Last summer, I negotiated a work schedule, that would allow to be off every other Monday. I had my choice of Monday or Friday, and I felt like Monday would be better. Rarely have I been so tired on a Friday, that I cannot make it through the day..in fact often times the adrenaline of the weekend ahead, gets me through work no matter what my day looks like. Conversely, Mondays are hell, I drag, I'm cranky, and I clock watching like nobody's business. So what better reward is there than to have every one of those terrible days off.

But yesterday as I sat at work trying to "watch" the NCAA games by hitting refresh on the scoreboard page over and over, I had a change of heart. I was angry that all these wonderful games were going on without me. I was mad that when I went to lunch, dozens of eager men and women were drinking, watching the games, and just feeling festive, while I had to go back to the office. So I decided to take matters into my own hands. I asked my boss if I could switch my day off just this once, from Monday to Friday, and she said as long as my co-worker agreed (he takes my workload when I'm out) then I was golden. He agreed, then she agreed, and it was done.

So not only do I get to watch all the games from my lovely couch, but if I want to get out there and enjoy this fine spring weather, I can do that as well. So to all of you who have the day off as well, I hope to see around (assuming you live in DC of course) today. To those of you who have to work, give me your phone number, and I'll text you pictures of what I'm seeing, so you can feel even worse. That's what (blog) friends are for you know?

And I would like to spend a special, special shout out to the Department of Social Services in Virginia who decided to raise my monthly child support payments by $200 this morning. Your attempts to ruin my day of basketball almost succeeded.

And now, a song that will always remind me of warm spring weather:

This may be an odd way to start off an entry on this particular site, but I shall do it anyway. I can't stand Rhianna. I won't say hate, because that's a little too strong, but I really do not care for her. She's attractive, but not as pretty as "they" are having me think she is. She cannot sing at all--she just sings one note all the time, but her facial expressions will have you believe that much more vocal excellence is taking place. But its not. I won't delve into the details of her personal life, because that neither helps nor hurts my argument. But...

That damn song she has entitled, "Hard" is all in my head. The chorus is, oddly enough, "I'm so hard!" and she keeps singing it over and over again (by the way, I know i'm old because I'm sure this song has been out since last October, but I'm just now really hearing it). ESPN has taken a shine to the song, and they play it over various sports highlights and montages, and now the song has seeped deep into my brain. As you can imagine this is problematic for two main reasons: One, I think we've already established my dislike for this woman. And two, what does a grown ass man like myself, look like running around singing a chorus entitled, "I'm so hard." I may as well join the creepy man fan club and start calling women sweetheart, rubbing my hands together when I talk, licking my lips 12,000 times a minute, and getting paid visits from Mr. Hansen if I'm going to sing that all the time. So thanks Rhianna for creating these dilemmas

Please read my article

I also would like to take some time to shout out Ron Washington, the manager of the Texas Rangers. You tested positive for cocaine last year, and rather than waiting for that positive test to become public and then admit you were wrong, you went to your bosses ahead of time to let them know what you had done. You entered a drug program, you've been tested numerous times since then and you continue to come up clean. I applaud you for that, because it takes a man to be proactive with that type of admission...but...

Please don't lie to me and say that you decided to do cocaine for the first time at 58 years old. That's horsesh*t, and as my main man Cliff said last night, "Once you try cocaine once, you've tried it ten times." It was not a one time "transgression" as you put it in your public statement yesterday, it was definitely a regression, and you need to just come on out and tell the truth..and more importantly leave that stuff alone. Must I point out what happened to this man.

And now, some words from the man himself..Mr. Ron Washington


And last but not least, I'd like to wish a happy birthday to my lady. I won't give out her age, because that's rude. But may she continue to rob the cradle!

The following conversation happened around 8am at my local Starbucks. The cast of characters are me, the Starbucks employee and the two 35-40 year old women in front of me.

Starbucks: Welcome to Starbucks sweetheart, how may I help you?
First woman: Excuse me?
Starbucks: good morning sweetheart what can I get you?
First woman: Uh ok..I'll get a venti (I can't remember)
Starbucks: I got you sweetie
First woman: (looks back at her friend): Sweetie? Is he f**king kidding me?
Second woman: Apparently so, welcome to 1960s
Starbucks: Next in line
Second woman: Ok I'll also have a Venti ___________
Starbucks: Ok sweetheart I got you
Second woman: What happened to just good morning and hello
Starbucks: (moves closer): Good morning sweetheart I'm sor...
Second woman(interrupts): You know what? Never mind, just go to next person
Starbucks: Ok sweetie, next in line...yeah what's up man what can I get you?
Me: Dude, you may want to chill out on the sweethearts and sweeties, its a little demeaning
Starbucks: What does that mean?
Me: (trying not to do a snobby laugh): It means you're talking down to them and you dont even know it, just say good morning and keep it moving
Starbucks: Man you crazy, the ladies love that
Me: And you know this how?
Starbucks: Man trust me, they like that kind of stuff in the morning, it makes them smile
Me (trying not to do a regular laugh): Ok sweetheart, get me a venti soy green tea latte
Starbucks: That sh*t ain't funny man, I ain't your sweetie
Me: But you're still going to make my drink right?
Starbucks: yeah whatever...next in line..good morning sweetheart...

First off, I did get my drink. Second, the women who he had offended thanked me for semi-sticking up for them, but they clearly weren't outraged and upset enough to really complain to management. They grabbed their little drinks and rolled out, and I did the same, because it wasn't my battle to continue fighting. I find it hard to believe that no woman, or a man with a woman, has legitimately complained about this type of thing. I cannot lie and say that I've never used sweetie and sweetheart, but its usually when I am intentionally being condescending. If I were working customer service like this gentleman, I would definitely avoid anything of the sort. And me being the helpful brother that I am, I tried to give him a heads up, but as you saw it didn't go over too well. Or maybe I'm the wrong person to be teaching such a lesson. So I'm going to go back tomorrow and Friday to see if he's still doing it. And yes I'm serious.

And again, if you'd like to join yet another NCAA pool, go here

This video you see below has nothing to do with this entry...well not really I just think its a cool song to kick some body's ass too. And Mr. Starbucks deserves such treatment

Jane's Addiction - Been Caught Stealing

My latest article

Thanks to my main man Kyle for letting me guest blog.

By the way, I'm not doing an NCAA pool this year, but Hoops Addict is, and you can join here.

I walked into my apartment building yesterday, and I thought I smelled smoke in the lobby, but I ignored it. Then I went up the elevator and the smell got stronger, and I panicked a bit, and I wondered why I foolishly got on the elevator. By the time I got to my floor the smell was stronger, but it smelled like a fire that had come and gone already, as opposed to one that was in progress. I put the key in my door, went in my apartment, and the smell was a litle less strong, but it was still there. A lot of my furniture had been moved around, the windows were all the way up, and there were boot footprints all over the floor.

The person who lives below me had a fire start in their bathroom, and it spread to some of the other apartments. My apartment came away unscathed, but the fire department had to get into my unit to put the fire out, which explained the footprints. I try to avoid the melodramatic as much as I can, but I cannot act like I wasn't shaken because of my incident in 2007 Back then, the smell of smoke was in every item that I was able to salvage, including my laptop. This morning, that smell (which is impossible to get rid of right away) is all thru the apartment, and I was paranoid last night while I slept. Every noise had me sitting straight up, and I slept with the door and windows open to get the clean flowing, but again, the noises made for a restless night.

