Today is my son's 14th birthday. That picture was taken two weeks after he was born--the day Princess Diana died. He gets on my nerves, he's not with me today, but I spoke with him today, he got my gifts, and I know he loves me. Nothing else really matters.

ESPN, the Washington Wizards, my main man Kyle and me.

About a month or so ago, my wife discussed an article with me that laid out the pros and cons of having sex during pregnancy (yeah you might be grossed out, but you might laugh so stick around). Maybe to you the thought of having a pregnant woman and her husband doing the dirty deed is disgusting, but to me it is not only beautiful, but it will be my way of life the next few months.

The article broke down desirable positions (man on top gets the thumbs down, man on side or behind gets the thumbs up), it discusses that the woman may not be in the mood due to nausea and other factors, and it even discusses the advantages of a (female) orgasm when it gets close to baby delivery time. As an aside, usually when I read WebMD articles, I'm trying to figure out whether the pain in my side means I'm going to die in 48 hours or less, so to read an article for information purposes only was very refreshing.

At one point in the article, when sexual dos and donts were being discussed, the author writes the following:

One sexual act to avoid during pregnancy is blowing during oral sex, Foreman adds. “If oral sex is performed on the pregnant woman while blowing air into the vagina, the woman can develop an air embolus, which can travel to the lung and have potentially fatal consequences.

Now, the second part of that paragraph is just flat-out scary, so I'm ignoring that. But the first part is what I'd like to delve into a little deeper (that's what he said). Who are these men/women blowing in lady parts, let alone pregnant lady parts? Who has that in their repertoire? Who tells their lady, "Yeah I'm licking, fingering, flicking and biting, but once I blow on/in your ass its a wrap son, what you know about that?" And more importantly, are women telling their men/women, "Blow in it baby, blow in it! Take me there". As a popular Hispanic singer once sang, "I need to know!"

Here's a scenario when blowing in the snatch is ok. Let's say the man has just allowed the woman to go down on him, and he wants to return the favor. Only 30 seconds elapse between when he "finishes" and when he is heading down to hook his lady up in the same fashion. He's confused, he's still excited, and most importantly he's winded, so when he gets down there, he blows a few harmless but forceful breaths into the snatch....It could happen my friends..not with me though.

My latest ESPN offering..

Here is my wife's response to my entry yesterday:

I’ve been threatening to guest blog here again for quite some time. It’s been a while since my last go at this. I felt after yesterday’s pat on the back entry of Rashad’s bed making prowess this was as good a time as any.

Let me first say, that I’m happy and thankful Rashad is stepping up during this pregnancy. I hear about so many men/boyfriends/husbands that don’t so kudos to him. Second, I don’t know where I heard it – probably some has been, relationship expert on Oprah – but basically the lady said if your spouse is doing something to help out, don’t nag and complain be thankful or just do it yourself. I honesty try to do this except when it comes to the bed because it’s a – well a shitty mess.

I have to paint you a really good picture of what a bed he’s made looks like as his attempt yesterday was by far the best I’ve ever seen since I’ve known him. EVER! It should be noted I tried to give him a hi-five for a job well done. So yeah anomaly my ass! Imagine if you will someone has made your bed and it looks like a toddler jumped up and down all over it then buried himself under the covers. That’s what the bed looks like generally after Rashad has done his so-called best. It looks like a small child is under there somewhere and the pillows are propped up all proud-like. And lest I forget that one side has the comforter dragging the floor and the other side is barely grazing the edge of the bed. Oh, and he does this thing – where under all this frumpy mess, he folds the sheet back. That’s his move – the fold back and he is always soooo proud of it as if this bed is ready for showroom status. You bet your sweet ass I’m taking a picture of this atrocity and laughing my ass off!

It really isn’t hard to make a bed. I don’t even make the bed as great as I was expected to as a youth. Making your bed says look, there’s some order in this home. It says here’s to a new good night’s worth of sleep in a comfortable spot. He doesn’t get it and I don’t expect him to. This is why I make the bed 95% of the time unless I have to leave work before him. The real question here is why would a grown man spend so much time un-smoothing a bed? We spent a good 10 minutes at my sister’s house last weekend smoothing and unsmoothing the bed in her guest room because he just couldn’t stand the great bed making job I’d done. God bless his whole heart.

The wife's pregnancy (she's coming up on 4 months and 3 weeks) means that I have to pick up the slack with some of the duties around the house--mainly washing clothes and cleaning the bathroom. It isn't that I cannot perform these tasks in a diligent fashion, because I did them when I was single (although there is one person who reads my blog who visited my house one time when I was single and said my bathroom was messy, I assure you that was an anomaly). It just so happens that my wife is a super anal(pause) perfectionist who likes things done her way, and my way is rarely good enough.

For example this morning she had to be at work super early, which means today was one of the few times I had to make the bed. You see the wife feels like the bed has to made each and every day--even when she takes a nap at 7pm, and gets right back in the bed at 10pm, she still thinks the bed should perfectly made. I think that's horseshit. I think making the bed every day is something you make kids do so that they are disciplined, and single adults should do so they don't get judged by people they hope to sleep with that night. Married couples should have a making-the-bed option, which I clearly would not use unless I was having company (which is never).

Anyway as I made the bed, I was overwhelmed with pressure. No matter how good of a job I do making the bed, the wife comes in, smooths out the bed(whether its un-smooth or not), and mocks the job I have done. In fact one time she took a picture of my bed-making skills, sent them to her sister, and they just laughed and laughed at my work. Still,this morning I fought through the pressure, suppressed my lack of confidence, and I made the bed in such a way that you the readers would be proud of me, even if my wife is not.

By the way she has no complaints about my bathroom cleaning and my clothes washing, it is just the bed making that sucks..

My contribution to ESPN today

My train ride into work is about five minutes long, and usually it is quick and painless. This morning, I spent four of out of those five minutes, watching this emotionally unstable lady make faces at me. At first I was about to get angry and say something, then I quickly figured out that she was emotionally disturbed. She stuck her tongue out me, she bugged her eyes out, she tugged at her ears, and she did other juvenile things that caught me completely off guard. Then she made faces like she was going to cry, and started hitting herself in the head. The two or three other people who saw this, did their best to look away and ignore her, but I was way too curious to look away. I almost laughed, but I'm glad I made some attempt to act my age, because it was just sad. Before I got off the train, I went over and told her to have a nice day, and she sanely said, "Thank you, you do the same." Very weird..


Two minutes later as I walked towards my building, I saw this woman who easily weighed about 300 lbs, bending over to tie her shoe. Most people just kneel down to tie their shoes in the middle of the street, so their ass won't be exposed, but not this woman. She was bent straight over, to reveal a black, sheer thong, except the thong was NOT covering what it should have been covering. She stood straight up one time to pull up her pants, but they were clearly too big, because as soon as she bent back over, there was ass (and other things) exposed, and it was disgusting. It wasn't just that was she overweight, because who cares about that..but how can you not feel that warm August air running all up your exposed asscrack and snatch? And why are your pants that loose? I was deeply offended, and I stepped with purpose past her. I can't say the same for the guy in the postal office worker who stopped and try to holler at her..

I have a lot of cousins who currently live in Akron, Ohio, and when I was younger I used to mock them for still being there. Some chose to go to college in the area, others never went to college, but they all chose to stay in that city even when they were old enough to explore and know that Akron is not really the place to be. Sure LeBron James is from there, and there is a fancy golf tournament played there every year, but it just isn't that great of a city (my apologies to those of you who live and/or visited there and loved it).

But I can admit that in the past month or so, I have seen one of the benefits of them staying in Akron, or just staying close to lots of family in general. Childcare. The wife and I are currently on a mission to find childcare for our unborn son, and it is a bitch. I know we live in DC and all, but that is still no excuse for the closest childcare spot to our house to be charging $2600 a month (and yes you read that right). There have been some other nice places that aren't as close to our house that are charging anywhere between $1200 and $1900, and while that's not quite as bad, that still seems expensive. The nice, affordable places under a grand have extensive waiting lists with a few exceptions, and the wife and I have pounced on them but we've yet to lock anything down. We still have plenty of time between now and March or April when our son would actually be entering daycare, but we are still feeling the pressure.

