Friday, January 30, 2009

As promised, I strode with confidence in Filene's Basement. yesterday, with hopes of snagging the ultimate nightgown/shirt for my lady. When you aren't in a sexy store like Victoria's Secret, or an outwardly raunchy store like Frederick's of Hollywood, there is a certain element of creepiness about a man looking around in the women's lingerie section. I felt like I was in Silence of the Lambs. dancing around asking someone to place the lotion in the basket. But I powered through, and I noticed that the nightgowns were pretty damn ugly, but the nightshirts had much more flair to them, so I made it my business to hone in on them.

I narrowed it down to two shirts. One shirt basically looked like the dress shirts I wear to work every day, except it was a tad bit longer. The other shirt, had some V-neck action going on, and it was pretty long, but not below the knee. I figured I could donate one of my dress shirts to my lady when I got home, and buy the V-neck, and that's exactly what I did. Words cannot begin to explain how apoplectic I felt to have picked out an article of clothing for my lady. I can barely pick out my own clothes without her help and confirmation, so this was indeed a milestone, whether she liked it or not. It just so happens that she loved it.

Bruce Springsteen. is performing at halftime of the Super Bowl. Bruce effing Springsteen? Don't get me wrong, I love Bruce, I think he's a brilliant songwriter, and if this were the Super Bowl after 9/11, he'd be my man 100 times out of 100. But he's like 60 years old, and most of this true fans will either be a)sleep or b)only tuning in at the half to see him. And if you only watch the Super Bowl to see Bruce, then chances are high that you are only watch the commercials, not the actual game, and you don't deserve to be rewarded with your favorite performer at halftime anyway. The last two Bruce Springsteen songs I know all the words to, are the one from the movie Philadelphia. , the song from Jerry Maguire. that they played during all the sad moments, and I am 100% sure he's not belting those out. And do you know who we have to thank for this rash of safe, but boring halftime performers? Janet Jackson., who forgot halftime at the Super Bowl wasn't hooters on that ill-fated Sunday a few years back. Thanks Ms. Jackson. Now the NFL is scared to let anyone under 50 perform.

Poor Righteous Teachers - Shakilya
This song reminds me of 1991, when my brother and I would come home, shun homework and any degree of responsibility, and just sit in front of the tv, and watch rap videos until my parents got home.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

How did you leave your lady in bed, knowing that she's still in recovery mode, and even though her mother is more than capable of taking care of her, why do I feel like I should still be at home? How do I tell my boss that I am basically sleepwalking, because I was up every hour making sure my lady was alright and not in pain? How do I not feel paranoid about losing my job, because I took an extra day of leave, because I felt like I absolutely HAD to be there for my lady during this rough time? And how the HELL did 100 emails come to my work account in just 3 days? This concludes the rhetorical question section of the blog.

Speaking of my future mother-in-law, I need to convince/bribe her into living with us. Last night, not only did she cook a wonderful dinner of grilled salmon, a mixed green salad and a baked potato, but she set the table, brought the food out on the kitchen table, served us, collected our plates, AND washed the dishes, despite my passionate plea to wash them for her. By 6:40, I was full, satisfied, and watching the depressing local news. My lady and I usually don't get home until 6-6:30, and then we sit around for another hour getting ourselves together, so realistically speaking, we are putting our forks to the food around 8-8:30, which isn't always favorable to the digestive system. For me to be done eating a full two hours ahead of time is just fucking golden(c)Blagojevich

I've been asked to purchase a nightgown some time today, which is way out of my jurisdiction, but since my lady can't leave the house, and her mother has to stay be her side, the responsibility falls squarely on my shoulders. My lady suggested I ask my boss (who is a woman she's met) for some help, but my ego will not allow that, plus there's something creepy about my boss and I going in the female lingerie department together. Women who work in these departments often prey on and chastise men like me, thinking they can cajole us into purchasing more items than we had orginially intended to snag. So that I don't fall for that banana in the tailpipe routine, I will briskly walk into the that part of the store, pick the first thing I see that looks like my lady's size, I'll make sure its sheer(for my personal gain), I'm paying for it, and then I'm leaving. No "How can I help you today?", No, "Well what size is your lady?", and no "If I shove my breasts and cleavage in your face, can I get you to spend $100 more than you want." None of that.

This is what my blogs are going to look like once I get married, and I'm ok with that. Although, I haven't been out and in the world for 4 days, so I have limited material today.

Desafinado - Stan Getz

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Thank you everyone for your thoughts and prayers, I really appreciate it. My lady is home today, and she's resting and the surgery was a success. I am extremely proud of her, because given all that she's been through, she's in great spirits. When I go back to work tomorrow, her mother will be taking care of her. So again, thank you.

