Yesterday I told my editor that I basically have to slow down a bit in the writing department, because as of right now I'm not properly navigating that balance between watching/writing about games and being a father to young Nyles. On one hand, it is frustrating as hell to have to walk away (albeit temporarily) from something I love, but on the other hand I'm all about compromise and Nyles, so I can live with it. I mean even my blogging has taken a hit of late, not because I don't have shit to say, but because I don't have always have the energy or the time to say it. Shout out to my main Kyle and my wife for putting up with me these past few weeks.

But today I have a reason to write. If any of you fine people who read my blog would like volunteer to babysit on Valentine's Day, send me an email (rashad20@gmail.com) The wife and I have not had date night in quite some time, and Valentine's Day (or a few days before or after) is the perfect time for us to do this. Do you know how many movies have come and gone that we haven't seen? Do you know how many jazz concerts we've missed? Don't you want to help facilitate the resumption of these important traditions? I'm quite sure the wife is cringing and saying to herself that I am tacky..and I am, but dammit nothing will happen unless I ask for it.

And now, I present the song I sang to young Nyles while I changed his diaper yesterday evening. I have no idea why it came to my head, it just did..and I'm sure my son thinks I am crazy:

I feel guilty for not writing after a week, but life continues to kick my monkey ass. I'm writing about the Wizards,, I'm struggling to deal with my jackass of a boss at work, I'm still trying to be a husband, a father, etc..By the time I get some free time, I damn sure don't feel like writing. I know this is temporary, but man is it tough. But rather than complain all the time, I just keep quiet...for the most part.

Anyway, today is James Yancey's birthday, and this is my favorite beat of his:

First off, let me thank my main man Sabin for his guest blog appearance on Saturday. My life is boring--well not boring, but much less blog worthy than it has been in the past. Sabin added some much needed life to it. In rap terms, my blog was "Scenario" and Sabin was Busta Rhymes.

So this morning I attempt to swim for the first time since November. The combination of laziness and Nyles being here (more Nyles' fault of course) had me out of action for awhile, although I still magically managed to lose 7lbs during that span thanks to this insane vegan lifestyle I have adopted. Still, I was pretty nervous about getting in the pool, because since I started swimming in February of 2009, I had never gone more than a month without getting in there (the same can be said for my wife). I knew my breathing and stamina would suffer (won't be a problem with the wife), but I also knew I had to start somewhere, so I jumped in and started to swim a mile like I had done before.

After three minutes my chest starting burning like I had swallowed hot sauce and Vicks. Another two minutes elapsed, and I had water in my nose and down my throat, and my breathing was off. 4 minutes later, I got mad because this guy next to me was zooming by me, and when I tried to keep up with him, all the symptoms I listed earlier in this paragraph increased tenfold. Still, I gutted it out for 15 minutes total, and then the fact that I was woefully out of shape was too much to overcome. And of course to make matters worse, the life guard, who is used to seeing me swim a mile, had to open his big mouth:

Him: You're not yourself today huh?
Me: I've been away since November man, my wife and I had a baby
Him: Congrats to you my man, but you didn't actually think you could swim a mile after all that time did you (he chuckled a bit)
Me: Why yes, yes I did
Him (now laughing): Come on man, you gotta put the time back in
Me: That's why I'm here boss..I'll be back tomorrow

On one hand that motivated me to come back tomorrow and return to my mile swimming ways within the next two weeks. On the other hand, I wanted to go over there, let him know what it was and say GFY. I chose the former and walked out. Besides, it is not his fault, and it is not my fault, it is all on Nyles.

Speaking of Nyles..

There's nothing worse than going to interview an athlete pre or post game, and all they do is string together cliches, youknowhatimsayings and nahmeans, and just waste my precious time. This is why Kevin Garnett is an awesome interview. Here is his post-game interview from last week:



And here's my favorite one from 2008

Today's blog entry will be written by my main man Sabin aka my first and last roommate at THE Hampton University. He writes a blog, which can seen here and he wrote a book which can purchased here. And now, without further ado, here is Sabin:


After reading his last blog posting, I figured, I gotta help my guy. Can't give him what he is craving ... yeah, um, he gonna have to handle that. But since we go back like ODB and Mariah Carey (... me and MaRIah, go back like babies and pacifiers ...), I have to show my guy some support.
So today, I'm going to guest blog. Kinda like when Jay Leno came off the bench for Johnny Carson back in the day, except minus the chin.

Since this blog sometimes ventures into rant territory, I'm going to visit the Rant Zone with a rant of my own.