If either one of us lived closer to our families, we could just leave our child with them (after a careful search for a competent, sane family member of course), and we could ask them to do it for free. Of course we would offer money, and they would say, "Oh no, you don't owe me anything", and then we'd try and offer again, and they would refuse our money again, and then we would rescind our money offer completely, and there would be a win-win situation on our hands. The family gets to see our genius child grow, and we get free childcare.

But as it stands, neither one of us really lives close to our family..her family is an hour away, and it really would not be very convenient for us to drop the kid way over there and then get to work in a timely fashion. And my dad is an hour away, but I can pretty much guarantee that he will not watch the child until he's potty-trained (can't blame him there, those are my rules for babysitting as well). The wife and I are in the process of devising a list of bribes to get our respective mothers to retire and move here, but we've yet to come up with the right offer. The dance continues...In the meantime, if any of you wonderful people reading this blog know of anyone/anyplace in the DC area, where we can take our child without worrying about creepy behavior or people, please let me know. There's a luxurious vacation to Akron in it for you.

There is always one guy on the train who refuses to hold on to the 5 million railings available to passengers who choose not to sit down. He's usually too busy reading, fiddling with his iPod/iPad/Blackberry to truly pay attention to his surroundings, but most of the time he's able to use his balance to keep himself from busting his ass, and suffering an embarrassing fall. I can admit I've been this guy a time or two, but I have never fallen on the ground or on someone else. For the most part, I use the railings available to me.

This morning there was this gentlemen who found it necessary to read the Washington Post Express (a mini-newspaper for this people who do not have the time or intelligence to read the Washington Post. Yes I'm exaggerating and yes I'm judging). He was standing to my left, and I noticed that right before the train left the station, he chose to hold to nothing at all. He was standing straight up (at least if his knees were bent, he would have had some balance) with his little paper spread out, and his head buried in it.

At first the train took off at a nice leisurely pace, then out of nowhere the train stopped rather abruptly (as trains are prone to do). This gentlemen ignored the 10 million railings available to him, and out of desperation tried to grab my forearm to keep himself from falling down. Me being the righteous and helpful black man that I am, I jerked my arm away from him, and watched him fall flat on his ass with his newspaper sitting right in his lap. With anger in his eyes he used the railing (too little too late) to stand back up, and he proceeded to have this conversation with me.

Him: Thanks for the help a$$hole
Me (hearing every word, but daring him to repeat them): Excuse me?
Him: Thanks for the help (no a$$hole the second time)
Me: Use the f**king railing that's why they're all around you, its not my job to hold your dumb ass up
Him: No but you didn't have to be a jerk about it
Me: That's who I am at 7am
**I got a little laughter from my fellow morning passengers***

The guy said nothing else after that, he just went right back to not holding on, while he read his paper. Luckily for him (and me) there were no more abrupt stops, and we both got off the train at the same stop, in the same direction. We rode up the escalator together, and then he went left, and I went right, but before he got out of earshot I said, "Have a great day a$$hole!". No response..although the police office standing there told me not to be a troublemaker this early in the morning, and I apologized.

The way I see it? I'll have a newborn son in about 5 months, so I need to get all of this borderline juvenile behavior out of my system before then. And yes I'll be writing about this joyous occasion a whole lot in the coming months, so brace yourself..

1) The wife is four months and one week pregnant (17 weeks to be exact)
2) I waited this long because we lost the baby the last time she was pregnant back in '08. This time around, everything looks damn good.
3) We learned today it is a boy
4) I wanted the name Melvin, but the wife shot that down...

I have heard many times over the years, that one of the keys to losing weight, staying healthy, and maintaining an overall positive lifestyle is sleep. 8 hours is the desired number, and that allows your body to properly shut down, before it gets called into work again the next morning. Sounds easy enough right? Not bloody likely.

My body is a cross between a college student and a card-carrying AARP, senior citizen. Monday through Friday, I usually go to bed 'round midnight, and I'm awake around 5:30. Yes I usually set my alarm at the time, so I can wake up and workout, but I usually wake anywhere between 5 and 30 minutes beforehand. On the weekends, I can go to bed as late at 3am, and you can bet your bottom dollar (never knew what that really meant) that by 7am I will be awake, no matter how much I try to go to sleep. The only time I seem to be able to nap successfully is late Sunday afternoon, and of course that causes me to be up until 1-2am, but then I still wake up at 5:30, which means I'm Mr. Angry Man all Monday long.

So I guess my issue/question is how do I train my body to go to bed earlier, so I can get these elusive 8 hours of sleep. Do I force myself to go bed at 10pm every night, only to find myself awake and staring at the ceiling? Do I just hope that this 8 hour rule is a myth and ignore it? Do I drink two glasses of red wine around 9 or so to aid this process (actually I tried that before and it didn't work)? I need guidance by some of you people who hit that 7-8 hour mark.

I never, ever get sick of hearing Mary J. Blige channel her inner Anita Baker in this song...never!

A short while ago I was walking home from work, when I saw someone I thought I recognized, but because I wasn't 100% sure, I made it a point to keep walking. Then I saw this person trying to get my attention, and she started to walk towards me, and I still did not know who the hell she was. Then she insulted me by asking me if my name was Jamal, and I said no, that's my brother, and finally she pointed at me, and said "Rashad right?", and I said "Bingo!".

Her name was Charisse and my mother was one of her professors at George Mason University about 10 years ago. She remembered me from my mother's going-away-ceremony at George Mason 4 years ago, and she told me that my mother would talk about me and my brother non-stop. On top of that, Charisse had developed an outside friendship with my mother, so she was keenly aware of who I was, what was going on with me, etc (she didn't know my name though, but I let that slide)

Charisse was walking towards the metro, and I was walking towards my house, so we did not talk for too long, but she did give me her card, and she told me to tell my mother I said hello, and I said I would. The last thing she said was congrats on the wedding, and I thanked her, and then she said that she remembered my wife from the George Mason event, and I told her that was not my wife, just a friend of mine who wanted to meet my mother. She was a bit embarassed, but we shared a laugh, we said our goodbyes, I flicked her business card and said "oh yeah! (an inside New Jack City joke), and I went on my merry way.

I passed along the message to my mother, who said she would reach out to Charisse, and then I emailed my friend Michelle (the woman who Charisse thought was my wife), and told her the funny story, and then I got lost in my own life, and forgot about the encounter.

Yesterday, about five minutes after I ate dinner, my mother sent me an email and said that Charisse had died of a heart attack after a bout with walking pneumonia--and she was only 32 years old. I immediately called my mother to make sure she was fine, and she was understandably shaken, but she held it together. I was a little freaked out that someone I had just sent and interacted with, was now dead and gone. On top of that I found it weird that my friend Michelle (the one Charisse thought was my wife), who I had reached out to after seeing Charisse, had a heart attack of her own at age 33 back in 2008 (she survived). I'm really not intelligent enough to decipher the symmetry in all of this, I just know that her untimely death is a bit sad. At least we left off on a high note by laughing...

I hate to be negative after the inspirational blog post I put up yesterday, but balance (and people) make the world go round, so all is well.

So this morning I get to the JCC at 5:56am--a full four minutes before the building was to open. I was the only one standing there so I decided to tug at the door to see if it was open, but it was not, so I stood right in front of the door waiting. Two minutes later, another gentlemen walked up behind me, ignored the fact that I was standing right by the door, and tried to open it as well, but of course it was locked. He gave me a goofy smile, and said, "I had to try right?", and I gave him a stoic look and said, "What you thought I was standing here for the hell of it?" Then there was uncomfortable silence.

I hate people like that, I gotta tell you. These same people will see the "up" arrow lit at an elevator, and they will roll up and hit the button one, two, three even four times, as if that will magically summon the elevator from its hiding place. These are the same people that will be stuck at a light 11 cars back, and STILL beep the horn frantically, even though they have no clue what's going on ahead of them. I would like to cut all of their eyelids off, and give them copious amounts of Ambien. Be patient and wait like everyone else has to.