Also check this article I wrote while in the cafeteria of the hospital last night.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Tomorrow morning at 6am, my lady will have surgery to remove the fibroids from her body. Long term, this will allow her and I to have a baby, without the kinds of problems we had last fall. Short term, she will be out of work for 6-8 weeks. Part of the reason her mom is staying us, is to help out for a couple of weeks while I'm at work. So if you're a praying person, say a prayer for my lady and me. If not, just think some good thoughts. I'd really appreciate it.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

About 30 minutes ago, I got my groceries delivered the way I always do. The gentleman brought the groceries in my building, and then the elevator, and I got a good look at him, and I thought he looked familiar, and I told him as much. He said that I looked familiar too, and at this point it felt like a scene out of a gay porn movie, until it clicked in my mind who he was. His name is Troy, and when I was in high school, this dude used to work in my building. I can't remember whether he was a janitor or he worked in the cafeteria, but I remember he did something like that. All the students were between 14 and 18, and this dude was clearly 25 or 26, and even back then I remember thinking it was odd for someone so young, to be in such a position. I also remember being jealous because some of the better looking women wanted to have sex with him, and if my memory serves me correctly, some of them actually did.

Anyway I had not seen this guy since 1992, and now here he was in my kitchen delivering my groceries. He dropped them off, I signed for them, we shook hands, and then he went on his merry way. I wondered if he cared that 17 years ago he was either cleaning or cooking for me at my high school and now here he was serving me in a different way. I wondered if he was peace, and was it only me who was thinking about such things. Once we established we knew each other, there wasn't much conversation between us, which was odd. This is where thought balloons would come in handy.

I'd also like to thank my lady for allowing to clean our oven for the first time in my 34 years on this planet. I can say it was the single nastiest thing I have ever done, and next time I'm hiring someone to do it.

Devin the Dude, Snoop Dogg and Andre 3000 - What A Job

Friday, January 23, 2009

So this morning I had what I hope will be my final doctor consultation about my back. The doctor said the MRI came up negative, and although there is a slight bulge in my disc, it is nothing to be concerned about at this present juncture. He gave me some intense stretching exercises, told me to get fitted for orthopedic shoes since my feet are incredibly flat, and I should see improvements. I also told him that now that my MRI came up clean, I was going to do get down with a little acupuncture and a litle swimming, and he agreed that would help. I REALLY hope this is the last time I have to write about this, because goddammit I'm only 34, and I need my back to do many many special things, only half of which I can write about.

While driving back from the doctor's office, I happened to be behind a van that had some edible fruit floral arrangment company on it, and I just started laughing. Who the hell sends these arrangments? Actually now that I think about it, after my lady got out of the hospital in October, her co-workers sent her one of these, and I laughed at it then too. Fruit is not basket or arrangement worthy on any level. Candy? Yes. Condoms? Hell yes. Cash? Absolutely. But fruit? That's what grocery stores, farmer's markets and your grandmother's dining room table are for..

My future mother-in-law is coming to visit my lady and I for two weeks starting tomorrow. I know she reads this blog from time to time, so let me say, I can't wait for you to arrive, and I will do my best to navigate that tricky balance of showing you a good time, and giving you your space. Don't feel any pressure to be on your best behavior, out of fear that I may write about you in this blog, and slander your good name in a way that would make Ann Coulter blush. I will do no such thing. And even if I did, I would deprive you any kind of internet access until you returned home and by then, you'd forget anyway.

Chamber Mates - Paul Chambers
For the past couple days at work, I've been playing nothing but jazz, specifically jazz bassists, and Paul Chambers was one of the five best jazz bass players ever. This song is from his 1957 album called Bass on Top. Imagine me saying everything I just typed in a cool, raspy voice with lights low.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Please read my Barack Obama article
My brother is now blogging here. Read it, comment on it, and all that.
I need some help man. In four days, on January 26th, my mother will turn 57 years old, and I have not a clue in the world what to get her. I've gotten her flowers, trips to the spa, and massages over the past few years, so I can't go to that well again. I really want to get her an IPOD, but I suspect that will just confuse her, and then add to the number of times I get a frustrated call from her at an odd hour. I have NO idea what any of my mother's sizes fact I don't think I've ever known that type of information, because I'm her son, not her daughter or my younger androgynous brother Jamal. When she was married, I could just have a talk with her husband, and just use his 6th and 7th birthday gift options, combined with my own ideas, and I'd have a bangup gift. But not only is my mother not married, she JUST moved to Cleveland, so she doesn't have a special friend, so I'm totally clueless here. So, for those of you who have mothers between 55-60, and have actually taken the time to buy a gift, throw me a rope here and tell me what kind of gift I should get.

By the way, yesterday I made a remark about interracial dating, and someone attempted to call me on it, and that person can kiss my entire black ass two times. If you couldn't tell that comment was tongue and cheek, then again, you can take YOUR tongue and put it on MY cheek(s). Not only have I dated outside my race before, but my son, who I jokingly call a referee, has a white mother, who is a total jackass, but that's not because of her race, but that's another blog for another day. But if you aren't smart enough to know that there are white AND black people who STILL turn their nose up at this phenomenon, then you too are a jackass..either that or a Norfolk State graduate (inside joke). The whole joke was since Barack is allegedly the savior for every other walk of life, perhaps he can bring some positive shine to interracialness(if you will) given that a)he's a product of that and b)white women seem to love him. damn. CAN I LIVE?