I'd like to think I had done a good job putting that incident behind, but last night and this morning, it felt like it just happened all over again. And again, I promise you I'm not writing this to get your sympathy, but it affects me, and I'm not always good at talking through my feelings, so I write them.

Thanks to my main man Sabin for digging up this picture. This is me during my freshman year of college in '92. I was 17 years old.

I will do my best to recap what was a fun, but quick weekend with my son and family..

Saturday

1pm: My son arrives via Amtrak, and instantly his physical appearance jumps out at me. He has grown at least two inches to about 5'4", and he looks like he's been lifting weights or something, because he's a little thicker and a bit more defined. Also, his mother has once again dropped the ball in the haircut department, because my son showed up looking like a Craig Mack in 1994 (thankfully not in the face though)

2pm: We arrive at the barbershop, and my son pisses of the barber, because he keeps trying to watch the Kentucky/Tennessee game on television, instead of sitting still for the barber. I could have gone over to the chair right away to tell him to ignore the tv, so the barber could cut his hair, but it was pretty funny to watch the barber getting frustrated. It serves him right for messing up my facial hair last Thursday

2:30pm: I inform my son that we are attending a Wizards game, and he says to me, "Daddy, I don't even know who plays for the Wizards anymore." Ladies and gentleman, your 2009-2010 Washington Wizards!

3pm: My dad arrives, and he picks up for lunch at Clydes (my first time time there). My father was shocked to see that my son is a good growth spurt away from passing him in the height department ( my dad is 5'6") When my father and I talk, I notice my son looking at me, and then looking back at my dad, and I wonder what goes through his head. Unfortunately, he won't be able to truly and properly articulate that for another 20 years, but I'll be waiting. I know when I watched my son and my father talking, I was sitting there thinking how happy I was to have both of them in my presence. It needs to happen more than it does

530pm: I ditch both of them to begin preparing for the Wizards game. My son asks me to get Dwight Howard's autograph for him while I'm in locker room, but I tell him that as a journalist, I am legally not allowed to do that. It is at that point that I explain to him what integrity means.

630pm: I emerge from my pregame duties to see my son and father sitting in the stands side by side. My son has a huge smile on his face because a)he can see Howard and Vince Carter warming up just a few feet in front of him and b)he had just met Mark May outside of the arena.

8pm: During the game, there is a T-shirt giveaway, that basically consist of various employees heaving T-shirts into the crowd, and then adults and children scurry around like crazy people and try to claim them. When my son sees that this is about to go down, he jumps up, runs down two rows, then over one aisle, knocks two kids down, gets a shirt, then raises up the shirt he's just forcefully obtained and turns to my dad and yells out, "Yes!". I can't even tell you how funny this moment was, and it happened in about 30 seconds. I don't condone kid-on-kid violence..but damn if it wasn't funny.

9pm: I gave my father some post game instructions on where we should meet up after I do my post game duties. While I am talking to him, I start to notice how aging has changed him. His already gray hair is thinning, his glasses keep sliding off of his nose a bit, and he kept having to push them back in place. As I was explaining where we should meet, I could see that he wasn't getting it as quickly as I would have liked, and I remember thinking how unusual it was for that to be the case. I noticed every wrinkle in his face, specifically around his eyes, and I thought to myself, "Damn, its happening." I never really paid attention that closely before to how he was aging and a rush of sadness came over me. I ended my conversation with him, went back to my seat with the media, and cried for about 30 seconds (thank God nobody saw me). And then I woke the f**k up, realized that he's still alive and well (but aging) and that I needed to get over myself. I will never forget that moment though.

12am: We said our goodbyes, I put my son to my bed, and I watched that bulls**t Pacquiao/Clottey fight. Then, after losing an hour of sleep, I witnessed an all out brawl outside my apartment at 3:30am. All you need to know is that there were lesbians fighting, it was pouring rain, and wet clothes came off.

Ok I'm tired of writing right now. Sunday, we went to brunch with my mother, my brother and my nephew, and we had a ball. The only bad news was that we learned my that my grandmother has had a stroke and is in the hospital, which immediately put my mother in another state of mind. I worry about my dad, but he can take care of himself, and he enjoys the solitude. My mother moved back to Cleveland last year to take care of her mother and if something happens, it will be devastating to everyone, but especially her.

There was one tender moment though, that I will share before I shut this entry down. When my son and I arrived at my brother's house, my nephew refused to speak to him. He spoke to me, but he ignored my son repeatedly. I told my nephew that if he didn't speak I'd take away his toys (he about 6 cars in front of him), and immediately, he tried to pull all his toys closer to him. I took the cars away one by one, and of course my nephew starting crying. I just walked away, but my son decided to sit down next to him and start playing. At first my nephew shunned my son, but after about 15 minutes or so, they were playing (as well as a 12 year old and a 3 year old can play) and my nephew said, "I'm sorry" and my son said, "That's ok.!" I know this sounds pretty high on the ghey meter, but I enjoyed it.

I dropped my son off in Hampton, VA. late last night and got back to DC even later. I am tired, hungry and I got a total of 5 hours of sleep all weekend, but I have no real complaints.

Oh and to make things worse, I got splashed by two cars in a 30 second span this morning, so now I am wet and so are my clothes...and yes, that's what she said.

This picture was taken August 30th, 1997. I was 22 years old, my son was 17 days old, and to say I was young, confused, happy and scared would be an understatement of epic proportions. I had graduated from college with a degree in English Education just a few months earlier, and I had just gotten a job to teach at a junior high in Maryland, but all I could think about was my son, and how I would provide for him. As I write this email, he is on his way to me via train, and I know one day glorious day, he will get his grubby little hands on my corrupt and immature blog, and I sincerely hope that he lands on this entry first. I can't wait to see him today.

I have basketball stuff to write today, so my blog gets the shaft. Sorry. Plus its raining out today.. I don't know what that has to do with anything, but it sounds like a good excuse.

Here is one of the articles I wrote already. The other one is here. Until then, let the smooth, soulful vocal stylings of Mr. Michael McDonald soothe you.

When I was in high school and totally in love with college basketball, there was a coach named Nolan Richardson. Richardson was the coach of the University of Arkansas, and he named the style of play his team played, "40 Minutes of Hell". He chose that particular term because his team would play up tempo on offense, and with intense pressure on defense. The goal was to get the other team to succumb to this intense pressure.

While I certainly don't want him succumbing, I do plan on executing my own version of this on my son this weekend, except mine will be called 36 Hours of Hell.

My 12 year old son's excuses as to why his grades were poor was a bunch of horsesh*t. And the sad part is, it sounded like he put a tremendous amount of thought behind it, which I commend him for on one hand, but on the other hand, I'd like to have seen that type of effort put to better use. He said he had distractions at home, he said switching schools in late December was tough, and he said the work is more difficult, which sounds great. But when all of his teachers are telling me that his homework never gets done, and he's not turning in assignments, it screams of a lack of effort more than anything else. Plus I can't tell him that his mother is (fill in a unsavory adjective) and this is contributing to his downfall as well. He doesn't need excuses, he needs better results, and I will help him achieve those.