I would also like to take a bit of time to send a shout out to the brother in the Range Rover this morning, who was on the corner of Connecticut and Q St in DC. You didn't care that it was 7am, and usually the only noise on that street is from people talking, cars and trucks going by, and birds chirping. You felt the need to have your windows rolled down, while some terrible Lil Wayne song was blaring through your overblown speakers. Then you had the nerve to be leaning way back in your seat, as if anyone except my annoyed ass was paying attention to you. Why is all that necessary so early? No women were paying attention to him, and even if they were, it was 7am, they aren't awake enough to be receptive to all that.

Anyway I'm done. If someone could tell me when apples are back in season, I would appreciate it. I'm tiring of eating peaches and grapes.

Every now and then I like to give my readers an update on my main man Brian. Brian is one of the fine PR guys for the Washington Wizards who had brain cancer and has battled back (his story can be read here). Brian has been extremely helpful during my three-year career in covering the Wizards, and reading his blog during that time has been scary and inspiring all at the same time.

Well in the past couple of months, Brian has become a father, which means his blog has gone from him wondering about his own mortality, to enjoying his second chance at life, to he and his wife creating a young life. It may not be a big deal to you, but it is a pretty big deal to me, so I'm sharing. The tales of he and his young son can be seen here.

For any Brand Nubian fans out there, the time to listen is at the 14 second mark. For the James Brown fans, just listen to the whole damn song.

Last night as I watched tv with the wife, I took time out of my precious evening to concoct a mixtape for lifeguard at my pool (read that sentence about five times, and I promise you that the ridiculousness of it will kick in around the third time). All that stuck in my head was that he wanted some smooth R&B and some smooth rap. Initially I was having a devil of a time trying to designate what was smooth, what was jagged, what was hard, etc. Then, once I realized no sex, money or fame was going to result from the success of this mixtape, I smartened up and just picked some songs that I saw fit for him to have.

So this morning before I did my mile swim, I delivered the mixtape (on cd), and his eyes lit up like he had just won the lottery. He thanked me for remembering, and then he said, "So it's smooth right?", and I said, "Absolutely it is smooth!". Then he asked me if there were all kinds of music on there--which completely went against the strict smooth guidelines he had previously laid down--and I said there was R&B, and there was hip hop. He was visibly disappointed by this news, so I put on my mixtape scientist hat and explained to him that mixtapes with multiple genres on them were no good and a bit confusing. I stupidly told him that if he wanted different types of music, that I could make him another mixtape, but this particular one was all smooth, all the time. He bought it and the smile returned.

He did not saying anything good or bad about the mix after my swim, he just told me to have a nice weekend. I have no clue whether he'll like it or not, but I did my best...I did my best. Here's the mixtape I gave him:

1)Here I Stand - Usher
2)Looking for Another Pure Love - Stevie Wonder
3)Can't Get Over You - Joe
4)Find The Way - Eric Roberson
5)My Peoples- Raheem Devaughn
6)Just Like That - R. Kelly
7)Crush - Zhane
8)Pretty Young Thing (Demo) - Michael Jackson
9)House of Cards - Foreign Exchange
10)The Newness - Eric Roberson
11)Want You to Know - Vanessa Marquez featuring Justin Timberlake
12)Umi Says - Mos Def
13)Nag Champa - Common
14)Gettin Up - Q-tip
15)Electric Relaxation - A Tribe Called Quest
16)You Got Me - The Roots
17)Climax - Slum Village

I probably could have done better, but oh well

The picture you see below is flyer from my father-in-law's church. I know I should not clown the Lord, the church, my father-in-law, the beach (I got married on one) or the idea, but damn if this isn't the funniest thing I've seen in awhile. If I was asked to, I couldn't even hand this flyer out with a straight face. And, as an added bonus, if you stare at this long enough, you'll see a third person rise out of the water holding a bible...

And here is yet another ESPN article I helped to create.

Here is an ESPN article I had a small hand in producing.

I did not sleep very well last night (2 hours of sleep max), so when my alarm went off at 5:30, I really started to hit the snooze button so that I could be properly rested. But, since I have in the midst of a good run workout-wise, I decided to get my ass up and head to the pool for my mile swim. I arrived at the pool at 5:58am, I changed, I walked to the pool and the door was locked. 10 minutes later I found someone who told me the lifeguard was running late, and 20 minutes after that he finally showed up and unlocked the pool--but only after telling me that 1)he had only been late twice in 15 years (someone else verified this) and 2)there was a bad accident on I-95. Rather than being a cranky ass, I said it was no big deal and I kept it moving, and did a 30 minutes swim.

Then I moved to the basketball court to do my 15 minutes worth of working out over there, and there was this older man walking laps around the court. Now technically on the gym schedule, it says that from 6-8, the gym is reserved for walkers. I've been going to this gym for 3 years, and I have never seen a walker until today. I tried to shoot the ball and do my little drills, but two out of my four shots hit the elderly walker. Both times he let out a combination of a yell and a groan that made my error seem way worse than it really was, and I apologized profusely. But in fairness to me, dude wasn't even walking with his head up, even after he got hit the first time. He just kept his head down and kept right on walking, so in reality I could have just ignored the basket, and thrown the ball directly at his precious head of white hair, and he'd have been none of the wiser. But I did not. I simply apologized again, exited the gym, and left the man alone with his thoughts while he walked.

THEN, right before I left, the I've-only-been-late-twice-in-15-years lifeguard stopped me and had the following conversation with me:

Lifeguard: Hey Rashad, can you make me a cd?
Me: Excuse me?
Lifeguard: Yeah man I always see you with headphones on, so I know you like music, so can you make a cd?
Me (hesitating): Ok..um..what kind of music do you like?
Lifeguard: I like rap, r&B, rap(yes he said it twice), you know all kinds, what about you?
Me: I listen to all kinds to, jazz, hip-hop (yes it was snobbish to play synonym card), R&B, soft rock
Lifeguard (interrupting me): yeah yeah, I think I want smooth rap, and smooth R&B
*** As an aside, I still have no clue what the smooth part of that equation really means, but I rolled with it***
Me: Oh no doubt. Smooth right?
Lifeguard: Yes yes, something very smooth
Me: I got you man, I'll bring it on Thursday.

So the question I now have, how the f**k do you make a mixtape for a 40-45 year old dude? I mean seriously..

My main man Neil has his own graphic design firm, and you can take a look at it right here.. Neil (aka sixfive) has been reading my blog since the beginning, and he's a cool dude.

First off, let me say this picture was taken by my main man Kyle in February of last year--my friend Amy taught me the importance of giving photo credits. Secondly, this is one of my favorite pre-Wizards game pictures. It isn't just because it perfectly captures the madness around pre-game press conferences, and it isn't because I'm starved for anything basketball-related during this NBA lockout. The main reason I like this picture is that I am standing next to one of my favorite writers, Michael Wilbon. His big yellow head is in the bottom left hand corner of the screen, and my smaller head is to his left. We briefly talked before and after this picture was taken, and I'm always taken aback at hoq humble and helpful he is every time I see him, despite his fame. I want to be like when and if I get famous..or infamous, I'll take either one.

Thank you for listening. Oh and if you haven't read Toure's article on Dave Chappelle, go read it by clicking right here.

Here's an article based on the crime I discussed in the previous entry..

There's this United Colors of Benetton store that is a little more than a block away from my house, that has been broken into twice this month. The first time was about two weeks ago, and the most recent time must have happened this morning. I was returning from the pool when I saw one of the female employees sweeping up the glass that was strewn all over the sidewalk. I removed my headphones and walked up to this woman and said, "Damn again?", and she just shook her head and said, "Yeah this is pretty f**king unbelievable.".