Footprints - Miles Davis Quintet
Miles Davis - trumpet
Wayne Shorter - tenor sax
Tony Williams - drums
Herbie Hancock - piano
Ron Carter - bass

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Jan 21st, 2009, 12:16 am outside of my apartment...

I think the highlight of yesterday's inauguration experience yesterday happened around 9pm, when I read online that Obama was going to be making an appearance at the Youth Ball. which was half a block from my house. Instantly, I stayed glued to my window, hoping I'd see the President and his wife drive by, but it didn't happen. Apparently he snuck by my window, because around 10:15, I saw he and his wife dancing at this ball that was so close to my house. Then, 5 minutes after he left, I was glued to the window once again, and I saw his limo go by a street directly in front of my building, and my lady and I both smiled. I know it sounds like a small thing to be smiling over, but it was hard not to be caught up in all moments of yesterday.

I did get a little sad at some points yesterday, talking to dad, who was wishing both of his parents were alive to see this, given how they struggled with race related issues for more than half of their lives. I could hear my dad getting choked up, and I couldn't imagine what a bittersweet feeling that must have been.

Also, my boy Cliff and I speculated a while back what Obama would do for interracial dating. Lots of white women old and young have been smiling at me the past couple days, and although I have a woman, perhaps someone in DC will reap the benefits. It could happen, you don't know...

My birthday was excellent, despite the fact that I partied just a little too hard the night before. My lady took me out to a fancy dinner, and she got me a REAL IPOD that plays videos, holds all my music, and it has a personalized message for me engraved in the back. Good times indeed.

I'd like to personally thank the millions of people who were in front of my apartment building between 12am and 5am this morning. Whether you were driving or just being rowdy in your leisurely stroll down my street, you kept me and my lady up all night listening to your loud asses. But I'm not bitter.

Please Don't Leave Me - Eric Roberson

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

I thank God, for allowing me to see my 34th year today
I also thank Barack Hussein Obama for completely upstaging me today.

Monday, January 19, 2009

This morning my lady and I went out for bagel sandwiches, and on a humble I stopped at the record store, where they just so happened to be having a 30% off sale. I bought the above records for just $20, and I am damn near giddy, as you can probably tell, because I took the time to lay the records on the ground, and snap a photo. And yes I am playing the records (BeBe and CeCe Winans' "Heaven" to be exact) as I type this entry. In case you can't see the pics, the records are:

1)BeBe and CeCe Winans - Heaven
2)Phoebe Snow - Phoebe Snow
3)Lionel Richie - Can't Slow Down
4)Miles Davis - Tune Up
5)Anita Baker - Giving You The Best I Got
6)Anita Baker - The Songstress
7)Stanley Jordan - Magic Touch

I feel a little guilty for not mentioning Obama or MLK in my blog, but cut me some slack. They both are all over the television today, and you can go there, because I certainly have and will. I just wanted to blog about a little something different. This is my semi-disclaimer.

Great times!

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Last night around 8:45pm, my ladyfriend got it in her mind that she wanted to see the movie Notorious, and I had mixed feelings. Its not that I did not think the movie would be entertaining, its just that movies attack a certain element that I don't feel like dealing with on a Saturday night: Black youth.

Now I know that sounds racist and maybe even it makes me sound like a cranky old man, but there are a few realities here. First off, it was cold, so my lady and I weren't going too far to see this movie, so theater options were already limited. Second, because this a predominantly black movie with a popular subject matter, it wasn't going to show in the quait, quiet movie theaters I usually see my movies in around DC. Third, this is inauguration weekend, so the city is much more electric than it would be on a regular Saturday. And lastly, the kids have a four day weekend, which means going to bed before midnight is out of the realm of possibility. So what does it all add up to? My lady and I had to hit a major movie theater in the heart of DC with a theater mostly full of loud obnoxious kids, although some of the adults weren't better.

There were kids as young as 2 years old in the that movie theater, and given there was cursing, sex and violence in the movie, and it was oh-by-the-way after 11pm, there's just no way a kid that young, should be out, let alone in the movie. At one point during the movie, there were two strollers in the aisle next to me, one pushed by a man, one pushed by a woman, and they could not find seats, so they just were sitting in the aisle. There were kids sniggling and giggling throughout the entire movie, and at one point, this woman yelled at her kids at the top of her lungs right in the middle of the damn movie. Those are the negative aspects..but because today is Sunday, let me focus on the positive.

The movie was entertaining. Angela Bassett took a limited role and ran with it, the way you'd expect Ms. Bassett to do. The rest of the actors, including the one who played Biggie, did a believable job, and of course the music was excellent. Yes the story was extremely biased and one-sided with their portrayals of certain characters (like 2pac), but given that the movie was executive produced by Mr. Sean Combs, I can't be too shocked.