So, from the time he arrives on Saturday morning, to when he leaves late Sunday afternoon, the young fella will be uncomfortable. We will start by having a long talk about what his second semester expectations are. Then, my father will join us for lunch, and my son will have to hear that same bullsh*t speeches my father delivered to me when I was putting out a sub par effort at this same age. Next, we will take a reprieve from the madness, and attend a Wizards game; however, I will be working that game, which means my father and son will be sitting next to each other (aka the lessons will continue).

On Sunday morning, we will head to my brother's house, where my mother is staying for the weekend. My brother, who also had his challenges in school at one point (way worse than me though..sorry Jamal) will talk to and/or lightly assault my son. My sister-in-law, who is a teacher right now, will join in on the fun, and then my mother will bring up the rear. In fact, my mother will do something far worse than anyone else can do, and that is talk him to death. Then after she talks, I'm quite sure she'll unveil a tailor-made, 90 minute rambling prayer for my son, that not even I can save him from...actually I may jump in, that's just cruel.

And finally, before he leaves, I will make my son watch this Magic Johnson/Larry Bird documentary on HBO for three good reasons:
1) I haven't seen it yet and I want to.
2) My son thinks basketball begins and ends with LeBron James, and he needs to be taught otherwise
3) I can make him write me a couple pages on what he saw and learned.

Win Win Win.

I know this won't cure all his current academic woes, but it'll at least put something on his mind until 2 weeks from now when he returns.

Thank you for letting me "talk" this out.

My friend Nichole had a chance to interview Bilal several months back, Check it out here

My brother's website is now up and running, and you can check that out here.

And I found an old sex tape I recorded a couple years back, and you can see that here.

I will now present to you my flawed theory on the four types of parents there are in this world. Feel free to disagree, agree or say nothing (like you do to all my Hoops Addict articles..by the way click here to hear me and my main man Ryan talk about pressing issues in basketball.).

The first type of parent is the person who really never wanted to have kids, yet, through some errant ejaculation or circumstance, they find themselves having one(or some). They try and try to force themselves to care, and be good parents, but they never really get it together. These types of parents are constant flight risks, they never really and truly try, and once the kids get older(or while they are young), they deeply resent the sub par effort their parent gave. These are also the types of parents who kill, abandon, neglect and sell their kids. Sorry to be so graphic, but the news provides me with endless material.

The second type of parent is what I like to call the rabbit. In track and field, the rabbit (or the pace setter) will show up and run extremely fast for part of the race, just to get the rest of the field running at a faster pace, than they may have otherwise done on their own. Once the fast pace is set, the rabbit gracefully bows out and stops running. In parent terms, this is the person who is perfect for the child from birth to about 12 or 13. They can teach the kid to write, read, do homework, dress, potty train, speak and all the good stuff that is reinforced in kindergarten thru the 8th grade years. This type of parent is very important, because it usually gives the child their first bit of confidence. Unfortunately, the abilities of these types of parents tend to peak at age 12 or 13. This parent doesn't really know how to deal with the teenager version of their child, and when and if the kid starts to unravel, they still rely on earlier tactics and strategies which are dated, antiquated and ineffetive in the older years. A single parent who has this flaw, runs the risk of losing their kid for awhile. In a married or long term relationship type atmosphere, this parent is ok as long as they are with the third type of parent which is...

The finisher. The finisher (obviously) is the exact opposite of the rabbit or pacesetter. This parent does not do a bad job at tending to the child from birth to 12, but they don't do a good job either. They will piggyback (I hate that term, but it fit so well here..that's what she said)off what the rabbit parent says and does, and they will do their very best to be a good parent in the formative years, but it simply is not their strength. But once that kid turns 13, and starts dealing with puberty, the opposite sex, college issues, more critical thinking and complex homework, this parent turns into a superhero. All of a sudden they have the right answers for the child, and everything is alright. Unfortunately, if this type of parent doesn't have a rabbit around, the 13 year old version of the kid that falls in their lap is not receptive to them, and their powers are nullified.

And finally we have the Cosby parents. These are the parents that are dynamite from start to finish..except they never really finish. They go from being parents to their child, to friends to their adult children, and although they aren't perfect, they strive to be close to it. This is the gold standard of parenthood everyone should strive to be..in my humble opinion.

Now..my parents were Cosby parents (despite my glaring flaws and shortcomings). My lady will be a Cosby parent. My brother is a Cosby parent. My son's mother is the rabbit parent, and I highly suspect that I am the closer type of parent, which is why its time for my son to live with me. She's carried him as far as he can go, and although I know it'll hurt her to let go, its time to do just that for his benefit.

Think this will hold up in court?



Jesus Children of America - Stevie Wonder

This weekend I took a break from basketball, the computer, and Washington DC overall, and I took a trip with the lady to NYC. And even though the trip was only Saturday to Sunday, I had an absolute ball.

Saturday night we went to see Cassandra Wilson and Esperanza Spalding in New Jersey. Thanks to the slow ass PATH train that made our trip from NYC to Newark a tedious one, we were 20 minutes late, and we missed more than half of Esperanza's set, but what we saw was still great. And even though Cassandra Wilson kept mysteriously leaving the stage while her band was playing, she took put on a great show. Her band was great, and I never tire of hearing her deep, husky voice.

Sunday, after taking a short detour to hear some jazz in Central Park, we headed to a birthday brunch in honor of my friend Janelle Considering there were about 15 women there, and only 3 guys (one of whom looked a little suspect), I really don't know how I survived. There were inappropriate pictures and conversations all around me, and the only thing that kept me from losing my mind was the Magic/Lakers game going on in the background..oh and of course my high mimosa intake. Great times were had! I still don't know how people live in New York, but I have no problems visiting at all.

Right now as I type, my son's class is en route to DC for their field trip, and the weather finally cooperated. There's only one problem: My son is not on that bus. His mother called me at work on Friday to say that his progress report was terrible, and we made the decision to keep him from attending his class field trip. I really wanted to chaperone and see him, and I struggled with the idea of taking this trip away, but it (along with several other things) needed to be done. Thank God he's coming to stay with me this weekend, because lots of talks need to be had. He really needs to be living with me now, but that's a whole other blog that frankly would take me too long to write.

I wanted to get into work a little earlier than usual this morning, so I took the train instead of taking my usual 15-20 minutes stroll. Of course, this wasn't just any usual train ride, this was the morning-after-a-major-shooting-at-the-Pentagon last night train ride, which meant things were much different. There was no idle chatter. I mean NONE. Everyone was watching everyone else carefully, and if one person was making too many sudden, quick movements, all eyes were fixated in that direction. Eye contact was also at an all-time high, because usually people are reading the paper, a book, or scrolling through their ipods trying to find the ideal song to drown out the usual background noise of the train. On this morning all eyes on alert.

Now you could just say that I was being paranoid and even more observant because of the events last night, but that would be incorrect. I'm always on the look out for creepy people on the train, and I make it a point to always stand up near the door, so I can observe the behavior of others. And this morning there was definitely a change, as there should have been. But its not just the shooting that has Metro riders frazzled. Its the crashes, the numerous delays, the fare hikes out of the blue, people jumping in front of the trains..all of that. And the sad part part is, not everyone can walk to work everyday like I can. There are some people who cannot drive because parking prices are absurd, so the train is the most convenient option, but clearly its not without its share of headaches as well.

