"Uhhhh, these blades if co-gangsta!"
"Uhhh, this ciprocated is bad, yall!!!"
"Check it out! Check it out! Check out the ciprocated!"

Sometimes it just be one long "Uhhh" for the duration of the blade slicing through the branch.

One of the things that me, my sibs, my lil cuzzos and all my niggas have picked up from Pops is to take a cliche or phrase or song or movie with a certain word to describe something that has that same word. So Pops my take a taste of one of his pies and just shout, "Uhhh, co-pie in the sky!" Or if one of my sisters had a perfume called "Sexy" and one of them wanted to borrow a few sprays, I guarantee they'd ask by saying: "Yo, can I bring that sexy back?"

Well, toward the end of the ciprocated's triumphs, Pops was just overwhelmed. I guess the ciprocated expeditiously sliced through a branch especially quick and it made Pops yelp, "Uhhh, reciprocate yo kindness!!!!" Totally random, nonsensical and annoying. But hilarious and classic Sr-steez.

Its too bad that Pops didnt get a chance to use the ciprocated until he fell off a ladder.

Yep. You heard. Fell of a ladder. He has that habit. It comes from his Bill Cosby Complex, which cause fathers to think they can do everything. Back in the late 80s on Butler Ave, Pops was trying to fix the garage roof, lost his footing on the ladder, yelled "Dog, Vince!" and then fell on a bunch of garbage cans. This time, he bugged and bugged and bugged the National Grid guys cutting our tree to let him get on the ladder. So after countless pleas that went ignored he pleaded with Kevin (the pro): "Come on Kev, let me at least get one!" Kevin obliged. Pops got up on the ladder, rickety joints and all and totally massacred the branch. It took him 10 times longer than the Grid fellas and he didnt even get through the whole branch. Finally Kevin told Pops to just get off the ladder and he'll twist the branch off. Pops ignored and kept mangling the branch. Finally Kevin got a little stern and said: "OK come down, now."

Pops got about 4 more slices in and then reluctantly quit, which led to some ginger, trepid steps down the ladder. Once he reached the bottom, he missed the last bar and stepped into a bunch of tangled branches, lost his footing, tried to gain composure with the next foot but didn't have the proper center of gravity. Thats when both feet started heavenward and fell right on his butt. But in a real vulnerable way, though. It was the kind of fall where you roll from your butt to your back to your shoulders. At first I was concerned, since he also fell on the chainsaw he was holding. Once I found out he was OK, me and my lil bro just looked at each other and shared the most raucous, silent-laugh ever.

Later we asked Pops if it hurt. His response?

"Man, I hit my butt so hard, I thought I had to dookie!"