It hit me during the movie, that Biggie's career basically spanned my college years. During my first year of college, 1992-1995, he apppeared on soundtracks and B-sides. During my junior and senior years 1994-1996, his cd came out, he blew up, and did more remixes than I could shake a stick at. And then shortly after I finished my student teaching and graduated in Dec of 1996, he died. That is just sad. Not even five years, yet his music lives, his name is still talked about, and he has a movie out that I sat through and enjoyed despite my surroundings. Go figure.

Anyway, the movie is entertaining, so I recommend it. Just go see it at noon or something before the kids ruin your experience.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Friday, January 16, 2009

Yesterday I came to work without my wallet. Usually I keep my metrocard, my money and my wallet in the same area by the bed, but for some reason yesterday, I neglected to pick up my money and my wallet and I realized it as soon as sat down in my office. So immediately I had three options: 1)Walk in the 5 degree weather to the train station, take the train home, walk from the train to my apt, get my wallet, then come back..2)Borrow some money from someone so I could eat lunch 3)Starve until I get home.

Now, I do not like to ask people for money, but I especially don't like doing that at work. There is a certain degree of vulnerability that comes with asking people for money at work, and I am just not down with that. Plus, I don't want my co-workers speculating about my financial situation, and even though yesterday was payday and they knew I wasn't broke, I was still paranoid about asking, which is just sad. Around noon or so, my stomach was growling particularly loud, and I got up the nerve to ask my boss to borrow money, but then I chickened out at the last minute and just asked her for some peppermint tea, which calmed my growling stomach for all of 3 seconds. I did have an apple that I brought in to go with my lunch (assuming I had my wallet to buy a sandwich) but that apple was devoured in 30 seconds, and my stomach growled louder as if to say, "That's the best you can do?"

2pm came, and we had a meeting that turned out to be an hour long. I did the following things to mask the sounds of my stomach sounding like DMX:

1)rustle papers
2)clear my throat
3)slide my chair back away from the table
4)tighten my stomach(this one was just asinine)

Around 3:30, I got a call from my main man Rashaad who works on the fifth floor of my building, and he told me that there was a going away party for someone, and there were desserts for the taking. I hung up on him when I heard desserts, and I stepped with purpose up to the fifth floor, and instead of grabbing every piece of dessert I could get my meaty hands on, I politely took one piece of cake so I wouldn't look like I left my wallet home, and I went back downstairs. That cake was gone before I got out of the elevator.

Now eventually 5:30 came, and like an ass I walked home in the 5 degree weather trying to get a workout, and I was thinking to myself, I could have done this earlier and just went to get my wallet. By the time I ate something at home it was 6pm, almost a full 12 hours since I had left home. So let this be a lesson to you. Befriend at least one person in your office, so that when you forget your wallet, you can borrow money without your pride getting in the way.

Unbelievable - Biggie
I dedicate this song to my boss, since she is currently giving serious consideration to going to see this. movie at lunch time. If you saw this woman, you'd NEVER suspect that she was a Biggie fan. NEVER.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Once upon a time in 1997, Ray-J was tolerable....
So last night my mother, my brother and I met for dinner for the first time in at least 3 or 4 years. Because we lived in three different states(I'm aware DC isn't a state, but humor me) we would see each other, but never all at the same time, so this was quite the occasion. My mother was in town to attend a reception for Marcia Fudge. (Stephanie Tubbs-Jones. replacement), so my brother and I picked her up from this, and took her back to her hotel where we had dinner.

At one point during the dinner, my mother had the waiter bring a small piece of cake out, and everyone in the restaurant(there were about 10-15 people) started singing happy birthday to me about 6 days too early. I wanted to throw a GFY. out there to everyone, but my mother the minister was in attendance, so I relaxed. Towards the end of the song, the waiter mistakenly told every damn body that it was my birthday,and my mother jumped in and said, "No his birthday is Sunday..I mean Monday..wait no its Tuesday." Instantly, the Rashad-is-adopted conspiracy theories that I had shunned and locked away for so many years, were mentally opened in my mind like a Cold Case episode.

But seriously, towards the end of the dinner, my mother looked over at this group of elderly people and said, "These are my two boys", and the look on her face was simply priceless. She was smiling and just overflowing with love, and that wasn't something lost on me or my brother. I suppose when you're a mother, and you see your kids go from being infants, to attending soccer practices, to dropping them off at college, to seeing them fight, to watching them get married, to seeing them become self-sufficient grown men(allegedly), you are filled with a feeling that cannot be described, although I have tried this entire paragraph. Its a feeling I hope to have with my son, as well as the kid my lady and I will have.

And yes, in case you were wondering, this whole blog entry was a subliminal reminder that my birthday is January 20th. Everything else I mentioned was just garnish, fluff, icing, nerf ball.....