Now, the retort I SHOULD have come out of my mouth with was, "I'm really sorry, good luck to you all" or something to that effect, but I suppose that would have been too much like right. Instead, as I walked away and put my headphones on, I decided to say, "You all must have some really good stuff in that store." The woman shot me a look that said, "You're a real class act buddy", and I knew immediately that was the wrong thing to say, but my headphones were already on, and it would have been awkward for me to go back to her and undo my stupidity. I felt bad that I didn't put my need to smooth over an awkward/weird moment with humor and just have a bit of compassion. Then I wondered how sincere I really felt, because I made ZERO effort to apologize..or maybe I'm over thinking..


One more thing...about a month ago I went to a cookout at my main man Greg's house, and instead of bringing the traditional beer or liquor over, I decided to bring a nice Port. It wasn't one of those bottles that is over $100, but it was a decent bottle, and I chose that because a)I wanted to drink it and b)I thought I would get props (or at least an ego-boosting compliment) for doing something different (like I did last year at this fight party, when I brought a Chikfila platter--no such luck this year).

Anyway, because I had to drive home from the cookout, and Port tends to be a bit strong, I drank very little of it--unfortunately the same could be said for everyone else in attendance at this cookout. The wife and I stayed at the party almost 2 hours, and there were at least 40 people there, and nobody helped themselves to my Port. I saw folks pick the bottle up and put it back down, but nobody had the chutzpah to try it, and it pissed me off (not once did it dawn on me that no one likes Port or it didn't fit at a cookout). Of course I asked the wife if I could take the bottle back home when we left, but she shot it down quickly. But is that really so wrong to take my gift back if no one seems to be feeling it?

Personally, if someone brought something over to my house that I didn't take a shine to, I would give the person the option of taking it back from whence it came. It is the equivalent of letting someone out of a contract with no hard feelings. "I didn't like your stinking Port, so please take it home, because I know you like it anyway.." If I'm good enough to get an invite to your party or vice versa, we should be able to be honest about the gifts, beverages, food, etc..That's the kind of world I want. I don't have the heart to ask Greg whatever happened to that bottle I brought, but it has been on my mind for a month now..

About five minutes ago I read this interview with Phife Dawg of A Tribe Called Quest and Michael Rapaport, who is director of the documentary, "Beats, Rhymes and Life". The movie is finding its way around this fine country of ours, and I will be going to see it this weekend, but in the meantime, I have to whet my appetite by listening to old music and reading interviews like the one I linked above.

However, one of Phife's answers in regards to whether A Tribe Called Quest would ever get back together and record annoyed me:

The fans might want it like that, but they have to understand that we can’t just get together as far as recording is concerned and put out anything. It has to be correct and right because the consensus will be that, ‘We waited 13 years and all you came up with is this crap.’ I’d rather not do it and have people say we tarnished the legacy. So I’m happy the way things are right now; people still love us and hopefully if we do decide to do an album it will be one we can be proud of.

I literally said "what the f**k?" out loud when I read that quote, and it reminded me of the kind of talk I heard when Michael Jordan said he was coming out of retirement in 2001. Back in 1998, he had done this to win his six consecutive championship:


NBA writers, other players and fans thought that shot was the ideal way to end his career, and no matter what he tried to do from there, he could not top that. Some people even went as far as to say, that if he did ever come back, he would not be the same MJ everyone knew and loved, and the greatness he had spent 14 years establishing would disappear. Michael basically gave them the middle finger and said, I'm going to continue to play until my health gives out and they have to drag me off the court.

MJ came back, and had flashes of his former brilliant self, but he also had plenty of embarrassing moments that the old MJ would never allow to happen, like missing wide open dunks. Two years later he retired, a few years after that he made the Hall of Fame, and today, he is still regarded as one of the best players in NBA history--and more importantly his legacy has gone unscathed.

So what the hell is A Tribe Called Quest's problem? Every album (yeah I'm dating myself by calling them albums) can't be "Low End Theory" or "Midnight Marauders", but your fans don't expect that anyway. Your fans want to hear you all together touring and rapping again, and they know that you all would not put out anything that was terrible (although some people who bought their last two offerings may disagree). And what is so hard about making good music that both you and your fans enjoy? If you tell me your heart isn't in rapping anymore that's one thing, but to say you don't want to make a cd after 13 years because of how your legacy it might be tarnished? That pisses me off..

My dad has been a Temptations fan for over 40 years, and he will tell you that in that span, they have put out some classics and they have put out some crap. There were some albums he played front to back with ease, and there were others that contained two good songs, and the rest were garbage--but he always bought their albums. Even today in 2011, when all but one of the original members are dead and gone, my dad STILL buys Temptations albums, and I asked him why, and he says, "I'm a fan for life, through the good and bad". That's how I feel about Tribe..so man up and make me a goddamn cd.

And now switching gears totally, here is a beautiful song by Minnie Riperton and the Rotary Connection called, "We're Going Wrong". I didn't even know this was on my iPod until yesterday morning, and now I'm hooked.

My fellow blogger-in-crime Brokey McPoverty had this hilarious entry today, which you can read right here

My son has at least 5 books that are on his 9th grade reading list this summer, and the first (and easiest I might add) one we are going to tackle is "Call of the Wild" by Jack London. I don't remember what grade I was in when I originally read the book, and I damn sure don't remember any important details about the plot, but I do remember my father buying it for me some time in the 80s--which means I am absolutely no help to my son in terms of recalling details.

So I gave my son a writing assignment based on the first 50 pages he's read that is due on Wednesday, and I realized that I had to be a bit more hands on than just reading his work. I have decided to put aside the three other books I'm trying to read right now, and tackle "Call of the Wild" all over again. This left me with an interesting, but minor dilemma. In order to obtain the book I could:

1)Buy the book (which I realistically would only do at a used bookstore, because after I read it again, I really have no desire to keep it around).

2) Go to the library and check it out (not only do I not have a valid library card, but I have not set foot in a library since January 9, 2007. How do I know remember the date? I wrote a blog entry from the library that day, and in that entry I made the ill-advised decision to split up with the girl I was dating to go back to my ex, who I ended up leaving a couple of months later. It was just one of the many examples of the dumb things I did before I got married. But the bigger point is, the library and I aren't compatible--which is kind of sad

3)Read the book online (I've never read a book via google books or anything else, because I think books are sacred and should be bought, not read on Kindle, an iPad, or listened to while driving..)


Any suggestions here? And yes I'm making this more difficult than it has to be, but a decision has to be made before Wednesday, when my son sends me his assignment.

I'm 9 years late, but this song came on my Pandora today, and I loved it. It is from Christina Aguilera's 2002 Stripped album...

Background: One of my co-workers (Sam) is leaving early, so she's training everyone to do what she does until we find a replacement. My training was today, and my co-worker Jordan has a training tomorrow.

The Conversation

Sam: So I'm training you today right?
Me: Yes
Sam: That's right, you're today, and Jordan is tomorrow. I wish I could do both of you at the same time
Me: That's what she said

It never gets old (to me at least).

As I sit here and write this blog entry it is 5:35am, and I have been up since 3:45am, after going to bed at 11:30. I had every intention of going to bed early (yes 11:30 is early for me), so that I could wake up at 5:30 and head to the pool for a workout, but now that isn't happening. If I were to go workout after such a paltry night of sleep, I would be struggling to stay awake at work, and that's no good given the day I have ahead. Since 3:45, my wife has awakened two times, and then immediately gone back to sleep, yet I've had no such luck. I really and truly wish I had that talent, but I do not. She can kiss my ass.

Also, don't you hate when someone goes out of their way to point out something you did wrong, wait for your reaction to what they said, and THEN tell you that it's no big deal? I don't know what kind of world you live in, but in my world, when something is no big deal, I don't bring it to the person who has irritated me. I just choose the passive aggressive route, and I blog about it like (ir)regular people do. But to bring something up so just you can get a reaction, and then say, "It's no big deal, it's cool", is about as irritating as it gets. Just shut up and let it eat at you internally, or come out and make a really big deal about it so the other person feels guilty. Don't just bring it up, and then back down..

This is the type of cranky blogging a skimpy night of sleep produces..