Before I get to ranting, for those you old enough to have had a crush on Thelma from Good Times or had the Micheal Jackson with the yellow sweater vest poster - do you remember the opening lines to Self Destruction? You know, the Malcom X quote that said:

We all agree tonight
All of the speakers have agreed
that America has a very serious problem .."

Not to say this rant is on a Malcolm X level of seriousness, but there is a problem and epidemic of sorts we need to address.
I'm a pretty even spirited guy. Old enough to cherish Bobby "Blue" Bland and young enough to dig Big KRIT. Cool enough to know who Lonnie Liston Smith is and wise enough to know that Wacka Flocka is some bullshit. Intelligent enough to know that 'bet not nobody try to remake an Isley Brothers song; yet silly enough to randomly blurt out "trick luv da kids!!!"

So given that I'm an even spirited guy, please hear me out when I go this Rashadian rant.

Er'body ready?

Alright.

Got dam it I hate it when during your birthday celebration some want-to-be-cool person tries to hi-jack the happy birthday song with the Stevie Wonder inspired version. Man, I hate that shat!!! As the late Robin Harris would say, "I was pissed off to the highest of pissivity!!"

Don't get me wrong, I love Stevie Wonder. I mean Stevie "is a musical genius!! I have all his albums!! I got Fafil- Fafilly- F*#^! it you know, the good one. I got all that sh** man!!!" (apologies for the Eddie Murphy "Delirious' flashback, but Rashad and I do that in normal conversation)
Anyway, so I appreciate folks wanting to share the musical genius of Stevie.

But the song was for Martin Luther King. Since none of us are quite about to get our own holiday and sh**, then we gotta let Martin have his own song. I mean damn can't the Drum Major for Justice have his own song?!

However, what really gets to me, I mean really nails-screeching-on-the-chalkboard gets to me - is that people don't really know the song. Some of these young cats can't even visualize Stevie sweatin' on the HOTTER THAN JULY album cover. These the same folks that think K-Ci & Jo-Jo did a good job on "Lately."

So this is how I handled it. Right around the time when everyone's voice started dimming - you know, after the third or fourth "haaaaaaaappppeeeeee biiiiiiiiirthdaaaaay", you know right in there. I stood up and starting singing the rest of the words.

Why has there never been such a holiday?
Where peace is Cel-LE-Brated?
Alllllllllll
throughoooooooouuuuuuutttttt
thheeeeee wooooooooooorrrrrrlllllddddddd!!

Man, didn't nobody say sh**.

Ok, I'm making that up. I still hate the poorly implemented Stevie Wonder inspired hi-jack of the Happy Birthday song.


And you should too.

Yesterday I endured one of those days that thoroughly kicked my ass. One of those days when you want strangle someone until they die, kill yourself, and then strangle that same person in hell. Ideally I should just put that day behind me and move on to bigger and better things--and eventually I will do just that. Today, I must recapitulate.

First off let me say I much I hate people who say things to me like "Oh yeah I remember going through that when I had a newborn, I don't envy you" or "better you than me" or "good luck with all that". You people can go f**k yourselves. Give me some advice, a list of solutions, or just say nothing. I don't think that's too much to ask..in fact don't limit that line of thought to just me, adopt it as a full-time mantra. Do I always follow my own advice no? Do I contradict myself on my blog frequently? You bet your sweet ass I do.

Anyway, first my car broke down yesterday morning, and I had to get it towed and taken to the shop. Here I was at 7am, sitting in front of my apartment on a main street in Washington DC (Connecticut Ave for those familiar with DC), and I became THAT GUY. THAT GUY is the one of the side of the street who holds up traffic, and passers by break their necks to see who it is and if you're lucky they may even throw you a sympathy smile. I was THAT GUY. The cost to fix the car is more than I care to spend right now, and its even more when you consider I only bought the car to usher young Nyles around--before that I was fine walking, taking the train and biking. But that's life as an adult, and if that had been the only issue of the day, I'd have gotten over it. But it was not.

Then I had the work day from hell. My boss is an idiot (she used the expression "peace mill" instead of the correct spelling "piecemeal, and that's just the tip of the iceberg), I was in meeting after meeting, I had reports to do, people kept plopping their asses in my office with both relevant and irrelevant conversation, and all I wanted was to go home, sleep and drink some Port, while I played with Nyles and my wife...more Nyles though.

But when I got home, Nyles was cranky and craving the breast (can't blame him there) more than the bottle, and he would not go to sleep. Plus he kept digging his newborn nails into adult neck, and no matter how much I asked nicely for him not to, he kept going to town. This is the moment when I realized having an infant means you never truly get to rest. I know and understand that now, and I will adjust accordingly.