Danielle Brisebois - My Only
In the movie As Good As It Gets., there's a scene when Jack Nicholson's character takes Helen Hunt's character to a fancy restaurant, and this is the song playing when they enter. Its a great scene and an even better song

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

I do a lot of complaining, bitching and moaning on this blog, and those of you who know me relatively well, understand that some of it is real, and some of it is tongue-in-cheek. Every now and then I write about serious, but I try to keep things light-hearted, because again, that's who I am most of the time. Consider this an every now and then situation.

I have gotten the chance to meet many people since I started covering the Washington Wizards, and one of them is named Brian. The first day I strolled into the Verizon Center this past summer, I was completely clueless about where to go, who to talk to, where the practice court was, and all that. Brian was the first person I saw, and he sensed that I was clueless, and he pointed me in the right direction, and struck up a friendly conversation with me, and I always appreciated that. Many times PR people in his position are antagonistic a-holes, and Brian was/is nothing of the sort. Since that initial meeting I've seen Brian here and there, and he'll say what's up, or we'll just head nod each other. We don't know each other well enough to have an extensive conversation, which is fine by me.

A few weeks ago I saw Brian, and I noticed he was wearing a hat, and underneath the hat, I noticed that he was completely bald. I figured that he either lost a bet, or he possibly had cancer, but I never really put two and two together. I'm so focused on getting interviews, writing my game notes, and looking like I know what i'm doing when I get to a Wizards game, that I barely paid attention to the reasons surrounding Brian's change in appearance. But last night while I was whipping my lady's monkey ass again in Scrabble, I googled Brian's name and came across his blog, and learned that Brian did indeed have glioblastoma multiforme, or GBM, which is the most aggressive form of brain cancer.

Brian has been chronicling his fight on his blog, and I can honestly say that is extremely humbling for me to read this man's fight with something so serious at just 29 years of age. I realize reading something like that could be depressing, but I found it to be quite inspirational, which is why I'm dedicating a few paragraphs in my blog to mention it. I'm not going to say my blog is unimportant and pointless next to his, because every one's voice needs to be heard in some shape, form or fashion (plus I'm competitive). But I will say that if you get a chance, you should check out Brian's blog.

Set Adrift on Memory Bliss - PM Dawn

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Who says writing your lyrics down is bad...

Tanko at work - Black Thought from the Legendary Roots Crew

I have been told numerous times at my job that I am not nearly as affable as I should be given that I work in a team environment. As a result I often extend myself way out of my comfort zone to make folks feel comfortable...sometimes. One of my rituals when I initially arrive is to say good morning to all five of my co-workers before I sit down. I walk by every one's cubicle/desk and say good morning, I look them eye when I say it, and then I leave. Sometimes they'll ask me how I am, but I always make sure they are talking to my back when that happens. I'm not in the business of saying good morning for all out banter, I just want to be on record as speaking.

Now, the reason I am even mentioning this, is that there is ONE co-worker who refuses to look me in the eye when I speak. This dude's eyes remain fixated on the computer screen when he throws his good morning back to me, and this happens every effing morning. I don't even get a glance, a double take or anything. Some mornings I purposely ignore his ass, and he still says good morning without looking up at me, and I think this is just disrespectful. To make it worse, this dude is usually all in my face about 5-10 minutes after I sit down with some sort of work question or issue, and all I feel like saying is, where was this chatty business when I was trying to speak to you earlier brother? I would normally think that someone like this had one-upped me, but this same dude rocked a hooded sweatshirt with a V-neck sweater under it this past Friday, which was simply horrific. Words cannot even capture how hot, bulky and and uncomfortable this dude looked in the getup, yet he never broke a sweat. He also was never able to extend his hands beyond his waist.

My mother, who is a minister, basically told me last week that she would not stay with my lady and I during inauguration, because we weren't married, and we were living in sin. It didn't matter that my birthday is also on inauguration day, and it didn't matter that my brother, who is married, will have a house full of people and sleeping space will be elusive. She stood firm in her beliefs and dissed me, and I respect that...

Ok I'm lying it annoys me, especially since my lady's mom is coming to stay with us after inauguration. But I really can't do anything to change her mind, except get married, but that comes later this year/early next year, not in a week.

Slow Down - Bobby Valentino
They played this song at the Wizards game last night, and its been in my head ever since. The lyrics are juvenile, and the singing is average, but the beat knocks and the chorus is catchy. Welcome to most songs played on the radio since 2000....

Monday, January 12, 2009

I silently judge and lose respect for this men I see in the morning who wear suits with sneakers. On my way into work this morning I saw this couple walking with their arm around each other in front me. She had on a skirt with stocking and tennis shoes, which is acceptable considering women often wear heels that are basically for standing still and looking cute, not walking. But for a dude, there is simply no excuse to rock the Mr. Rogers look in the morning. There are nice comfortable dress shoes made for men all the time. And even if you have minor discomfort, you just have to man up and make it into work. Besides, why stop at tennis shoes? Why not just wear a jogging suit to work, carry your clothes on a hanger, and change when you get work? Wouldn't that truly make them comfortable?