Thanks to my brother for sending this to me:

So this morning I was in the shower listening to sports talk radio, when I heard a commercial for an establishment called, "SportClips". If you have already heard of this place, I apologize to you, because this morning was my first time knowing this existed. It is basically a sports bar, where you can also get your hair cut, your beard trimmed, and maybe even a shampoo. I sat there thinking to myself, "Damn that's a good idea", and I couldn't wait to get online to look this place up on the internets.

It's not like I am terribly unhappy with my current barbershop arrangements, but I do think some changes can be made. My barbers claim to be sports fans, but the only time I saw sports on the TWO flat screens is during the Men's World Cup last year. Other than that, the TVs are off, and there is reggae music blaring through the speakers, whether it is 8am or 7pm. Now, I love reggae music and all, but I love sports more, and what is the point of having TWO flat screens if their only function is to collect dust? I don't get it.

So I looked up this SportClips place, and I noticed that the closest location is in Waldorf, MD, which is about 20-30 minutes away from me. Considering my current barber is a five minute walk from my house, that's just too big of an adjustment for me to make. But what troubled me about this SportClips place, was that I saw NO ONE who looked like me on the ads. I just saw lots and lots of white men, but no brothers, and that was a bit discouraging. I know in a perfect world anyone could cut any one's hair, but the truth is that does not happen. When I was younger, I walked into many a barbershop with no black barbers, and I've heard the "Well I've never really cut a black guy's hair" speech before, and that was cool. Only half of the black barbers in my current shop feel comfortable cutting white people's hair. It isn't racist, it is just about comfort. That's how these things go..

But SportClips is a damn good idea, and there are locations all over this fine country of ours, and their ads are telling me that my kind cannot be accomodated--I dont know if that's true or not, but the ads hint at it strongly. So now, in order to prove myself right or wrong, I have to 1)ask someone who looks like me if they've been there or 2) call SportClips and have that awkward, do-you-cut-black-hair conversation. I think that's a risk worth taking though..

Finally I would like to send a shout out to my kindergarten-bound nephew Nazir, who graduated from pre-school last week. The picture you see below says, "I'm Nazir, I'm a graduate, and I'm important!"

Last Wednesday I went to see Rakim and the Roots at the Blue Note in NYC. Talib Kweli showed up, the annoying Toure' did interviews, and Mr. Dave Chappelle was in the audience (I also ran into him in the bathroom..and it way less suspect than it sounds). It was a great show, a great night, and it was worth the trip. I took a picture of the set list, but it sucked, but my friend Janelle took a GREAT pic of it, and here it is:

I have reached that age where I am beginning to get a bit concerned about my parents. My mother works too hard on her job, spends her free time taking care of her parents, and she rarely does anything leisurely for herself. My father prefers to keep all of his issues inside, and he never sees fit to telt me what's on his mind until after the face when it is no longer an issue. If he were to have any type of health issue, I doubt he'd tell me, because "he wouldn't want to worry me or my brother".

If my parents were still together, my level of worrying would be significantly less, because I'd trust they'd look after one another (with varying degrees of success I'm sure). But my mother lives on her own in Cleveland, and my dad allegedly has a lady, but ultimately he lives alone too--although he's only a 20 minute drive from me. It's not that I don't believe in God, and it is not like I am anticipating gloom and doom for my parents, but now that they are 60ish, I just get concerned that's all as they get older, and I don't want to wait too long to be concerned. This is a bit depressing, but I can't be the only one who thinks like that..just wanted to get that out.

Also, I hope to God bookstores don't go out of business. I was in Books-A-Million today buying this book for the wife, and I realized that browsing in bookstores never gets old. I looked at the bestsellers, I looked for books for my son, I briefly leafed through some adult magazines with gratuitous nudity, and I even contemplated buying a board game based on The Office. You just can't do these types of things by going on Amazon or itunes (although I have no problems buying books and/or music from there). There has to be a way that Starbucks, Borders and Barnes and Noble can merge into one big ass powerhouse that can give me coffee, books and maybe a secret stash of porn to boot. This has to happen..

An ESPN article I contributed to earlier today.

Ok so I had to stop my blog for a little bit because I thought my son had gotten a hold of it. Most of what I write is harmless, but some of the archives contain writing that is sexual, ignorant, irresponsibly angry and directed towards people who my son loves quite dearly, and I did not want to jeopardize our relationship. So from here on out, I'm either going to a)have to censor myself b)cancel the blog altogether or c)keep doing what the f**k I want to do and hope he doesn't see. I haven't decided what I'm going to do long term..I just wanted to explain myself.

There is this man who posts up outside of a Mexican restaurant, which is less than a block away from my house. He walks with a cane, he wears a Santa Claus hat year 'round, and he always has a cup in front of him asking for money. I used to think he was homeless, but then I found out that some guy nearby was allowing Santa Claus to stay in his house--but he definitely does not have a job because he spends all day peddling for money. Santa Claus has a great personality despite his handicap and jobless status, and this is why people always felt moved to give him what they had.

One day I was in the liquor store buying a fine bottle of wine, and the subject of Santa Claus came up with the owner. The owner mentioned that each and every day around 7 or 7:30, Santa Claus would take all of his earnings and buy liquor that was not cheap. He wouldn't buy food, because restaurants in the area would let him eat on the house, so that freed him up to get as drunk as wanted to get every day. Given that I had dropped many-a-dime in Santa Claus' cup, I had mixed feelings about hearing this information. On one hand, I don't know how it feels to be slightly handicapped and unemployed for at least 6 years (which is how long I've been seeing this guy on the street). Maybe I would be drinking heavily every day too. But on the other hand, it can't be good to drink hard liquor everyday and basically do nothing else. I was torn, and eventually I stopped giving him money on a consistent basis. I still stopped and spoke to the brother every day, and we had conversations on money, women, food, etc..

One day the wife and I were coming back from somewhere and we saw Santa Claus and his wife/girlfriend arguing in the middle of the street. He called her all kinds of bitches, hoes, mfs, and it didn't matter who saw or who heard--including my wife and me. In the next few weeks after that incident, Santa Claus didn't really speak to me or look me in the eye, because I guess he felt ashamed. I still gave him money periodically, but the combination of the alcohol and the undressing of this woman, just made me feel uneasy about breaking him off with change. I know this sounds awfully judgemental of me, but hey I never said I wasn't deeply flawed. Plus I still spoke to the brother each and every day..not to mention there were other people who did not know of liquor habit who gave him PLENTY of money daily. And I mean plenty..

This morning I was walking by Santa Claus' area, and I saw a sign that said, "In Memoriam for Travis", and there was a floral arrangement right under it. I never knew his real name, so I called my wife to see if she knew if Santa Claus was Travis, and she said that he was. After we hung up the phone, my heart sank a little bit, and I pulled out my phone to take a picture of the sign and the arrangement, and then I thought better of it and put my phone away. I felt like that was a bit disrespectful, so I just looked at the shrine a bit longer and walked off. I won't romanticize my relationship with this dude, but I kind of got used to seeing Travis every day--whether he was drinking, cursing out women or humoring me in a bit of banter--so seeing that he's dead now is a memory that won't easily go away.

I have no bow to tie on the end of this entry, I'm just typing out feelings..

Sunday Father's Day Brunch at my Sequoia in Georgetown. My brother and my nephew could not make it, so me, my father and my son held it down nicely. Aside from the aformentioned absences, this was a damn good Father's Day. Well actually I DID want to get my father the new Louis Armstrong book, but as the smart ass guy in Borders told me, "It actually doesn't come out until the 21st of June".

I digress...

So around 6:45 on Wednesday night my son called me and said he needed a shirt, a tie and some nice slacks for his 8th grade graduation the next day. I told him good luck with all that and then he got quiet. Then he said well Dad, I really need to look nice tomorrow, and again I said told him I wanted him to look nice too. Then he asked me to hold on, and he put his mother on the phone. When I heard his mother's voice, I politely asked her to put my son back on the phone and we started over.