I know every city has their commuter horror stories, so I won't go on about this too long, I just noticed it this morning, and I had to get it off my chest somehow. And I didn't even ride the train anywhere near the Pentagon. My lady's commute takes her right by that area, so I can only imagine what's going on for people over there.

Oh and apparently there is a movie/documentary coming out soon on A Tribe Called Quest. Click here for details

Will You Be Mine - Anita Baker
This song doesn't have jack to do with what I've written, I just forgot it was on my ipod, and it came on while I was in the shower.

So in June of 2008, I wrote about a mini-saga I had with my then new neighbor. My lady and I noticed she had just moved in, and we decided to bless her with a good bottle of white wine (as someone had done for us when we moved in). For whatever reason, that fine bottle of wine sat outside of her apartment a few days, and I wanted to repo it, and drink it for myself, but the lady advised against that. Finally, after a few days, my neighbor came home, rescued the bottle of wine from the hallway, and kept me from raising hell. After a chance meeting in the hallway, she thanked us, promised to invite us over(still hasn't happened), and it was all good.

Since then, I have smelled the sticky green coming out of her apartment, seen her parading around her apartment in the nude with her blinds open, and watched her leave various odd items outside her apartment for weeks at a time. In other words she's the ideal neighbor right and a class act.

So this past Monday, I found myself in the elevator with this woman, and I was faced with 30-45 seconds of bullshit idle chatter, and I really wasn't up for that. So I took the bull by the horns(no clue what that means) and decided to tell her about the homeless man that had found comfort in our lobby earlier in the week. She had NO clue about that, and she was a bit taken aback that our property owner hadn't put up a sign about what had happened, and what precautions they planned on taking. Our conversation continued outside of the elevator as we went into our respective apartment, and she thanked me over and over again for my help. She also mentioned (about 20 times) that she was from New York, so she was used to such things. Why do people from New York always tell you as much? Wesley Snipes was on Jimmy Fallon earlier this week and he mentioned he was from the Bronx like 30 times? Really Wesley? How are those taxes? I was born in Manhattan in 1975, and I lived there for 2 years, but you don't see me peppering my interviews (I have none) and my blog with, "Yeah I'm from Manhattan."..even though if I did, I suspect I would have zero street cred, and ultimately isn't that what life is about? I digress...

So yesterday when I got home, there was a bottle of wine (Beaujolais) and a note that said, "Thank you for being such good neighbors." It was a very sweet gesture, and I appreciate the love, but now the games REALLY begin. Do I go over there and say thank you? Do I get a card or a return bottle of wine? And will she judge our response and then adjust her treatment of us? Or does me being a good neighbor mean that all I have to do is drink the wine, and she'll get satisfaction out of seeing the empty bottle in the trash? There are so many rules, and I'm so ill-prepared for this. She basically took the 2 year upper hand that my lady and I had from initially buying her wine, snatched it away, and now put the onus on us. Who does she think she is?

The Stylistics - Hurry Up This Way Again

I don't know what is going on here with the weather, but I wish it would stop. Apparently the Hampton area got yet another snowstorm, which forced my son's field trip to be cancelled for the THIRD time. To his credit, he warned me last night that it was snowing, and the weather was bad, so I braced myself. Still, I was hoping that somehow things would change, but they did not. I suspect the level of ineptitude when it comes to snow is even higher down there than it is here in DC. So now I have to come to work. Thank you Hampton, Virginia!

On my way in to work this morning, I read about the demise of Saturday mail, and I realized that much sooner rather than later, the post office will meet the same fate as newspapers. They will eventually both be extinct and it sucks. In high school, I would wake up and get the paper from the bottom of our driveway, steal the sports page out of there en route to school, read it before class, pass it around for my classmates to read, and then get yelled at by my father when I didn't return it in the condition it left. In college, checking the mailbox was a ritual that every student cherished. Was there mail? Did mom or dad send a care package? Did my Playboys finally arrive? Did my girl write me? Did my uncle send me that cash? The mail was a big deal..and now I don't see it being around in 10 years.

And same sex marriage is legal in DC now, and all three major networks had tv crews and reports outside of DC Superior Court, as people lined up to get their licenses. Some of them were crying, some were smiling, and everyone seemed to be having a grand ole time. What does this tell me? Marriages, unlike newspapers and post offices, will never die. Sure more than half of these marriages will end both amicably and badly, and they will want to injure, murder or mildly injure their spouses but all the involved parties will get over it and look to get married again. I don't have a point or a smart ass comment, its just an observation.

So tomorrow is the rescheduled date for my son's Smithsonian field trip, which means I get to finally do all the diabolical things I've been planning to do to embarrass him. He called me yesterday when he got out of school and reminded me what time to be there, and I told him I was all over it. I asked him how long he and his classmates would be in town, and he did not know, so I told him that was his assignment for Tuesday. So tomorrow's entry will be fantastic, today not so much.

Instead, I will post the interview of Kareem, that I WISH I had the opportunity to do. One-on-one, no distractions, no co-interviewer, just me asking him questions with the ability to follow up when I needed to..I watched this interview last night and I cringed, hated, cursed and eventually paid respect to it. But I'm still salty that I didn't get a chance to do this.

Starting Blocks

Last Friday when I got home from the Wizards game, there was a sign in the building of my lobby. Apparently someone had left the front door open all night, and a homeless person made their way in, and slept in the back of the lobby. Whoever found the homeless person was understandably upset, and wrote a sign that basically told all of us who live there to be more careful in making sure the door was closed.

Now I will readily admit that signs like this annoy me and come off as pompous. I instantly thought of about four or five signs I could write that would successfully mock this sign, but then I thought better of it. Whoever found this homeless person was probably distraught and upset, and the first thing that came to their frazzled mind was to write a sign on a sheet of loose leaf. That's a logical enough progression right? But I was very curious to find out who wrote the sign, just so I could file it in the back of my mind.

Sunday morning as I was headed to the farmer's market, I ran into someone in my building, who did not write the sign, but saw the homeless man sleeping in our lobby. She said she was pretty upset and scared when she initially saw the man, not because he was homeless, but because of who else could possibly get into the lobby. I agreed with her, and then we both shared stories of coming home to the door being propped open, presumably by jackasses in the building. We talked for a bit, and then we separated, and I thought that was the end of that...

But this morning when I left the building, there was a homeless man posted up in the lobby, and I had mixed feelings. Do I let this man sleep in the lobby until 8 or so when the cleaning and maintenance people come into the building, or do I uproot him immediately? I choose to uproot him, although after awhile it was clear getting him up was no easy task, so I just rolled out. I sympathize with the brother for wanting to find a warm place to sleep in these semi-cold March nights, but it doesn't sit well with me that its in my building.

Perhaps while I'm at work I will type (my handwriting is atrocious) a note of my own to both the residents of my building and the homeless man.

So last night I went see a musical version of High Fidelity, which I have labeled many many times as my favorite movie. The play was held at the District of Columbia Arts Center, and it seats around 50 people. I was supposed to go with the lady, but she had a prior engagement, so I rolled solo for the first time in awhile.

While I sat and waited for the doors to open, I learned that this play (as well as the movie) was based on a book by Nick Hornby that I now need to purchase. I also learned that people feel sorry for you if you're out by yourself. I had two people point out to me (as if I did not know) that I was there alone, like I had the Ebola virus or something. I could not wait for the show to start so they could leave me alone.