Also, since the election, street vendors and various other stores around the DC area, are selling Barack Obama paraphernalia like it is going out of style. I've seen shirts, hats, jackets, buttons, pictures with he and his wife, pictures with Obama's head photo shopped in, and even coins. Bumper stickers and buttons I can understand, but everything else is just excessive. This man will be for at LEAST 4 more years man. The campaigns, the "yes we can" slogans and the Internet push worked, because he's in office. But now, isn't it time to focus on his policies, his decisions, his appointments, etc? At some point the novelty has to wear off(and I mean that in a good way), and it will be time to scrutinize hires(exhibit A: Leon Panetta). I just don't think you can effectively and objectively do that if you're still rocking and selling tshirts and hats. I could be wrong here, and if I am, I'm sure someone will take me to task.

I started to write about the Eagles spanking the Giants' monkey ass yesterday after the game ended, but I thought it would be much more fun to do it this morning, just to annoy the Giants fans. You all have Plaxico Burress and Eli's ineptitude to thank for you loss, and I encourage you all to invite Cowboys and Redskins fans over your house to watch my Eagles next week. There's plenty of room on the bandwagon. I can't go deep in my shit-talking arsenal until the Eagles make the Super Bowl, which is not a given. Still, anytime we can send the Giants and the Cowboys home in a 3 week span, its a beautiful thing.

Cry Me A River - Patti Austin

Sunday, January 11, 2009

My nephew Nazir at breakfast on January 11th at 10:30am. Don't be jealous that YOU don't have cookie monster slippers.

And as always, please read my article.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Here is Wayne Brady..yes Wayne Brady singing the Sam Cooke classic, "A Change Is Gonna Come". And yes he sounds damn good:

Friday, January 09, 2009

So I left work yesterday around 2:30 pm, in preparation for my 3:15 MRI. I was told to be there 30 minutes early to fill out paperwork, even though I had already pre-registered (what is this college?) over the phone a week earlier. When I stepped into the hospital, I had to fill out a grand total of 2 pieces of paperwork, which I was able to complete in a whopping 30 seconds. After this was filled out, I was whisked away to the radiology department, where I was made to wait in the waiting room. It was only 2:55 at this point, and I was feeling good because a)I seemed to be making good time(word to Costanza), b)It looked like I may be home early and c)The smooth sailing up to this point was a good omen, given how nervous I was.

3:15 came and went, and no one had given me any kind of update in terms of what the status of my appointment was. It was at this point that I noticed I was in the mammogram area of the hospital, and I noticed a man(who I later found was there with his wife) who was dying of boredom in the corner. He had his blackberry with him, so that was entertaining him to some degree, but clearly it wasn't enough. He was walking around, slumping in his seat, whistling songs, and I felt his pain totally. There was another woman next to me, who I overheard say that she had been waiting for 2 hours, so immediately I got angry.

Around 3:20, the nurse came up to me and explained that they were running 30-45 minutes behind, and she would appreciate my patience. She was also quick to point out that my appointment would only last 15-20 minutes, which at this point just made me angrier considering I had already been there for nearly an hour. Well it wasn't 30-45 minutes, it was damn near an hour and a half before I was sent back to the MRI machine. Here's a list of things I did in that 90 minute span

1)Play with my phone
2)Watch middle aged women flopping around in their hospital gowns
3)Listen to the receptionist bitch and moan about her day
4)talk on the phone
5)play with my phone
6)write rhymes for my next album

Anyway, when I finally got back to the MRI machine, I instantly got nervous. I looked at the machine and started trying to mentally pump myself up, but the shit wasn't working. It didn't help that it was about 10 degrees in the room, and my genitals were clinging to my body like a 5 year old does to his parents on the first day of school. Then they had the nerve to ask me to strip and put the flimsy gown on. Unlike the last time I got an MRI, when I showed up at the hospital commando, I was fully prepared with boxer briefs, and I put on the gown with the ass out, and then I was led to the machine.

Before they laid me down on the machine, I politely asked if I could have some music played while I was in there, and I told them I had my IPOD that they could use, and they shot that down. Instead, the woman said she her cd player in the MRI control room, and should could play Fantasia for me. Now, I'm not a fan of Fantasia and cgiven that she can't read anyway, I don't fear her seeing this and getting back to me. But considering the alternative was being stuck in that machine with silence, I said, "Hell yes, put Fantasia on" and they slid me back in the machine.

Even with Fantasia in my ear, it was still hell in that machine. I could barely hear the music, I had thoughts of death, friends and family, claustrophobia, my lady, shots of Patron, and most importantly sex. Plus my ears were itching, and I couldn't get my hands up to scratch them, so I started channeling my inner Tourette's hoping my facial contortions would alleviate the itch, but it didn't work, so I went back to thinking about sex. And 20 minutes later, I was done. They gave me my CD with my results on it, I shook every one's hand in that room, and I 5:45.......3 hours after I set foot in the place, which was just ridiculous, but still I am grateful.