I told Carlton that if needed me to buy something for him (or reimburse his mother in this case) he needed to tell me that a)he needed money b)how much everything was going to cost me and c) how soon he needed it. I told him that if he was going to make the Daddy-I-need-something phone call, he needed to do the proper research. I told him a little advance notice wouldn't hurt either, and he reluctantly agreed. I also told his mother to help him out with this research in the future., then I agreed to help her but his graduation outfit, and then I hung up. My dad taught me that lesson when I was 11, so I was more than happy to pass that torch.

Two seconds after I hung up I realized that I had NO clue about this graduation ceremony until my son told me about it five minutes beforehand, and my wife brought that point home even more when she said, "You really need to be there". And she was right. I made calls to my boss, made other arrangements, got directions, and the next morning I drove 3 hours to Newport News, Virginia, and I was at graduation front and center to see my son advance from 8th grade to 9th grade (high school).

Some graduation observations:

1)The age of parents ranged from early 30s to late 50s..it was amazing. The younger parents had endless energy, the took pic, shot videos and the older parents sat on their ass looking old, slow, relieved and tired. But all the parents were happy, which is what really matters.

2)They don't make 8th graders like they did back in '88. And that's all I'll say about that.

3) My son finished strong academically, but started slow, so he didn't win any awards. The girl who is he in the process of making his girlfriend? She won every academic-related award there was to win, which made me proud of his taste (she was cute too). His mother was focused on her short skirt and cleavage, and quickly discounted her as a girlfriend prospect for my son. I told her that was a parent issue, and she shouldn't take that out on the child. I was quickly and loudly overruled. I mean really..what's wrong a straight A, rising 9th grader who dresses like a strumpet? You can't win them all right?

4) I cried..I won't even sit here and try to sugarcoat it. I saw my son walk across the stage, look every teacher in the eye and shake their hand, and take that diploma. Then he looked his mother's direction and waved, then he looked my direction and nodded his head and smiled..and then I lost it. I wasn't bawling and crying uncontrollably (like his mother), I just had a few tears. My boy has become a young man despite some tough circumstances..that's a beautiful thing.


Now the adventure that is high school begins..


(I'll devote a separate blog post to the wallpaper my son's mother has chosen for her living room. For now, just focus on the vest, the shirt and the tie that my son picked out on his own.)

The Roots and Mr. Terence Blanchard perform a Gil Scott-Heron tribute:

I can't tell you (although I'll try) how happy I was to see the Dallas Mavericks defeat the Miami Heat last night for the NBA Championship. I don't particularly like owner Mark Cuban, no one on the Mavericks particularly tickles my fancy, and I don't dislike Dwyane Wade, Chris Bosh (ok maybe a little) or anyone on the Heat squad--except for LeBron James. And THAT is why I was so damn happy.

You see I don't dislike LeBron because of his decision to move to Miami (although the way he did it it was pompous), because I would love to re-locate down there. I don't care that he didn't win in Cleveland or that he joined Wade and Bosh to win a title, because again that's his choice. I dislike Mr. James for one reason and one reason only, and that's because he knocked my Wizards out of the playoffs two years in a row (2006 and 2007). I really thought the Wizards would win the title those two years, and LeBron flexed his muscles and rained all over my team's chances. In fact my editor wrote about this very issue last week.

So when I saw Mr. James struggling with his shot and his confidence, I was so damn happy. Next year, he'll come back and absolutely destroy the NBA, and he and the Heat will win the title, but until that magical, mystical day, I will enjoy his temporary misery. And if that makes me a "hater", then I'll be that.

By the way, I went to see Mint Condition in concert for the first time this weekend, and they blew me away. You should buy their new cd, and go see them perform if you can.

99% of the time, I'd say the way I dress is age (36) appropriate. Around the house I wear jerseys, shorts with holes in the crotch, and t-shirts that look like they've been on post-sex cleanup duty for years, but in public I know the rules on how a man my age should dress and I follow them accordingly--except for today.

Its 199 degrees outside, and all week I've had to dress up in work appropriate gear, which really infuriated me. Women wear all types of allegedly work safe dresses with body parts hanging out, jiggling and what have you, while men have limited options..unless you consider the Michael Douglas, "Falling Down" look a viable option. I've been in the workplace long enough to know that this is an acceptable double standard, but every now and then it does irk me. So today, also known as casual Friday, I decided to get my sweet revenge. I have a on a t-shirt, some cargo pants and some white Chuck Taylors, and I feel comfortable, relatively work appropriate, and I feel great..or so I thought I did.

While I was on the train, I saw my reflection, and I felt differently. I saw the gray hairs on my head and in my goatee, and it was in stark contrast to the clothes I had on my back. I thought to myself: "I've made a huge mistake". I felt like I should have thrown on a nice button up shirt and some slacks, instead the t-shirt/cargo shorts combo, but it was much too late to go home and change. I almost felt embarassed..then I looked around and saw a bunch of dudes who had their shirts tucked in, their pants pulled up to their mind, and they looked neat, non-stylish and very uncomfortable. Needless to say, I felt vindicated. I may not be dressed the way an ideal 36 year old man should be (whatever that means), but my pants aren't sagging or baggy, my shirt fits and I'm comfortable without looking like a jackass. That's good enough for me.

Now in a couple of hours I'll probably change my mind...

So around 9pm this evening, my neighbor knocked at my door and asked to borrow my iron. He explained that his iron had died on him, and he just needed mine. I shot my wife a weird look, and then walked backed to my bedroom, got the iron, and gave it to my neighbor. I should have told him that I needed it back later that same night, but I didn't want to be a jackass so I said nothing at all.

90 agonizing minutes went by and I wondered why he hadn't brought that damn iron back. I wondered if he had decided to just keep the iron just to spite me (I had no valid reason to suspect such an act, I was just getting paranoid). Then I wondered if he thought it was too late to bring the iron back after 10, and his plan was to give it to me the next morning. This approach would have been ok, but I had to iron my own clothes for tomorrow (my dry cleaners does a bang up job, but they always leave the sleeves wrinkled, so I have to go over them with the iron--which is dumb because I end up rolling up my sleeves 30 seconds after I leave the house). Finally I stopped wondering why my iron had been out of my sight, and I got flat out angry. The wife suggested I wait until 11pm to reclaim it, and I agreed with her.

Around 10:31, I marched over to my neighbor's door and knocked not once, not twice, but three times and finally he came to the door with iron in his hand. He explained that he thought it was too late to bring the iron back, and I (un)politely talked over him and explained that it wasn't too late, and I needed to iron my clothes. He thanked me, I walked out, and I started muttering curse words all the way back to my bedroom.

If my iron had broken the way his did, I'd have carried my ass to the Rite Aid across the street and bought another one, I wouldn't have borrowed a neighbor's iron, but that's just because I try to avoid small talk with others at all costs. But if I somehow broke down and HAD to ask someone, I would iron my clothes, and get it back to them within 10-15 minutes..not 90. I think I'm overreacting here a bit..this is like when somebody asks to borrow a cd you don't really play too often, but as soon as they do, you miss every song on that cd, and you get paranoid until it comes back.

Yes I am petty..

So the wife and I decided to do something different (for us at least), and we went to see Aisha Tyler's standup act at the DC Improv. I highly recommend you go see her if she comes to your town. She has a lot of personality, she talks about grown up things (marriage, drinking, relationships, self-image and handjobs) and there wasn't a lot of over-the-top cursing. Then again, I'm not the greatest expert on live comedy shows because I can count on one hand how many I've attended. Still, funny is funny, and she's in that category.

In other news, my son and I discussed his school-issued summer reading list, and one of the books on there was A Soldier's Play by Charles Fuller. I never read this book (although I will now just to keep up) but I damn sure saw the movie "A Soldier's Story", which was based on that book. That was one of the first movies I ever saw in the theater (back in 1984..I was 9), and every time they showed Adolph Caesar on the screen I got scared. He was a scary-looking dude with a scary voice, and my young ass couldn't take it. I'll show my son this movie, but I won't mention I was scared of it, because he'll have no concept of that considering he's going on 14 years old. I just think its cool that he's reading books that I've read..

Oh and speaking of handjobs...