The bottom line here? I really need to get laid. I'm hoping the doctor gives my wife clearance next week, because it has been WAY too long, and the consequences are rippling through other aspects of my life. You never realize how vital sex--even if its baby-in-the-room sex--is until it is violently taken away from you. I want it back. Sorry for rambling. The good news? My oldest son arrives today, so he'll get to meet his new brother. Good times

Yesterday marked two milestones in my life, one minor, the other was pretty f**king major. First and foremost, yesterday marked young Nyles' first month birthday. I celebrated the day by trying to get his ass to stay sleep so I could watch:

1)The Wizards/Celtics game at 1pm
2)Ravens/Patriots at 3pm
3)Giants/49ers at 6:30pm

Nyles did his best to fall asleep for 90 minute intervals, which was just long enough for me to think I can could get into the game, before being abruptly interrupted. Thankfully his mother and I took turns picking him up and changing him. Despite the minor inconvenience, I appreciate the little man being around for a month, and as usual the good far outweighs the fatigue/inconvenience.

The second milestone I celebrated yesterday was one month of Vegetarianism. The night before my son was born, I decided to abandon chicken and fish (I already ate beef and pork sporadically at best) and just go strictly vegetarian. I had contemplated it during November when I gave up meat for two weeks, but I didn't think I was disciplined enough to go through it. This time around I gave myself a month to see how if I could pull it off, and so far so good. Yes I miss Chik-fil-A and the occasional mini-burger binge, but I'm hanging in there and feel great.

My father gave up beef and pork when I was born, and 10 years later not only was he going strong, but he decided to rid himself of chicken too. At 61 he's a pescetarian, and he looks and feels great, so I'm open to incorporating fish back in my life at some point. Of course tomorrow, this could all come undone, and I could be caught going on a KFC binge.

Today is my 37th birthday. I don't have any fancy words or thoughts, I'm just extremely happy to be doing this again.. for a 37th time to be exact...

So last night as I returned from the drug store, and headed back up to my floor, I mistakenly pressed the fifth floor instead of the sixth. I did not notice it right away, but as soon as I stepped off the elevator, I realized I made a mistake and I proceeded to get back on, when a woman got my attention.

She was standing by her apartment door with her laundry by her side, and she explained to me that she was locked out. She had gone to put a load in, came back up, and realized that her keys, wallet and cellphone were all in her apartment--and it was 9:30pm. I told her I would call the landlord and the emergency number, but I only had the landlord's number on my person, and he didn't pick up, so I left a message. I told the lady to sit tight, while I went to find that emergency number for her.

I went up to my apartment and looked for that emergency number with my wife, called it and left a message, but I delayed a little bit before I went back down to update this woman. I told my wife I wanted to help her out, but I did not want to invite her in our home because we had a newborn, and we both agreed that was the smart thing to do. At the same time I kept thinking that if my wife was locked out, I'd want someone to help her--still I didn't want her in my damn house. So I went back down, told the woman I left a message on the emergency number, and I explained that if someone called me back, I'd come back down to let her know. And yes I felt bad about it, but I didn't look back, you can never look back.

I went back up to my apartment, talked to the wife, felt bad about not doing more, and then I went back down to the fifth floor, and asked the lady if she wanted to use my phone to call a friend. She responded by saying she didn't know any one's number by heart. I said ok, introduced myself (her name is Yuko which makes her Japanese. Who needs Wikipedia when Google can save the day), and then I went back to my apartment again--but not before explaining to her that I would let her in my spot, if I didn't have a newborn baby living with me. She understood and said congrats, and I felt even more guilty. Still, I did not go back down for another hour because I was enjoying an adult beverage and tending to young Nyles. But when I did go back down, she was still waiting for my trifling ass building people to respond to the emergency call.

Yuko said she was going to head out of the building and try to visit a couple friends unannounced, hoping they would let her in. Since I knew she wouldn't be able to get back in the building once she left out, and I knew my wife had a key as well, I gave Yuko my key and my phone number. I told her if she couldn't find anyone to stay with, she could use my key, come back in, and spend the night with us, since Nyles would be asleep. She said I was sweet, and then she headed out. I hoped to God she didn't call back to sleep here, and in paranoia I kept checking my phone over and over, but she didn't call.