About 2 hours later, my lady and I went out to for margaritas and drinks, and since I had fantasized about a shot of Patron while in the MRI machine, I decided to get one and my lady joined me. The following conversation happened:

*My lady and I take the shot of Patron*
Her: It's so smooth going down
*I pause, smile, look at her, then look at the camera*
Me: That's what she said

Now the humor of the moment can't possibly be captured via the blog, but it was hilarious. Although I've re-read that like 5 times now, and it still isn't funny to read. But trust me it was last night.

Sorry for the lengthy entry, but considering how laconic I've been in prior entries, I was overdue for one like this. And yes I heard the word laconic earlier today, and I was determined to fit it in here somehow.

that's what she said

I'm Going Down(remix) - Mary J Blige

Thursday, January 08, 2009

So today, in about 7 hours or so, I will return to George Washington Hospital to have a series of MRIs on my back, and the feelings are truly bittersweet. I have been dealing with back issues intermittently for about a year now, and it seems to have gotten worse. So if it takes more MRIs to get this resolved, then I'm all for it. Once I get another diagnosis, I will treat it, and then start this yoga and acupuncture I've heard so much about. All of this has me excited..but

The actual MRI itself terrifies me. If I was just having one on my foot or my hand, it would be no problem at all, because it would not require my entire body being put into the machine. When you get an MRI they put your entire body in this casket-like machine, and then they ask you to be as still as you can for a good 30 minutes(which for me is virtually impossible). They don't play you any soothing music, and they don't allow you to bring your own, so you are forced to be alone with your thoughts. Now, I don't mind thinking about my life and my problems, but I'd much prefer to do it while I walk around, or while I'm listening to music, not while I'm getting scanned up in a coffin-like machine while asked to be still as if I'm in a bad game of freeze tag.

I actually wish someone could record this whole event from the time I step into the hospital, to the time I put on that flimsy ass hospital gown with the ass out, to when I step on the machine, to my Usain Bolt like sprint back to my clothes when I'm done. That would be comedic gold.

As a followup to yesterday's story about the Georgetown Law student smoking the sticky icky topless, my lady saw her enter her apartment yesterday. And when our neighbor saw my lady, she instantly told her that she wants to go out for a drink with my lady and I sometime soon. You see when she moved in, we gave her a bottle of wine(just like someone had done for us when we moved in), and she was so moved, that she vowed to take us out on a wonderful night of drinking. Me myself personally, I'd much prefer that she just return the favor, leave me a nice bottle of red wine at my doorstep, and everyone wins. But these promises of drinking dates, followed up by these topless Snoop impressions in my window is not going to cut it.

And my hyperlink button is not working for some reason, but if you could find the Hoops Addict blog over to your right please click on it and read my article on Toronto/Washington game last night.

Dienda - Sting

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

First off, I think this is one of the better stories I have written, so please check it out. I do believe it has appeal to you non-sports people.

I frequently look out of my bedroom window before, for no reason in particular. All you can see out of my window are other apartments, the garbage dumpsters, and occasionally a rare bird flying around. Last night, the rain picked up for about 20 minutes or so, and when it did, I ventured over to the window to see just how hard it was raining, except it was not the rain that caught my eye.

When I looked outside, I saw my next door neighboor sitting on her living room couch topless smoking the sticky green. She was doing it via pipe, which was odd considering her shade was WAY up. Now, it is important that I interject that my neighbor is built like an underaged Chinese gymnast, which is why the topless part of this story is not an issue. But my question is this: If you are going to partake in such activities, aren't you supposed to close the shades, lock the doors, and basically treat your apartment like its about to be hit by a hurricane? Who opens their blinds and their windows, and then brings further attention to themselves by doing it topless? Makes no sense at all. My lady later told me that this woman is currently a Georgetown Law School student, which explains a lot. Wait, I think I am snitching right now...

By the way, I forgot to mention that my lady and I had a football challenge going on during the regular season. Each week we had to pick the winners of the games using the point spread that was given to us. And she whipped my ass this year, picking 20 more correct than I did. In fact, this is the second year she has defeated me. I could type an entire list of excuses, but the fact is she's beat me two years in a row. She is a formidable opponent.

A few months ago, I posted this Alexander O'Neal video and I said it was quite possible the worst video I had ever since given O'Neal's shifty eyes, his shoulder pads, and his questionable behavior while he was in his bed alone. Then last night, I saw the video you see posted below, and damn if Peter Cetera doesn't look like a young Bill Parcells in drag:

Peter Cetera - Glory of Love

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

For some reason today feels like a Monday. I was so pumped up and determined not to have the typical Monday letdown yesterday, that I pretty much made myself stay awake and focused yesterday, despite the excessive "Happy New Years" wishes. No such luck today. The weather is cold, icy and rainy, my lady and I did not want to get out of bed, and there was just little to no motivation. But I'm here, I'm upbeat and positive and all that jazz, and then...