When I was an infant my mother used to sing Minnie Riperton's "Lovin You" to me so that I would go to sleep. I have no recollection of this, but my mother and father used to tell me that all the time, so it had to be true. When I was younger (I'd say under 25) I would hear that song and smile, because it reminded me of my mother and the close relationship we had (before I hit puberty, and abandoned her for my father). Granted, not all the lyrics are appropriate for a mother/infant son relationship, but I'm going to give my smart mother the benefit of the doubt there, and assume she switched up or omitted the dicey lyrics.

Then around 25 years old or I couldn't listen to the song anymore. Me and my over analytical mind started thinking about how I'd react if I heard that song after my mother passed away--the song would go from sweet and nostalgic to downright creepy and haunting. I'd hear that song and get emotional in the wrong way, and nobody wants that on their conscience. I have no idea if that would even actually happen, but my mind has convinced the other rational parts of my body that it will, so now I refuse to listen to the song. Just a few short minutes ago as I was sitting at my desk, it came on Pandora, and I couldn't get my hands on the "never play this song again" button fast enough. And right after I did it, I felt like a jackass..but I'm still not listening to that damn song. I'm not superstitious or anything, but I am a little stitious.

The song that will haunt me when my father passes away is "Sittin On the Dock Of The Bay" by Otis Redding. My father told me that song reminds him of his dad who passed away in 1978 at the age of 50. So naturally I internalized that and think of my dad now. These are just irrational lines of thought that I can't seem to shake...hopefully this isn't too morbid for a Thursday morning.

Creepin - Stevie Wonder (with the beautiful Ms. Minnie Riperton on background vocals)

My 10 seconds of fame on tv
I'm the guy with the blue shirt and the glasses looking completely clueless as usual...

So I'm walking into work this morning, and Public Enemy's "Rebel Without A Pause" comes on my ipod, and I instantly starting smiling and rapping like I wrote the song. Sometimes I forget just how much I was into PE, until one of their songs comes through my headphones, and then I go on an impressive listening spree...No real entry today, just more PE:

First off, I am happy to report that the woman whose AmEx card I found yesterday, just so happens to live in my building. She gave me a call yesterday morning, told me she dropped the card while moving some items in the building, and expressed her gratitude. I slid her card under her door yesterday when I got home from work, and all is well. She has her card back, and I don't go to jail for identity/credit card theft. Win-Win.

Second, Let me warn my five readers, that this entry will have the stench of something that was read and/or performed at open mic/spoken word/poetry night.

There are times when your are walking, running, or perhaps just sitting somewhere, and a familiar smell will penetrate your nose and stay there for awhile. The smell not only takes you back to a specific year and place, but often times you can recall exactly what you were doing, and even who you were talking to when you first crossed paths with that smell. If this is associated with something positive, you'll smile or laugh to yourself, and if a negative thought has come to mind, you may get temporarily angry.

This morning as I finished my run, I walked by a freshly paved sidewalk, and it smelled like the rubber on a good track. It instantly reminded me of my high school days when I ran the 400 meters, but it didn't remind me of the actual race. The smell reminded me of the 20-30 minutes before the race, when I would sprint in an empty, far lane of the track preparing to tackle my upcoming race. I'd run in a controlled sprint in the far lane for about 100 meters, then I would lengthen my stride a bit, just so I could loosen my muscles. I remembered when I got down in my pre-race stance, I'd be closer to the track, and at that point, the rubber smell that good tracks give off would run past my nose.

Back then I just figured that was a minor inconvenience involved with track and field, now I miss running competitively, and getting nervous before performing on the big athletic stage. But for those 2 minutes or so this morning, when I smelled the pavement, I had a nostalgic attack, and I was loving it. By the way, I also ran the 200 and the 800 meters in high school, but the 400 was my best event--although my track coach always said that if I was about 3-4 inches taller (I'm 5'9") I would be much better, because I lengthen my stride when I got tired..he was right..but f**k him.

I'm rambling..if I kept a personal journal, this entry would be in there, but I don't..

I spoke yesterday about being raised right, and today yet another scenario has placed itself in my lap and tested my upbringing. Right now, in my hand, I have an American Express card that I found in front of my building this morning. I have no clue if this woman lives in my building, or if she was just walking by the building and dropped it, I just know she's short an AmEx card this morning. I emailed the folks I do know in my building to see if they know her, but so far I've gotten no answer. I called my Landlord, and he didn't recognize the name off-hand, but he said he'd check. I also found this woman via google (I only felt a little creepy), and emailed her work address to inform her about her missing card. I've heard nothing so far, and meanwhile this card is just staring at me and laughing and crying out for help...

My mother raised me not to judge my fellow man and woman, and for the most part I've done a good job following that rule. But I am finding that as I get older, I judge and I judge hard--which is fine because I'm at that age when I can dish it as well as I can take it...I think.

That being said, I have a huge problem with grown ass men who wear suits or nice business attire, and then ruin it by wearing sneakers. I'm assuming if they are wearing sneakers, then that means their dress shoes are either at work or in the satchel they are carrying around. Either way, this is just bad business all the way around. This guy on the train was in a full suit, and he had on some running shoe with white socks, and he looked like a damn fool (although I must admit he looked pretty comfortable..but he was sitting down). Women can do this because they wear heels, and I've seen firsthand (because of my wife, not because I've worn them) how much heels (or just women's shoes in general) can wreak havoc on their feet. This is why women appreciate (and marry) you when offer to rub up on their feet..their shoes kick their asses all day long.

But guys have no excuse. They make all kinds of comfortable shoes for guys, you just have to do a bit of research. Or if you're too lazy to do research, just man up if your feet hurt, because it is NOT aesthetically pleasing (to me at least) to see good work clothes ruined by poor shoe selection. There was only one man who could get away with that look, and that was the late, great Mr. Fred Rogers. Other than that, it shouldn't be happening. And yes I realize I've written about this before, but I don't care.

And finally I'd like to give a shout out one of the women who lives in my building. Our AC went out last night (just like it did several times last summer), and last night the wife and I were copied on the email she sent to the landlord/property manager. I didn't write this, but man I wish I had. It is concise, to the point, and it has a touch of rudeness to it..

Bill -


It is now Summer 2011 and we seem to be right back where we were 1 year ago.


AC is out.


Please find a permanent solution to this mess because (speaking for myself), I will NOT tolerate a summer of no-AC like I did last year.


Thank you,

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Here is the article I wrote based on my Draft Lottery experience on Tuesday.

My latest article

I think yesterday will go down as one of the worst days I've ever had. I messed up at work two times, and then I had to justify/explain my error over and over again (or maybe it just seemed like that). I had to sit in a meeting with someone who thinks they are much smarter than they really are (or maybe its the way they chose to convey their intelligence that annoyed me), and because this person is above me on the work food chain, I couldn't say jack. Then I wrote a mean-spirited blog entry yesterday about someone I'm doing a favor for, and I ended up having to delete it, but now I wonder if this person read and took offense. And then finally, my son continues to do poorly in school, and I am mad as hell at him even though I know his mother is partly at fault as well. Now I will once again have to convince the Virginia courts to uproot my son from his mother, his brother, and his support system of almost 14 years, and allow him to live with me..a task I have failed at several times before.

And to top it off Starks got ejected...(I really hope this reference makes sense to somebody). The good news is I get to attend the NBA Draft Lottery tonight in New Jersey at 8pm. Maybe the Wizards will win and I'll get a kickass story...

This picture was taken in 1984, shortly after a performance by Wynton Marsalis in New York City. I was nine and my brother was six, and God bless my dad for doing whatever he had to do to get our family backstage. I played the trumpet, and Wynton was an up and coming star, so it seemed like a perfect match. At the time my family was living in Connecticut, but when we moved to the D.C. area a few years later, we went to see Wynton several times at Blues Alley, and we would always go upstairs, and talk to him after his performance. One time, at my father's request, I brought my trumpet mouthpiece to the show, and Wynton allowed me to play HIS horn, and I was on cloud nine. I was in high school at the time, and I thought I was headed to jazz stardom with Wynton's help.