This evening when I got home there was a note from Yuko, and she thanked me (and my wife, but more me) for my kindness, and she told me that she found a friend to stay with last night, and this morning she tracked down the landlord who let her in. Of course all day I was bitching to my wife that she had not called to a) update me and b) make arrangements to give me my damn key. So her note made me a)feel stupid, b)calm down, and c) feel good about the good deed I had done.

Now I know at least one person is reading this saying, "So the f**k what, you did what you're supposed to do", and that is 100% right, but not the point. The point is, I went way out my comfort zone to help someone (which I rarely do) and it worked out--and I am happy about it. Maybe I'll hit the lottery soon as a result.

Kareem is doing big things..no pun intended:

The best part of Mo Better Blues: Bleek vs Shadow. Playing what the audience wants vs playing what you want and hoping the audience gets it.

Today the wife left out of the house for about an hour, which meant young Nyles and I were here alone for the first time since he arrived 3 weeks ago. When she left he was sound asleep on my shoulder after a 20 minute feeding, but of course once I put him down to sleep, he started kicking, crying and screaming. Thanks little buddy.

First I fed him a little more of the bottle, but during my attempts to burp him, he spit up a little bit, which meant it was time for change of clothes. Since he had yet to have his little ass washed for the day, I decided to give him a full wash--with the diaper off (which is basically target practice for Nyles). Luckily for me, he was completely cooperative, and I was able to wash him up without him going 1 or 2 on me, which was a miracle. He cried, he yelled, he laughed, but ultimately he got clean. I had a rough go of it trying to put on his yellow onesie--in fact I'm pretty sure I smeared his little face with yellow fabric trying to get it over his head, but he made it out alive.

Of course, this led to another round of crying, and since I know he's not hungry (for the bottle at least) and the magic breast of mommy was not coming thru that door anytime soon, I turned to my best friend in these situations: jazz.

So right now as I type, young Nyles is watching me with wideeyes while he listens to Miles Davis play "Four" and all is calm...for now

My latest article

This morning at 4:30, my main man Nyles woke up crying out to his parents that he wanted to be fed. His mother started to get up, but I told her to rest, and I got young Nyles out of bed. I changed him, I fed him, he fussed a bit like he wanted more food, but there was no more food readily available (I was too tired to walk to the kitchen) and eventually he calmed down around 5:10-5:15 or so.

From 5:15 until 6am when he finally went back to sleep, young Nyles was alternating between sitting in my lap and laying on my chest,but his eyes were focued on me. He made some faces, he tried to grab my lips and nose, and occasionally he would widen his eyes in a creepy, I-am-possessed-by-the-Poltergeist kind of way, but mostly he just looked at me. I don't believe in baby talk, so I talked to him the way I talk to all adults. I asked him if he wanted to see the Washington Wizards highlights that were on tv behind him, I asked him how that diaper was fitting him, and of course I asked him if the feeding session had been to his liking. He didn't answer, but he didn't cry, so I'd say Daddy is winning right about now.

My wife is with him all day long, and when I come home most of the time he's sleep, sleepy or saddled with a bad case of the crankys. This morning he was perfect, and that private time is making the fact that I got less than 3 hours of sleep, a distant memory. Ok that's a lie, I'm mad at that sh*t even as I'm typing, but I'm happy Nyles and I got to have a productive, one-on-one conversation

So I'm at work doing my thing, and the extended version of Michael Jackson's Billie Jean comes on the ipod. Since I am knee deep in work, I hear it, I acknowledge the greatness of the song for 6784th time, and then I keep working. But..no matter how many times I hear this song, there are two moments that make me want to do the follow things (in order I might add):

1)Shake my hand (with or without a glove)
2)Scrunch up my face
3)Bite my bottom lip
4)Kick my leg up

The first moment comes at the 2:49-2:50 mark. The split second between when he says, "be careful what you do" and "don't go around", you can hear him grunt a bit and THAT is when you follow instructions 1-4. The second moment comes between 5:43 and 5:44, right after he says, "you know you can't!"

So without further ado, here's an example of what the shake, scrunch, bite and kick should look like: http://splicd.com/Q29BzMev58k/57/60

And then here's the extended version of the song:

Nyles on video, part deux.

An Ebony magazine tumblr

It is about 5:45am on a Thursday morning, and usually this is the time that I would be preparing for my morning swim. Instead, I am sitting here wide awake after having fed Nyles and put him back to bed. Right now he's over there smiling in his sleep, and I am cleaning his spit up off of my stomach and sweatpants--fair exchange right? I slept about two and a half hours last night, and I really want to go back to sleep, but if the pattern of the past two days is any indication, he'll be awake in about 20 minutes asking for the rest of his bottle. The night before last, I got about 90 minutes of sleep, and overall, I haven't gotten more than 3 hours since he came home the day after Christmas.