The actual play was surprisingly good. I can't say I had any expectations, considering it was a small production in a small theater, but I was pleasantly surprised. The singing was great, the band (two guitarists, two keyboardists, and a drummer) added to the experience, and the acting was believable and funny. Whenever I go see plays I wait for that moment where I forget I'm watching a play, and just focus on the story at hand, and last night that moment came rather quickly--that's a great thing. Seeing this play made me not only want to see the movie again, but as I said earlier, I will purchase the book as well. So if this production comes to your town, I suggest you go see it.

And now, I will post my favorite scene from the movie:

New Prince, entitled "Cause and Effect"

My article from last night

So after work last night, I went to the barbershop to get my haircut. The beard was getting a little unruly, last week's shape up was starting to unravel, and I needed my barber to make me feel and look less Artestian. When I walked into the shop, my barber informed that he had one more person to tend to before he got me, and I said no problem. The tv was on, I had emails to navigate through on my phone, so I had no problems waiting.

As my barber was accepting the tip from the previous client, his phone rang, and he initially struggled to locate where it was. At first I paid it no mind, and then I recognized the ringtone. It was from Sex and the City. In my mind, I was like, "What the f**k is this? But I didn't dare say anything because I needed a haircut, not only today, but many many days in the future. Biting the hand that cuts me (so to speak) would not be the way to go. Still, I did not understand why a 50 year old, allegedly straight man with locs, had a Sex and the City ringtone. What made it even more puzzling is that none of the other barbers even flinched. I don't know whether they were too busy with their clients, or maybe they simply didn't hear it. Or maybe they didn't recognize the ringtone. But I did. Not because I like the show (I can't stand it), but because I have a Pavlovian reaction to change the channel or leave the room when I hear it.

Anyway, when I got in the chair, I HAD to bring it up, but it had to be done in a tasteful fashion. I wanted to hear his explanation, but I didn't want to call too much attention to it. I asked him about it, and he didn't deny it, and he even started smiling, and I left it alone. Something was/is clearly wrong there. I don't have the most masculine ringtone ever invented on my phone, but it damn sure isn't a show geared towards women and ghey men. And someone mentioned to me that maybe that is his ringtone for when his girlfriend calls. That is still unacceptable. I have a ringtone for my lady, and its Maxwell. Sure he's feminine, but the song masks.

It occurs to me that maybe I'm too old to have ringtones on my phone. It also occurs to me that this rant could quite possibly be interpreted as homophobic. It is not. Its falls on the pro-masculine side.

But like I said, I can't go anywhere, so I just have suck it up. Luckily for me, I have a blog where I can vent sans consequences. And now, I present the main ringtone for my phone..

Angela (the theme from Taxi) - Bob James

Considering how I'm not even two years into it, I probably should not complain about the tremendous opportunity and privilege I have had to cover the NBA. But I will. Just for today.

This week is kicking my ass. I've had to cover a game on Monday and Wednesday, and there's another one tomorrow. Each one of those games virtually guarantee a 1am bed time or later, and then the next day I have to hammer out an article, in between trying to work at my regular job. Someone in there I have to find time for myself, my lady, and other things like family, reading, working out, etc. Its not impossible, because I have been doing with varying degrees of success, and I know and work with people who have to do more with less..but f**k them, this is about me right now.

**Sidebar** I hate when people try to minimize my issues by saying things like, "You shouldn't complain, there are people in Haiti who have nothing, and they are keeping a positive attitude." You know what? Good for them. I wish them continued success because what happened to them is tragic. That in no way means I can't complain, maybe it just means I can't complain as long as I'd like. But don't play the Haiti card with me.**End Sidebar**

I woke up this morning, and my body hurt, I wanted to sleep in, but all I was thinking about was a)what am I going to write about today b)when the hell am I going to figure out how to edit video from this flip cam and c)why are there so many damn Wizards home games as of late. And now that I've gotten all that out of my system, I will man up and continue to do this without complaint. I'm having too much fun, but today is just one of those days I suppose.

In what seems to be a daily segment here in my blog, I would like to apologize to the guy who bumped into me, dropped his cell phone down the escalator, and then started cursing loudly and often. You were so busy texting with your head down, that you didn't see me running down the escalator to catch the train. You KEPT your head down and moved from the right side of the escalator where people were standing, and tried to move to the left side where people were walking (I was running). I saw you moving over, but a)I wasn't stopping b)I am not equipped with a horn and c)even I thought I should stop, when I saw you texting with your head down, I swear I sped up. I ran right into your phone, it tumbled down, and the cursing began. As the train sped away with me on it, and you weer picking up the pieces, I felt bad. You gotta keep that head up though...that's what he said.

Phil Collins - I Missed Again

This is the time of the year (at least it has been for the past 4 or 5 years) when I call up my father and ask him if he is down to attend the Penn Relays. My father has been a track and field fan his entire life, and it hurts him to see how the sport has been basically relegated to an afterthought. Track meets rarely come on television these days, and if they do, they are aired about 3 weeks after they actually happened, and nobody cares at that point. During Summer Olympic years (the only Olympics worth watching in my opinion, damn these Winter Games), ESPN steps up their track coverage, but its not nearly enough to satisfy my father's (or mine really) appetite. So the Penn Relays is ALL track, all day, for all ages, so I know he'll be down to go.

But something always comes up to prevent us from actually going. Either I will have something to do, or he has something to do that he previously neglected or he and I will just forget to follow through with the other. Now its actually a running joke with us. He'll say, "So yeah how are the Penn Relays looking this year?", and I'll laugh and say, "I'm ready when you are", but not a damn thing happens.

But when Julius Erving turned 60 the other day, I realized that means that my father will also hit that milestone, and all types of good and bad thoughts ran through my head. And one of the main thoughts that made its way to the forefront of my mind was the damn Penn Relays. I am DETERMINED to get that man to Philly this year to see some damn track and field, and I may even need to enlist the help of my brother to do this. It can be an all man trip with my son and my nephew coming along as well, or maybe its just me and my dad, or whatever combination, I don't really care. I just need to make sure that man gets his wish, and that I record some video and take pictures. These things cannot be taken for granted.

So I'm writing this has a reminder to myself. Sorry if this bored you. Oh and if any of you people are interested in seeing the musical version of the GREAT movie High Fidelity, please let me know. I may have one or two tickets available.

Here is yet another article I wrote.

That's all - Genesis

First off, I would like to shout out the older black woman who works at the Jewish Community Center where I swim. I know it has been a good three weeks since I've been swimming, and its possible that you forgot what I look like, even though I've been coming there since January of last year. But when it is 6:03, and the center opens at 6am, and you look outside at me twice and don't open the door, its a problem. And when you leave and come back with the janitor who finally opens the door at 6:05, its a bigger problem. But when I walk by you and say good morning, and you say, "Boy I didn't recognize you, that's why I didn't open the door. I thought you were coming to rob the place or something, you can never be too careful", you deserve to be slapped repeatedly (by another woman of course not me). And your attempt to laugh it off, and then touch my shoulder, was even worse. Tomorrow, I WILL rob you.

I would also like to shout out the woman who hands out the statistics for the Washington Wizards. It won't kill you to say hello just once. I've seen you speak to other staff members, other bloggers, fans, etc, but you refuse to speak to me for some reason. I know you're attractive, and you probably think every man wants your stuck up ass, but its simply not the case. I just want some pleasantries with my stats delivery, is that so hard? The other woman who hands out the stats seems to have grasped this concept, and so has the other guy who does the same job. But you are lagging behind, and its annoying. It you didn't speak to anyone, I'd give less than a flying f**k whether you spoke, but since it seems to be directed towards me, you can GFY.