Just two years later, after I made the basketball team, started writing for the school newspaper, and discovered the joys of girls, I abandoned the trumpet, and I was sure I disappointed my parents and Wynton. I went to see him at Blues Alley in 1992, and I explained to him that I had given up on the trumpet, and he wasn't even mad. He said whether I played or not, the important part was that I was a jazz fan for life, and that would never go away, and he was 100% with that point.

Sadly, Wynton is big time now, so when he comes to D.C., he usually performs at the Kennedy Center (I can't blame him there), but I still miss the intimate feel of his earlier shows. When he was here in 2009, I was scheduled to meet up with him backstage, but I couldn't go to the show, because my lady (now wife) was having surgery around that time, and that was much more important, but I need to attempt to meet up with him again (and tell him to stop talking bad about all rap music).

And that picture that I started this entry with? Wynton used to carry that around in his trumpet case for years, because my brother and I represented his first young fans. So if you ever meet him, you should ask him about that picture of Rashad and Jamal he used to carry around, and he'll tell you his version of the story I'm telling you now.

I have no words today. If you can just click on my "article" from yesterday's blog entry, I'd appreciate that. But today, I just want you to listen to last 18 seconds of the song I'm about to post today. Actually, listen to the entire song, but put headphones on, and focus on the last 18 seconds specifically. Listen to this man sing his heart out over a woman he doesn't want to leave him. Listen to the raw emotion and passion and tell me who the hell is singing like this today..there aren't many....

These are the Manhattans by the way..

I didn't write this article, but I contributed to it.

For the longest time when my immediate and extended family got together on a major holiday like Mother's Day and went out to eat, I really was not much of a factor when it came to have the who-is-going-to-pay-the-bill conversation. I mean sure I would contribute money for myself, my mother and maybe my brother, but I wasn't pulling out enough money to pay for the 6-10 people at the table. Usually my grandfather or one of my uncles would take care of that before I even sniffed the bill. I vowed to get in on that conversation one day, but as of late, I had not been in an extended family outing, so my shot at redemption had been delayed--until yesterday that is..

Yesterday there were seven of us out at breakfast after church, and as we ordered the food, the waitress asked if there would be one bill, and who she should give it to once it came. Immediately my uncle said, there would be one bill, and he would be the one to pay it. When he turned his head, I summoned the waitress and asked her to give ME the bill when it came, and to ignore my uncle. Sure enough when that bill came, the waitress coolly put it right in front of me, and I paid without anyone noticing what the smooth maneuver I had pulled off.

When it was clear that everyone was finished eating, both my uncle and my grandfather (who never really officially put his bid in beforehand) both prepared to take out their money, and I politely told them I had taken care of it. Then they insisted that they get in on the tip, and I again told them that their money was no good here. Then to deflect the possibility of an awkward moment, I told them that this type of initiative on my part would NEVER happen again..everyone laughed and we left. I must admit it made me feel like a grown man..

Of course my grandfather one-upped me right before I left to drive back to D.C. He pulled out a $20 bill, and told me to use it on gas. I tried to tell him he didn't need to give it to me, but he had already turned his attention back to the television, and the remote was firmly in his hand. I suppose there are some things you never grow out of, no matter how old or grown you think you are...

I'll be on blog hiatus until Monday, since I am driving to Cleveland, Ohio to see my mother, grandmother, etc. So I will leave this song as my ode to Mother's Day:

Chris Rock has a joke that basically says that when a man (although I'm sure its not sex specific) comes home from work, he needs about 10-15 minutes to get his head together, before he's ready to talk to his wife, his girlfriend, family, etc. This rule does not really apply to me because my walk back and forth to work is about 20 minutes, so by the time I get home, I've worked out any work-related angst that may have lingered beyond my 5:30 dismissal time. And even when I haven't, a stiff shot of Johnnie Walker Black is more than sufficient to knock out the rest. That's just how I rolls...

But when I get to work in the morning, the "Chris Rock rule" is definitely in effect. I need about 10 minutes before I can speak--unless their is an emergency project that needs tending to. I'll say good morning to everyone, and then I need to get to my desk, turn on my computer, look at my emails, put my lunch in the fridge, get my fruit out and sip my Venti Soy Green Tea Latte from Starbucks. After I do that, I'm ready to be friendly and as chatty as Ann Curry in the morning.

Unfortunately, I work with someone who does not respect these unofficial boundaries I've put out there. Less than two minutes after this person sees me walk by, they are at my desk and in my face talking about trivial sh*t (Bin Laden's capture, the government shutdown, a shooting at the National Zoo, etc). It is not as if I don't have an intelligent viewpoint or opinion about these issues, I just don't have them to offer at 8 in the f**king morning, when I'm just getting to work. At first I humored this person and talked a bit, but recently, I've just started executing the neglect method, and I just don't look up. This person still talks to me from time to time, but I don't return the favor, I just keep my head forward and focused on the computer screen. Then after I am sufficiently finished getting my head together, I go to the this person's desk and see if there's any residual conversation to be had, and usually there isn't. Crisis averted.

And yes I realize I'm using phrases like "this person" and "someone", but I have to protect myself here. I've made many enemies because people want to use google my name just to be generally nosy, and then they roll up on this here blog, and start judging me (justifably so I might add). For example, my neighbor STILL doesn't speak to me after she saw my blog (she magically appeared in my gchat list one day a group of my neighbors had a spirited email exchange about our landlord, and saw my blog attached to my name), and saw that I had falsely accused her of being a lesbian (I'm still not convinced I'm wrong, but I'll wave the white flag regardless). She speaks to my wife, but when she sees me, she looks at me like I stole her bike or something. I thought about apologizing, but then I realized that its my f**king blog and I can do what I want..I still may apologize one day though, because I'm trying to keep my enemies to a minimum. But I digress. Sorry for the babbling.

And now I will post a random song that came on my ipod that I absolutely LOVE. The song is called "What Can I Do?", the group is Pieces of a Dream, and both the video and the song have late 80s written all over it.

You know what love is? It's when your favorite aunt who lives in Cleveland, Ohio calls you on a random Sunday during the NBA playoffs. She's completely oblivious to the fact that the Heat/Celtics game is on tv, and you are knee deep in this contest, she just has some things she needs to discuss with you, so she calls. About five minutes into her conversation, she asks if you're still coming to visit her when you come in town on Friday, and you say absolutely I am. Then she asks--and this is the good part--what you want her to cook when you arrive. You hedge a little bit because you really haven't heard a family member (who isnt your wife) ask you to customize a dinner menu, but when you start hesitating too much, your aunt gets mad and tells you to be a man, step up to the plate, and tell her what the hell you want to eat...

So you tell her you want her famous potato salad, greens, chicken, biscuits, and then you stop there, and she says she will have all that and more, and the conversation ends. You forget to request some sort of pie or cake, but you're confident that she'll throw that in for good measure anyway. You really want to immediately go back to the Heat/Celtics game, but now you're flustered, and instead of thinking about LeBron, Ray Allen and Kevin Garnett, you start fantasizing about that meal on Friday, and just how primal you plan to be while you're eating it (pause). Your wife, who was allegedly knocked out on the couch, perks up when she hears you come back in the room, and asks if that was your aunt talking about food, and you confirm, and even she gets a little excited, before falling back asleep on the couch.

It is only Tuesday, and I'm still excited.

At one point while I was at the Penn Relays on Saturday, I looked to my left and saw my 13 year old son, and I looked on my right and saw my brother and my father. My brother and father were having a discussion about Usain Bolt (who was not in attendance) and my son had his binoculars up to his face looking at something (I am pretty sure he was looking at a girl's ass, but he denied it both times I asked him). No one saw me looking at them, and no one knew how proud I felt at that moment, but that was fine by me. Its important to have family traditions, and for me, its important that those traditions involve the men closest to me. Plus, I want my son to see me interacting with my father and brother..he needs to see us argue, laugh, discuss adult subjects and all that.

Anyway I know I'm rambling right about now, but Saturday's experience was great. And next year, which is an Olympic year for track, it should be even more fun, and maybe Usain Bolt will make an appearance...

Oh and please read my read my article