I remember the bouts of insomnia I'd have before Nyles came. Usually I would sit awake for long stretches of time, drag my ass out of my bed the next morning, and eagerly look forward to going to bed early the next night, so I could make up for lost sleep. But with young Nyles in the mix, there is no such thing as making it up the next night. You know how most athletes will tell you they are never really healthy, they just learn to manage the pain? Well my wife and I are managing our fatigue levels with varying degrees of success.

For example, last night while I was writing about the Wizards game, Nyles fell asleep in the car seat. I wanted to leave his ass there all night because he was knocked out, but the wife insisted on moving him to his bed. I tried to argue for the car seat, but she shot me down, I moved him to the bed, and then for the next two hours he was awake, crying and doing what babies do. I was mad at my wife, but I was too tired to be mad the way I really wanted to be, and she was too mad to return the anger, and eventually all three of us were knocked out sleep. This is our life right now.. Nyles, sleep, work for me, staying home watching him for her, and then repeat..and you know what? We are STILL having fun..even without my dear mother-in-law who left yesterday after two weeks.

Shout out to young Nyles who waited until the night before my mother-in-law was supposed to leave before he decided to pee on her.

You know I'm f**king you tonight right?

My last post of the year will be a video of my son Nyles taking in some Coltrane:

So yesterday after work, the wife sent me on a mission to buy nipples and formula for young Nyles. Nyles is on a mission to get his weight up (he went up 4 ounces between Wednesday and today), and to achieve this goal, he's drinking that winning combination of breast milk and formula. As a result, I was sent to the store to replenish the supply.

Luckily for me, the wife called our local Target ahead of time to see if they carried the type of formula, and they confirmed that they did. I made a beeline to the baby section of Target, looked up and down the aisle, and of course the formula was nowhere to be found. Since my wife accuses me of having a problem with looking for things, I walked up and down that damn aisle at least five times, and then I walked up and down every baby-related aisle just to be sure I wasn't negligent--and still nothing.

So the next logical step was for me to ask "the help" at Target if they could guide me in the right direction. The only problem was none of them spoke good English, just fantastic Spanish. I even held up an empty jar of the type of formula, hoping that would jar (see what I did there?) their thought process a bit, but all I got was incoherent sentences--I felt like I was calling T-Mobile for questions on my cell bill. Finally I waved the proverbial white flag, called the wife and explained to her that there was no formula to be found. She sympathized with my plight and told me that our local Rite-Aid had the powder form of the formula we needed (which is a pain to make). I said ok, and then I mentioned to her that I would ask one of the non-Target employees if they could possibly guide.

Well thank God I did that, because this young black woman with a youngster in her stroller, was a HUGE help. I showed her my empty jar, and she told me that she had seen that formula stashed in the corner somewhere, as if someone was trying to hide it for later. She walked me to that area, I grabbed the formula (and the nipples) and I was on my merry way. Of course I could not get away without having a bit of small talk about Nyles, my wife, etc..but I was more than happy to do step out of my comfort zone to talk with her, since she had been so helpful.

I'm going to do my best not to sound like Lou Dobbs here..but I don't mind bi-lingual "help" at any of the stores I frequent..but if I have a f**king question, you need to have the necessary words in your arsenal to help me out, otherwise, what good are you? I understand there are lots of Hispanic brothers and sisters in that particular area where I was, but still I needed help. This is why Nyles will be bi-lingual. End of rant.

Young Nyles had his first doctor's appointment today, and things are looking good. He needs to eat more and gain more weight, but his mother and father will makes sure that happens. He also got his Hepatitis B shot, which judging by the look on his face, hurt like a mother.. But today his grandmother (my mom) will be in town to spoil him with kisses, love and who knows what else..

One day when Nyles gets older I will tell him marvelous stories about his presence cause me to miss covering the Celtics/Wizards game on New Year's Day. I LOVE covering the Celtics locker room because Doc Rivers is a great talker, and that locker room is full of personalities. But it just so happens that I love my wife and son more..this will be a delicate balance to strike all year.

One more thing..last Thursday night, as I drove from the hospital back to my apartment, I was playing the new Common cd, and the first song was the one I've postsed below. It is a great song, and all was well until the 4:42 mark when the deep, non-sexy baritone voice of Maya Angelou came in...I almost drove off the road laughing. I like Maya's words, but her voice still makes me think of David Alan Grier's impression of her. Sorry Maya.