And lastly, I would like to extend warm greetings and salutations to whoever organized the black history tribute yesterday at the Verizon Center. Yesterday's black history moment celebration, was for a picture of Julius Erving to be shown, as well as announcement that yesterday was his birthday. What the f**k does that have to do with black history month? Dr. J played ball, he was black, his birthday is in February, and BOOM a black history lesson/moment is born? Come on man, do better, and think harder..teach people about the Harlem Rens or something..that's history. I love Dr. J as much as the next man, but come on..

Misunderstanding - Genesis

Today is my day off, which means I don't feel like doing jack. Not to mention, I wrote two articles yesterday, and I honestly did not feel like waking up today and writing a single word. I'll be back at it tomorrow, but not before I share some links

1) Here is an excellent article on Roger Ebert. The story is kind of sad, but its inspirational and EXTREMELY well-written. Shoutout to Nichole for hipping me to this

2)Here and here are the two articles I wrote yesterday.

Please read at least two of the three. Would I steer you wrong?

Here is how Tiger Woods' press conference should go today:

"Hello all and thank you for coming out and supporting me. As you all know I am going through some personal issues right now, and while I'm working those out, I'd ask that you continue to give me privacy. And if you don't want to give me privacy, then f**k you, because when I start winning match after match like Edwin Moses, you all will be right back on my d**k, and I'll ignore you.

But the REAL reason I am here, is to announce that I will be returning to golf on March 25 at the Arnold Palmer Invitational. I played there and won last year, I'm comfortable there, and Arnold Palmer is my boy. And to you golfers who have been taking advantage of my personal life issues, and talking sh*t about me, let's remember something: I own you. You can't beat me at golf, so you try to take shots at me while I'm gone, and that's fine. Well I'm back now, and I'm coming for that ass.

Thank you Nike for continuing to hold me down. That was huge...huge!."

If Tiger searched the internets, found my speech, and belted it out verbatim, I'd buy a poster of him and put it up at my job. Then I'd beg him to pay me 100k a year to run his website..but I digress.

My Hectic Night At The Verizon Center

By the way, let me discuss something that I am extremely disturbed by right now. I don't know how it happens, or why it happens, but ever since I got my new blackberry, the facebook profiles of the people in my phone are magically popping up. I can be receiving a text message, a blackberry message, an email or just an incoming call, and then I'll see facebook profile pictures. In some cases like with my lady or my brother (who has my nephew in his profile pic) I certainly don't mind looking at the profile picture..in fact it makes me smile.

But when my boys Kevin, Cliff or Sabin call, I don't want to see their smiling faces all in my phone. There something not right about getting a phone call or a text from your boy, and you look down at your phone and BAM there they are smiling at you like heyyyy. I need to sit down this weekend and really re-evaluate my relationship with my phone.

I'd also like to take this time to apologize to the lady I laughed at this morning, while walking into work. I saw you fall, but I was too far away to help you out, and when you got up, I thought everything was going to be ok. But when you fell 3 more times, and refused to stop talking on your cell phone, I felt the laughter bubbling up..and then when you fell that fourth time (over that same patch of ice I might add) and you dropped your phone, your bag, and your hat fell off, surely you didn't expect me to keep my composure, and not laugh at your non nimble, clumsy ass. By this point I probably could have helped you, because I had caught up to where you were standing (or falling) but I didn't feel sorry for you, because again, your phone conversation was more important than your balance management. Come to think of it, I'm revoking my apology.

You've Ruined Me - Norah Jones

First off, if you get a chance, please this story, about Kareem's upcoming movie and the story behind it. Its worth a look.

Last Saturday, while I was in Dallas, I had the opportunity to meet Denver Nuggets coach George Karl. Karl was slated to be the coach of the Western Conference All-Star team, but on this particular day he was doing meet and greets with members of the media. I wanted to interview him and speak to him about basketball matters, but I couldn't seem to catch up with him. Either the crowd around him was too big, or he was talking to friends about non-basketball matters. Eventually I had to move on and talk to other available players and personalities.

But towards the end of the media session, I looked over in a corner somewhere, and I noticed Karl was signing an autograph for a little kid. And after the autograph, he kept talking to the kid about who is favorite player was (it was Carmelo Anthony), how he was enjoying Dallas so far, and what his grades were like in middle school. It was a warm exchange, and it was done away from the cameras and most of the media. As he ended his conversation with the kid and headed back to his hotel, I caught up with Karl, and I was ready to ask him some basketball questions, when I noticed he had teared up a bit.

I asked him if he was ok, and he said yes, but he really didn't want to talk basketball, which I understood. I just told him I admired him as a coach, and I admired his battle with prostrate cancer back in 2005. He shook my hand, thanked me, patted me on the shoulder, and then walked away slowly, and I felt honored to have shared a brief tender moment with him.

Yesterday, Karl announced to the media that cancer had again showed up in his body, except this time it skipped his prostate, and it was in his throat and neck. His plan was to take a leave of absence, get treatments, and then hopefully come back for the playoffs. His press conference was emotional as you might imagine, and at one point he told the media, "You never get used to having cancer," and then he broke down again. The entire Denver Nuggets team was standing behind him in support. He admitted that he knew during All-Star weekend that the cancer has come back, but he wanted to wait until after that weekend so he could tell him team the news first.

This morning, as I watched the press conference again, I told my lady, that you just never know what someone is going through. I saw Karl just a few days ago, sharing a tender moment with a kid, thinking he was just touched by the interaction--meanwhile he was probably thinking about how few of these moments he could have left.

I'll be totall honest with you. I'm not recovered from my Dallas trip. That is why my blog sucks right now, that's why I haven't written about the recent Wizards trade, its why I haven't written this story Kareem's publicist wants me to write, and its why I haven't written an All-Star article for Hoops Addict. I'm just totally drained and tired. My apologies. By tomorrow, I'll be back on my grind..whatever that means. Please forgive me.

So I think its safe to finally sit down and do a little bit of reflection on the All-Star experience in Dallas. I left yesterday morning (before the game) so that I could come home and spend Valentine's Day with my lady. And before you attempt to make me feel bad for missing the All-Star game last night, let me attempt to explain why. 1)I interviewed all of the players I wanted to talk to on Friday and Saturday, and Sunday would have been overkill. 2)None of you reading probably remembers this, but February 14, 2009 was the due date for my lady and I's child, before she lost the baby. That is still an emotional subject and day for us, so again, there was no way I was missing yesterday, even with an All-Star game looming. I digress big time..

I'll focus on the good parts first. I met Kobe Bryant and his wife, Bernard Hopkins, Spike Lee, Erykah Badu, Spencer Haywood (for you old school basketball fans), Dell Curry, Jermaine Dupri, Bill Rhoden (writer for the NY Times), Chris Webber, Charles Barkley and countless others. I also met numerous fans who thought I was way more important than I really was, simply because I had press credentials. I was able to walk in front of many men and women who thought they were SO very important and undeserving of waiting in line to gain entry, because I had credentials (which fed my ego I must admit). And of course I gained some good audio clips from the All-Stars, which is why I was there of course. I can't wait to go back next year, when my approach will be much better, and my game plan will be airtight.