Right after my walk to work, I sat down at my desk and attempted to take a swig of water and I missed my mouth completely and spilled it down my chin and the front of my shirt(that's what she said). Because it is so cold in here, the water stain is not drying as quickly as it would if I were say in front of a fan or in 70 degree weather. So when I got up to go to the restroom, I was feeling like Joe the Jackass with this stain on my shirt. Still, I am trying to be positive.

At about 6am this morning it hit me that by the time the weather gets warm, I will be engaged to be married. I'm not scared or nervous or anything, but I am still pretty incredulous about it all. When you read some of blog entries back in '06 and the early part of '07, and there's no way in hell that anyone in their right mind could have predicted I'd be where I am right now. Sometimes my lady and I look at each other and say, "Can you believe we're together?". Once I get married, I have no clue how I will proceed with this blog, but that's another entry for another day.

By the way, does the fact that I have been listening to House music all morning, make me a tad bit ghey?

Inside That I Cried - CeCe Peniston
Now, I am not playing this ballad because I am sad or melancholy or any of that. I just like Cece's voice, and this song has been in my head all week. End of disclaimer.

Monday, January 05, 2009

I think the last time I cried during a sports event was back in 1989. I was the 2nd or 3rd worst player on this basketball team I played for, and it wasn't so much that I was bad, but the other players were so damn good (at least that's what I tell myself). I would show flashes of absolutel brilliance, and then I would nullify it completely with a series of bonehead plays that promptly landed me back on the bench. This would frustrate the hell out of my dad, who wanted me to be all aggressive, all the time.

When you were a bad player the way I was, you would pray for a blowout, because then the coach would have mercy and play the lesser players for greater minutes. During this particular day in February of 1989, it was the last game of the season, and our team was blowing the other team out. I saw the score getting more and more one-sided, and I prepared myself from the bench. I tightened my shoes, pulled up my socks, stood up on the bench and tucked in my shirt, and got ready for the coach to call my name. With about 6 minutes left in the game, he called my name, and I ran in, eager to make my mark.

Unfortunately for me, the other team started to make a tremendous run, and the coach called me back on the bench and I was furious. Because the coach was cool with my father, I couldn't bitch and moan as much as I would usually, so I just sat there and stewed in my own anger. This was the last game of the season, and I was not prepared to only pay two minutes. I ran to get some water in the hallway, and I broke down crying for a good 2-3 minutes. Then I dried my tears, sat back on the bench, and watched my team win. After the game, the coach pulled me aside and apologized, but in my head I was throwing him all the GFYs I could muster. Of course my dad knew I had been crying, and basically told me to man up and be prepared for the next moment whenever that was. That next moment was in October of that same year when I made jr. varsity in high school.

I tell this story because last night I had a dream that I was the starting quarterback of my college team, and the game was stopped prematurely because there were no fans in the stands, and the lighting was bad. The game was ended right before I was scheduled to make my debut, and I started crying. Luckily it was only a dream, because that awfully soft and tender of me to cry over something like that.

You've Got It Bad Girl - Quincy Jones

Saturday, January 03, 2009

Well, I just got back from seeing the Alvin Ailey Dance Company in New York and I must say I was thoroughly impressed. Leading up to this afternoon's performance, I was worried about how I would deal with gay men and fit women twirling and jumping around the stage. But by the middle of the first performance, I was mesmerized by the way the dancers moved, the way the moved in sync, and the difficult positions they were able to hold seemingly with ease. I don't know if that was something I'd bring my son to for father/son time, but if I had a daughter, I would definitely take her to see Alvin Ailey.

Prior to the performance they showed a brief video on the history of Alvin Ailey the man, as well as his dance company overall. Judith Jamison was feature prominetly thoroughout the video, and even at age 65, she stil looks regal and very beautiful.

I am not smart enough to write a detailed review of the performance, because this is my first experience with seeing a dance company. But I CAN say that when they come to DC, I will probably go see them again. But today's trip was all about my lady, since this was her Christmas gift, and she had a great time.

Alvin Ailey Dance Company - Wade in the Water (from Revelations).
This may be my gayest moment ever, but I don't care, this is GREAT stuff.

Thursday, January 01, 2009

I was cleaning up some old emails in my yahoo account, and I found the above picture of my son, my mother and Toni Morrison. It is from 2003, when Toni Morrison did a reading for a group of children, and my mother, being the president of the Toni Morrison Society at the time, got us a front row seat. My mother and I did our very best to explain to the then 6 year old Carlton how great this woman was who he was meeting. Unfortunately, he won't truly appreciate her until he gets to college and has to read one of her long ass complicated books.
Does it make me some kind of creepy old man, that I am more attracted to my girlfriend when she wears her hair in pigtails? I didn't think so, and then I googled