The wife and young Nyles are finally sleeping, so I can take some time to write a bit of an update. After two nights in the nursery, Nyles was able to spend the night in the hospital room with his mother (I was once again asked to go home). He is now big enough to maintain a normal body temperature, and he can eat without spitting up everything. Tonight, if the nurse is nice, all three of us will be able to spend the night in the hotel room and tomorrow morning we finally get to home.

My main man jazzbrew told me that in the beginning, the mom is clearly the center of attention, and the dad just has to get in where he fits in, and that's exactly what I've been doing. You just can't help to have more respect for women after this process and I do. You also have to learn how to operate on minimum hours of sleep for maximum periods of time--I'm still figuring that part out.

When my main main Brian had his baby, he transformed his blog from a blog about his health to a blog about his son. I don't know if I'll do the same thing in the long run, but for right how, its all Nyles all the time. Even my older son Carlton wants to get in on the action next week when he comes to visit..

Mr Nyles Roman Mobley was born into the world on 12/22/11 at 5:25 pm. He was a bit small at 5 lbs and 12 ounces, but with the healthy combination of breast milk and formula, his blood sugar was stabilized, and he's doing well. The bastard at the hospital wouldn't let me stay the night, so I'm back home and exhausted. I just wanted to share.

I didn't cry when he was born, I didn't cry when I held him, and I didn't cry when I watched Nyles in his mother's arms. But when I tried to write his name on my copy of the birth certificate, I broke down big time.

I love Nyles, I love his mother, and I love just about anything right now..thank you for humoring me..

Until yesterday, I had never heard this Marvin Gaye song in my life. Now that I have, I thought I'd share (sorry if you people have heard it already):

It hit me this morning that I am going to have two kids 14 years apart...that is just wild. Anyway, Thursday afternoon is when Melvin will be here..God willing. Then I can start calling him his real name...

So in yesterday's entry I got on here and raved about how I was in the midst of growing a Richard Kimble-like beard in preparation for the birth of my son. This morning I went to the barbershop to get it all trimmed up, and that's when things went awry. He was so busy talking about how well his beloved Dallas Cowboys played on Saturday night, that he cut one side of my beard. He stopped and apologized, but at that point the damage was done, my hard work was ruined, and the entire beard had to come off. But that is not why I'm blogging about him my friends.

Later on in the conversation, he asked me how my wife and the baby were, and I explained that she was scheduled to give birth this Thursday. The following conversation went down:

Him: So are they going to seduce her so she can give birth?
Me (trying not to laugh): I didn't hear you
Him: You know how they seduce women to get the baby out faster?
Me: Oh no, she's having a C-section, so none of that will be necessary

Now, I wanted to tell him that the correct term was "induce" and not "seduce", but the man was cutting my hair, and he had already jacked up my beard. I didn't want to agitate the man any further. Plus there is kind of an unwritten rule in the barbershop that doesn't allow the customers to upstage or correct the barbers. Outside the shop, they are fair game to be usurped, but in the shop, they are the rules. It is still pretty funny though....at least to me it was.

The Washington Wizards opened up their preseason yesterday, and I attended the game. Why is this worth mentioning? Because the arrival of young Melvin will severely limit the number of games I will be able to attend this year. But me and the good folks over at TruthAboutIt.net, did a good writeup, and you should read it..there are cool videos in there too.

Here it is

Oh and Thursday is THE day..i'm growing a Richard Kimble-like beard until he's born--maybe longer than that.

Baby update part deux:

The wife had an exemplary visit to the doctor, and her amniotic fluid level was even higher due to her water intake and bed rest (no more working for her). The doctor was impressed and said that assuming the appointments on Friday and next Tuesday go well, the wife will give birth on the 22nd or the 23rd (or the 38 week mark). So this is good news.

The "bad" news? All kinds of shit is going on in the NBA right now, and I cannot keep up at all. My son will hear about this when he's born..he's causing me miss Wizards training camp, media day, etc...But it is definitely worth it, and I am definitely on Cloud 9. Excitement doesn't even seem like an accurate word to describe how I'm feeling these days you know? Yes I'm a father of a 14 year old, but he's lived with this mother all this time, and I get weekends, holidays, summers, and anything in between. This time around it is full time, and I am ready...I think

I know I was supposed to write a dazzling blog entry about the baby shower, but the events that took place before the shower had me in a different state of mind completely. I was going on less than 2 hours sleep, my mother was staying with me, and there were seemingly 70 women there hugging me, telling me how nice it was to meet me, and showering (no pun intended) my wife and I with gifts, gifts and more gifts. My head was spinning, and the only other men there were my father-in-law (who had to sit by his wife the whole time), my wife's drunk uncle (who smelled like that winning combination of mints and strong alcohol) and my five year old nephew who acted like he didn't know me until there were 10 minutes left. My brother-in-law showed up with 10 minutes left too, but all he did was laugh at me.