Now the bad..in list form
1)I was WAY overwhelmed. I mean WAY overwhelmed. Everything moves so quickly, and there was no formal schedule, so you just had to ask around, and navigate your way thru things as best you could. I felt like it was my first time covering sports all over again

2)I had no seating the entire weekend. According to the several people I talked to, the NBA gave out more credentials than they had seating (except for Sunday's game of course which was held in the monstrous Cowboys Stadium), so there were some folks like me who did not get seats. I was also told I was one of the last people to get credentials which further explained why I was on the outside looking in

3)I needed someone there with me. A camera person, a best friend, my girl, someone to share my experience, my jokes, my fears, my frustrations, somebody goddammit. I met folks here and there who I recognized, and I made new contacts, but it simply isn't the same as sharing things with someone who actually knows you and vice versa. A cynic would argue that I need to step out of my comfort zone sometimes, and I totally get that. But I needed balance

4)Remember all those famous people I met above? NONE of them were interested in talking with the microphone on..in fact some of them were great in casual conversation, but then when I wanted to record them for Hoops Addict (except for the All Stars of course) they got all shy and denied me, which pissed me off. Considering there hundreds and hundreds of journalists around, I know why they didn't do it, but still, selfishly speaking, I wanted that you know?

5)The hotel lost my flip cam which had been delivered to the hotel two days before I arrived, and they did not find it until early Sun morning...a few hours before I checked out, and WAY too late for me to capture any footage.

I have other regrets like getting a "speeding" ticket for going 48 in a 35, not writing an actual story or keeping a blog while I was down there, not attending any parties because I was DEAD tired, and missing out on staying downtown with the rest of the writers and journalists, because all the hotels were booked by the time I found out about my credentials. But I won't dwell on the negative. Overall, it was definitely a learning experience, and next year hopefully i'll have a photographer with me, a flip cam of my own, and I'll be armed with a much better game plan.

Oh and I briefly made it on tv. See below at the 2:09-2:24 mark. I'm the one with the green sweater and brown sportscoat

Well I'm here in Dallas, and so far I've found out I have no seating, I've gotten pulled over by the cops, and I've gotten some excellent interviews. No complaints though.

This morning I made it out of the house, and I braved the slushy roads, 3 inch deep water puddles, deep snow, and splashes from passing cars, long enough for me to get to the barbershop. When I got there it was basically empty.. one barber was skipping rope in the middle of the shop, and the other was on the phone presumably talking to a woman. My usual barber was still snowed in, so I was forced to go to my auxiliary barber, who was more than happy to see me. He explained that business had been extremely slow so far during the month of February, and he was worried about making next month's rent, let alone get food and other things to make day to day. He could have been just trying to get a bigger tip from me, but since he wasn't my regular barber, it wasn't happening. Still, I felt bad for him. I suspect there are numerous business suffering financially from this snowstorm.

Speaking of snow, I hear that Dallas is expecting 3-5 inches over the next 48 hours. 3-5 inches isn't that much snow, but to an area like Dallas that barely gets anything, that could be trouble, and flights will be cancelled and/or delayed. At this point, I fear that I may be stuck in airports all damn day. Its bad enough I couldn't get a direct flight from here to Dallas, but to be stuck in Charlotte, unable to get to Dallas would not be good. Given the paragraph I just wrote about someone not being able to make their rent, this seems trivial, but its not. Tomorrow will be interesting. I'm happy to be home again today though.

Blame It On The Boogie - The Jacksons

One would think that being stuck in the house, would cause me to write fantastic blog entries and articles on Hoops Addict. No such luck. I don't feel like writing, I've barely been reading, and my alleged creativity has been mysteriously stifled. Instead, I have been occupying my time on this damn laptop doing God knows what. Its a bit disappointing considering I'm going back to work tomorrow (probably), but oh well.

Yesterday I was a bit worried, but today I am very worried that my flight to Dallas for the All-Star game may be delayed on Friday. The airports shut down yesterday, and they are closed all day today, and who knows what types of delays will be in play on Thursday and Friday. After all the talking(borderline bragging to be honest..sorry) I have done about being able to attend this event, it would be a damn shame if I missed this event. Plus I'm ready to get the hell out of DC for a weekend, this weather is simply depressing.

Would you like to win a free Flip Mino Camcorder courtesy of Hoops Addict? Go here for details.

I have discovered a new level of crazy on this my second consecutive day home from work (4th day home overall). It is the craziness that comes from getting a text from your lady saying, "I just saw the grocery truck!" I was on my way from the pool, and instead of coming straight home, I went to the grocery store, where clearly other people had seen that same truck. The store was packed, the employees were in the process of stocking the shelves, and people like me were snatching things off at the same time. Considering 12-18 more inches are coming, and we don't know when the next delivery is coming, I had to slightly slip into crazy mode in the store. I spent way more money than I should have too. What does all this mean? I am ready to go back to work tomorrow, but its not bloody likely..

If I didn't live in the heart of the city, where bars, restaurants, grocery stores, the pool, Starbucks, etc were all within one to three blocks, I'd have committed a slew of violent crimes right now. But I do, so everyone lives. And if you happen to be stuck in the house or off from work, check out the new Sade. Its pretty good.

Sade - The Safest Place

After resisting the feature for several weeks, I finally decided to give in and incorporate the feature you see to the right of this blog. Its called formspring, and it gives you people the opportunity to ask me questions. You can identify yourself, or you can answer anonymously, whatever works for you. After you ask the question, you can go here and see the answer. Its just a new wrinkle I've added, and as with anything new I try, I reserve the right to revoke this and deny I ever tried it.

Not only was my Super Bowl prediction off, but I lost $50 because of Peyton Manning's inability to close the deal. Thanks Peyton! And I'd like to send a special shout out to all you non football fans who never watched New Orleans one time this year, suddenly shouting out "Who Dat" with all the fake passion, your non-football watching ass can muster. I'd like to see you all go down an icy hill in an ice storm on roller skates.

I'm off today thanks to this snow, hopefully you are too. And more is coming on Tuesday and Wednesday. This is fantastic. I just need it to stop before I leave for Dallas on Friday.

Alanis Morissette - Uninvited

I am rooting for the Colts to win the Super Bowl today. I love New Orleans, I hated Katrina, and I love the way that city continues to bounce back (they are a long way from being back to "normal"). A Super Bowl win for that city would be a really big deal and it would surely boost everything about the city. It would also increase the number of times I'd see Reggie Bush's face on magazine, and nobody wants that. No, I will be rooting for the Colts. I love Peyton Manning, and I love Tony Dungy who built this team (Jim Caldwell's just pulling a Jon Gruden and riding on the coattails of Dungy).

I say all that to say, the Colts will win tonight 35-32. Ma

Last night my lady and I were in our local Mexican bar enjoying strong margaritas and stronger conversation. We were tipsy, sports were on the television, and the snow was coming down like nobody's business. To the right of us was this woman who had her homework out, as well a rather tall margarita by her side. I noticed that our bartender was spending a lot of time talking to this woman about her homework, but I thought it was just idle bar stool chatter (something i know nothing about). Then I decided to listen a little closer.

