So, I lost my job today.

At the beginning of June I was laid off because the government neglected to fund my position along with about five or six others. Luckily for me, I was able to land on my feet shortly afterwards, because an old boss of mine found a slot for me at the same company.

So for the past month, I've been helping to write and organize proposals, which was a skill I hadn't used in a few years. Yes my boss was a dick and a half, and my commute took time away from my family in the evening but I made things work, because it beat being unemployed. Plus I was still looking for another job.

But today my good luck ran out. One minute I was sending an email to one of my colleagues, asking her to meet with me about the veracity of the boilerplate language on my company's proposals, and the next minute I was summoned to my boss's office.

I thought he was asking to attend some type of impromptu meeting, so I brought my lemon zinger tea, my pen and a notepad. I got two steps away from the office, and saw my HR representative in my boss's office, and I knew I was doomed. I was told that for budget reasons, my position (along with others allegedly) was being eliminated. My benefits ended immediately, I was offered the dreaded COBRA option, and I was also told that I have a severance coming in a few weeks. I asked a few obligatory questions, and I rolled out without shaking the hands of my boss or my HR rep. Yes I was angry--although I later called Ms. HR lady and apologized for not being respectful.

I was angry for about a good two hours but the beer/wine helped numb that pain. Now I'm looking and applying for jobs, accepting paying sportswriting gigs, and trying to do the things that responsible adults who have just been fired do. I haven't been unemployed since the summer of 1998 when I was 23 years old, and even then I found a job within a month.

But yeah it sucks.

By the way, go read my latest collaborative article.

I have made it known on more than one occasion that Rakim is my favorite rapper. I know that Jay-Z is more prolific, and Black Thought may have better rhymes and Ice Cube may have better stories, and Eminem may be more technically sound, but when Rakim pulls off a thoughtful, symmetrical rhyme, I feel oddly fulfilled considering I get no personal or financial gain. I have felt that way since 1987 when I first heard him, and that feeling has lasted 31 years.

But the reality about someone my age (43) having a favorite rapper who is 50 (as Rakim turned on January 28th) is that there are long periods of inactivity. Yes there are tours and yes there are greatest hits collections, but when most rappers get close to and even pass the 50 year old threshold (the exceptions are Chuck D and Jay-Z) it is rare to hear new music. And up until a few weeks ago, Rakim was no exception.

He had been doing tours and lectures all around the world, and I'm sure he solidified his elevated status with established fans and won over some previously ignorant fans, but there had been no new music for over almost 10 years. I actually went to see him during one of those tours, when he showed up at the Blue Note in NYC backed by the legendary Roots crew. He looked good (Rakim was never a great live perform, but his stellar rhymes served as the perfect misdirection), he sounded good, and he teased new music, but nothing happened. And don't even get me started on that failed Dr. Dre/Rakim collaboration

But a few months ago, I was minding my own business on Instagram (which is as oxymoronic of a statement as I've made in a while), and I noticed that Ali Shaheed Muhammad just casually posted this clip of Rakim rhyming.. Muhammad (along Adrian Younge) helped score the first season of Luke Cage and for Season 2, they decided to bring Rakim into the fray.

Now I don't know if an album is forthcoming or if he will continue to work with the Muhammad/Younge duo, and frankly it doesn't matter right now. What does matter is that Rakim Allah resurfaced to make some damn good music in 2018. It's the little things...

First off, I write for Forbes now, so please go read

Second, my friend Nichole wrote a book, go buy it

Now, I would like to profess my profound appreciation for single parents--both male and female.

I am currently in the fourth of a six day wife-less stint, meaning it has just been my son and me during that span. So allow me to get the politically-correct touchy feely stuff out of the way.

I love my son and I love it when we have extended one-on-one time. Since his mother has been out of town on "business" in sunny Orlando, we've watched Black Panther, learned the Wakanda greeting, played the game Trouble, talked about the pretty girls in his summer camp, listened to Barry White's "Playing Your Game Baby" over and over and we even practiced the breaststroke in and out of the water. Occasionally, he'll hit me with a "Daddy I miss Mommy" and I promise him that we'll talk to her via FaceTime at some point during the day. This is quality bonding time and one day both of us will look back on this fondly,

But man..having to be the center of my son's attention during his every waking hour is some incredibly draining sh*t. Even when he's doing something that should seemingly be all consuming like playing games on the iPad, he has to call me over every 30 seconds by saying, "Daddy look at this!" or he'll regale me with a detailed explanation about the superpowers of one of his many toys/action figures. I humor him because it is hard to shun those big beady eyes, and the accompanying excitement, but damn. Sometimes I want to watch the World Cup, or NBA Summer League or wild porn--and he makes it nearly impossible to sustain any meaningful momentum doing anything of those things---until he goes to sleep of course and by that time, I'm tired too.

But nothing epitomizes my frustration more than what went down in the grocery store.

If you've ever taken a kid under the age of 10 to the grocery store, you know that kids absolutely go bonkers. If they see their favorite cartoon on a random balloon or cereal box, you are forced to hear 5-10 minute monologues about why they should absolutely get the cereal AND a toy. If they see their favorite food, they will pick it up, shove it in your face, and give you yet another monologue about how life itself will cease to go on, unless that food makes its way into the cart.

Even if you successfully squelch the kid's desire for toys and random food, that kid will run, skip, jump and cartwheel down every alley in the store. And with my son, you get an added bonus of learning every time he passes gas--not because you hear or smell it, but because he loudly says to anyone within earshot, "'SCUSE ME I PASSED GAS!' I told him that I admire his honesty, but sometimes, that info needs an inside voice. He agrees with me once, and then the cycle begins again.

So after I endured all of those antics---the type of antics a six year old is supposed to pull by the way--we finally get to the checkout line which of course was long as all get out. We waited in that line for a good 15 minutes, but it was fun, because we told jokes, did dances (I don't know what the dances are called, but I know I saw Donald Glover do them in this video.

But right as the couple in front of me was finished paying for their groceries, my son announced that he had to pee. Now here I am with a cart full of groceries, no wife to watch them for me, 6 people behind me eager to skip my ass and get their groceries paid for and out of the store, and a panicked look on my face. So the first time I heard my son say what he said, I straight ignored him and kept taking my groceries out the cart. So my son saw my neglect and raised me with an even louder, 'scuse-me-I-passed-gas like voice and said, "DADDY I DON'T WANT TO PEE ON MYSELF, CAN WE GO TO THE BATHROOM?"

At this point, if I don't take him to the bathroom, I'm 100% sure that Child Protective Services or ICE (they are interchangeable) would come and get me. So I politely ask the clerk if he can keep ringing me up so I don't lose my space in line, and thankfully he said yes. The people behind start huffing and puffing quietly, but they knew better than to turn the volume up on that sh*t too much because a) there's a kid involved and b) I had the look of death on my face just waiting for someone to say something while I was in the midst of this wife-less week.

Thankfully the bathroom trip was quick and efficient, my groceries were still being rung up by the time we returned, and no one was harmed. Still, the stress of the whole experience made me appreciate those folks who don't have a spouse or partner to returning to them at all. God bless y'all. I hope you keep plenty of bible, alcohol or weed (or all three) within arm's reach at all times. Lord knows you need it.

I mentioned earlier in this blog that Nyles and I have been jamming to Barry White's "Playing Your Game Baby", which means that I also have to play the clean version of Black Moon's "I Gotcha Opin remix" as well. One day, I'll post a video of my son rapping along with Buckshot Shorty while screaming, "DUCK DOWNNNN!":