So overall it was a good experience. We got more towels, wipes, clothes, breast pumps, etc than we know what to do with right now, but I'm quite sure we will need all of that stuff and more. Also, even though my wife thinks this is tacky, if you want to give or send gifts, just email me (rashad20@gmail.com), and I'll let you know how you can help.

And yes I'm still nervous and excited all at the same time..I can't remember being so damn unproductive at work before..This will be the first song I play for young Melvin:

My latest article

Ok so here is the update. The wife's amniotic fluid was low after Friday's doctor's appointment, so we immediately went to the hospital's labor and delivery unit, so they could monitor that more closely. We were told that if the fluid level did not get higher by Saturday morning, the baby would be coming out. So we spent all damn night in the hospital--me on an uncomfortable couch and her on a bed with an IV in her arm--and the next morning, we were told the levels were more acceptable.

So now she is on bed rest, she has to drink water like crazy, and we know for sure that the baby will be delivered some time this week. So now I have to rush and put together the stroller/car seat, we have to pack a hospital bag, and all that good stuff. We thought we had a few more weeks, but we now we are down to a few days..

And lost in all this madness is the fact that today (Sunday) is our first anniversary...good times.

I've been writing in this damn blog all summer and all fall, and I've been enjoying the fact that I could use the NBA lockout as an excuse to not write for Truth About It. Then a couple of days I go, I stupidly volunteered myself to write a full-fledged article on release of the Washington Wizards schedule. I wanted to get back on the wagon, and I thought by committing myself to writing, I would get that old magic back.

That old magic did NOT come back, and I spent 4 damn hours writing an article that was a pile of stinking garbage. Then my main man (and editor) Kyle came through with some kind words, some well-placed pictures, he suggested some words and sentences here and BAM..a final product emerged that was halfway decent. Still, I need to write more..especially before young Melvin comes this month..

Anyway, here is the article called, "Guess Who's Not Coming To Dinner?"

Oh and by the way, my wife's baby shower is this Saturday, and I've been asked to attend..the whole time. I predict the mother of all blogs after that shit..

First off, if you haven't already, go check out the new Roots CD, "Undun".

Secondly, here is an article I contributed to earlier.

As you've probably heard, the NBA lockout is over, which means I can once again flood this here space with articles I have written and co-written. Here is yet another one on the Washington Wizards. If you don't give a rat's ass about basketball, then pass it on to someone who does--it would be greatly appreciated my friends.

I'm not sure what happened to this woman, but she can do nothing else in her beautiful life, and I'll still love her for this song alone:

I would like to publicly apologize to my beloved mother-in-law for the comments I made about her husband yesterday. She mentioned to me that her husband was a great and prolific poet, and in response I told her that I respected poetry, but they frustrated me as well, because I never know what's going on, and they always seem to have an infinite number of interpretations. I also added the I consider poems to be the handjobs of writing--meaning they leave you feeling slighted and wanting more (and yes I can talk to my mother-in-law like that, because she's cool and we have an understanding).

Still, I owe her an apology, because the previous reasons don't truly represent why I poems bother me so much. The TRUE reason I can't stand poems is that every time I read one, I hear it like its being read in Maya Angelou's sweet baritone, and that throws everything off, and I can't take it seriously...

Am I jealous of people who can write beautiful poems? Perhaps. Do I read poems and then feel like I need cliff notes? Hell yes. Do my mother and some good friends of mine, get sick of me slamming poems? You bet your sweet ass they do. But back to my original point..if you're reading mother-in-law, please accept my apology, and forgive my fleeting ignorance--along with my annoying rhetorical questions.

I remember coming home in the summer of 1996, and hearing my mother give me the great news that she had a new boyfriend. She arranged an elaborate meeting among the three of us, and she gave me a speech about being nice, respectful and fair--all traits that I possessed back then. You see a year earlier, I met my mother's previous boyfriend, and I immediately thought that he was gay--not that anything is wrong with that. My mother denied it and got upset with me for not being over the split of her and my father. I told I was over it but her man definitely had the gay, and she was upset. A year later, my mother called me when I went back to college, and told me that this guy was indeed gay. I took no pleasure in saying I told you so.