This assclown of a woman had Spanish homework to do, and rather than doing it herself, she had the Mexican bartender doing the homework for her. At one point, this bartender had a pen in her hand, and was writing down something for the woman whose job it was to actually do the homework. At first I thought I was hearing it wrong, but I clearly wasn't. This woman was getting her homework done, and all she had to do was keep ordering food and drinks. It was snowing so hard, that there only a few people in there, so its not like any customers were neglected as a result of this bullshit. At one point, I had to interrupt this student/teacher session to get my quesadillas ordered, and it took everything in me not to say something smart and mean. In hindsight, I should have..Who the hell goes to a bar and gets their homework done?

Anyway it is GREAT being snowed in..mimosas are on the way, crazy people are on skis outside of my window, the Wizards game in cancelled, and there is food galore. Here's a pic right down the street from me:

So last night, thanks to all these damn commercials about Michael Vick's television show, I had a dream about a black Labrador retriever. It started off with me in a park throwing a football with my dad and brother. Out of nowhere, the black lab came up to me, sniffed my crotch the pervy way dogs do, licked my hand, wagged its tail, and the it ran away with its owner. No harm done there. But then, when I got back to my house, I hung up my coat, went to the kitchen to get some water and BAM that same dog was sitting in the kitchen. He ran up to me and repeated his earlier routine off sniffing, licking and wagging. The odd part is I didn't question where the hell this dog came from, or why it was in my house, I just gave it water, petted it, and then went and changed clothes. When I emerged from my room, the dog was gone...But then two hours later, before I went to sleep, the dog was on the foot of my bed sleeping quietly. Again, none of these things caused any alarm with dream Rashad, I just took it all in stride.

I woke up this morning fully expecting to see that damn dog in the shower waiting on me, but I dodged that bullet. BUT, about 10 minutes into my morning walk to work, what did I see? A f**king black lab on a leash. And what did the dog do? Sniff, lick and wag (not that it is unusual for a dog to do that but still). Before the dog ran off, he winked at me, and said, "Remember me motherf**ker I'm still here!"(yeah right) But seriously, I'm looking for that dog every time I turn the corner. Perhaps when I look out of my window when this apocalyptic snow arrives tonight, I'll see the dog making angels and frolicking..

Mother nature is laughing at us by the way. Snow on Friday and Saturday? What part of the game is that?

Seal - Kiss From A Rose

Today in as-the-field-trip turns, we learn that once again Hampton Public Schools are once again closed due to inclement weather. When I talked to my son last night he said, "Daddy this is getting ridiculous, I'm ready to go back to school!", and while I admire his fervent admiration for higher education, I don't believe a word of what he says. Apparently that Hampton Roads area is even more ill-equipped to handle snow than the DC area. We got less than four inches of snow last night and EVERY school system is closed in the area, except DC schools. And the only reason they aren't closed is 1)they can't afford to close them and 2)some kids simply will not eat without the school systems being closed. With Mayor Fenty's approval rating falling like Wile E. Coyote , he really cannot afford to anger citizens any more than he already has. I got WAY off topic.

So yesterday, my main man and Hoops Addict editor, Ryan informed me that I have media credentials to cover the NBA All Star game in Dallas next weekend. I am definitely pumped up for this event, but there also numerous little challenges and mini-obstacles to hurdle along the way. First and foremost, this is during Valentine's Day weekend, which means I could possibly be in the doghouse if arrangements are not made to accommodate this day (and they are). Second, I can't bring a photographer with me, like I did to my Kareem interview.. I'll have to buy a camera or a video camera, so I can attempt to capture moments and interview people at the same time. Thirdly, since I learned about these credentials so damn late, I am having a hell of a time trying to find a good hotel with availability. My boss suggested I just find any hotel to stay in, and while I agree with her in principle, I'm am still aiming high. That being said, there's no way in hell I'm missing this, and I will be down there. And someone will cut me a side deal.

I got my This Is It DVD in the mail yesterday and the lady and I watched it, and then I continued to watch 70% of th extra features on my own. You have no idea how much I'm going to wear that thing out..guilt free I might add (that's what he said). And if you haven't purchased it, what the hell are you waiting on? Michael Jackson is dead, and he's not coming back thru that door, so we need to cherish the memories he left..end of commercial.

For the second time in four days, mother nature has planted her big ass in the way of me seeing my son. Because of the amount of snow that hit the Hampton area, schools are closed for the second consecutive day, which means no field trip, no chaperoning, no nothing. I emailed his teacher for like the fourth time in the past few weeks (I know she has to be annoyed at me constantly introducing myself as Carlton's father, but she'll get over it) and asked her what the backup date is. So now instead of sleeping in and anticipating an opportunity to embarrass my son repeatedly, I'm at my desk on 4 hours of sleep. As I typed this entry, I got an email from his teacher letting me know that his trip is now scheduled for tomorrow. Good times!

By the way, let me take some time to promote myself. To the three of you who actually like the basketball, you can go here tomorrow night and chat online with me during the Wizards/Knicks game. I did this a few months ago, but it sucked, because it was a Friday night, and nobody cared. Hopefully Wednesday night will be different. Even if you don't like me, basketball or the Wizards, you can still say hi just to boost my numbers and my approval ratings. Also, here is my article from last night.

I also forgot to shout out my main man Kurt Elling yesterday. Kurt, who I've been trying to get everyone in the world to listen to since I discovered him in 2007, won his first Grammy for his wonderful cd entitled, "Dedicated To You", which was his tribute to the Johnny Hartman/John Coltrane that came out in 1963. I highly suggest you buy both of them, and then I suggest you buy Kurt's whole collection and you can thank me later. You can read the paper on Sunday morning while you watch it snow and listen to his music, you can have passionate sex to his music, or you can just sit there with your headphones on and admire his work. It doesn't matter to me, just trust me and buy it. That's my ringing endorsement of Mr. Elling.

And now to bring my point home even further, I will link one of Mr. Elling's songs entitled, "A New Body and Soul". He took the jazz classic, "Body and Soul" and added his own lyrics.

I fully expected to be smiling this morning, as I typed and recalled the dazzling events of a weekend spent with my son. However the massive snowstorm, the likes of which usually avoid the Hampton Roads area, and hit Washington DC, actually decided to foil my plans. My son was very disappointed because 1)He wasn't going to get a new phone 2)He wasn't getting new clothes 3)He wasn't going to the Wizards/Knicks game, and 4)He would not get to see me. And yes that is the proper order. Now, an additional snowstorm looms for Tuesday, and that could affect his class field trip. They'd have no problem getting from Hampton to DC, but going back could be pretty treacherous. I will not be a happy camper if this happens, as if I have been looking forward to this chaperoning gig for quite some time. Is it possible for me to blame Al Gore?

I did watch the Grammys last night, but I don't have an eloquent rundown. I resent the lack of attention played to both singing and showmanship, that past Grammy performers seemed to take such pride in showing. But I'm not going to slam the show completely, because I sat up there and watched the whole thing(some of it on mute) over the NFL Pro Bowl. I liked Maxwell, I liked Jeff Beck's tribute to Les Paul, I liked seeing Elton John, Roberta Flack and Stevie Nicks, and I'm now a new fan of the Zac Brown Band. I did NOT approve of that b.s. Michael Jackson tribute at all. As I told m'lady right afterwards, only Michael Jackson should be doing Michael Jackson tributes. Play his songs, run some photos of him and call it a day..