Anyway, on this particular occasion, I ended up going to lunch with my mom and her new boyfriend, and this guy was definitely not gay. He was a Vietnam vet, he was Mr. Testosterone, and worst of all for me, he cursed all the time. Mind you, back then (and now) my mother was an extremely religious woman woman who never cursed, so to hear this guy doing his best sailor impression in front of her, was a shock to the system. Not to mention, I have this delusional notion that older men--especially one who wants to be involved with my mother--should carry themselves in a classy, regal manner. What you do behind closed doors or when younger folks are not around is certainly not my business, but if I'm in your presence, pull yourself together and be classy or fake like you are. My father carries himself like that, and right or wrong, that's the standard I hold older men to. There are plenty of men in my life who have no problem upholding that standard, and this guy my mother was courting clearly was not one of them.

Six months later my mother married this guy...seven years later they were divorced. His drinking habits, his inability to deal with my mother making way more money, and other things I won't mention, eventually caused the split. My mother told me she ignored the signs because she thought she was in love. Again, I did not say I told you so, because I knew she was hurt, and Lord knows I wasn't even close to perfect i the relationship department. But I was glad that guy was out of the picture, because he rubbed me the wrong way, and I lost respect for him after that initial, expletive-filled meeting. That was awfully judgemental of me I know, but come on, I'm biased when it comes to a man dating my mother...my father too for that matter.

Why am I mentioning this? Someone I recently met, who is a pastor and has told me how deeply religious he is, was cursing up a storm yesterday. I'm not sure how I feel about it and I don't know he stands with me in the respect department. I know he's a man, and he's human and all the rest of those b.s. cliches we sometimes throw out to do what we want sans accountability, but he's also a man of the cloth. And if you come to me and say you're a pastor, and if you tell me you'll pray for me, and you give me unsolicited advice on how I should live my life in His name, then goddammit, you shouldn't be cursing like Kool G Rap in his prime. Maybe I'm wrong here, and if I am it wouldn't be the first, second or third time..but it was on my mind...

And now, making his third appearance on my blog via video, my son Carlton. While I was at work on Friday, he spent the day with some friends of his, and I got wind of a picture he drew while he was over there..so I asked him about it:

When I was 14, I do believe I was the epitome of awkward. I was short, skinny, in the marching band, on the newspaper staff, unable to make any of the athletic teams, and I got no girls. It wasn't as if I wasn't interested or my young loins weren't burning, yearning for some interaction, it was just that I had nothing to offer them at that time. I lived vicariously through my boys who had women, I continued to get lost in my love for sports, and I was placed in the friend zone (the high school version) by all types of attractive girls who thought nothing of me. I'm not saying this to get any sympathy, I'm just saying this was a stone, cold fact during that time.

**As an aside, while I am typing this my co-worker came into my office, didn't ask if I was busy, and sat his ass in my chair, and just commenced to talking about his weekend, his Black Friday experience, and other bullshit that I really don't give a good goddamn about. Its not that I don't like the guy because I do, I just a)don't like when people come into my office and just unload on me and b)don't give me at least 15 minutes to get myself together (read: blog) when I get in--especially on a day after a holiday. And, just to piss me off, a second co-worker has come in asking about my holiday..can't they see I'm busy? Perhaps I need to pull a George Costanza and look angry so that folks will leave me alone early in the morning.**aside off

My son, who is in town for this Thanksgiving "holiday", is the completely opposite of me at 14 years old. I have watched young girls flock to him, and he just acts like its no big deal--which of course makes them want him more. I asked him if he had or wanted a girlfriend, and he said, "No not right now, the girls will be there." I may as well have talking to Denzel F. Washington, instead of a 14 year old high school freshman. Although I don't believe this stance will last very long, and I sure as hell don't know where it came from, I admire it. I'm sure it doesn't hurt that his voice has deepened, he's taller than me (he's 5'10", I'm 5'9"), and he's lost all his baby fat. I'm thinking yet another sex talk is in order..

I don't have much to say this Monday morning, and I really wasn't going to write a damn thing. Then my co-worker came in this morning, and provided me with the comic relief/inspiration that I needed to write.

He has on a maroon shirt, dark slacks and black shoes, and that sounds like a respectable work outfit right? WRONG..AND WRONG AGAIN. Although my man only has one button undone on his shirt, I see way more chest hair than I care to see when I'm in a non-tropical/beach environment. There's no t-shirt, no tactufully placed top button, and apparently no razor in sight for him to cut it down a bit. There's just chest hair, and one open button, and frankly I'm longing for some Magnum PI reruns. I want to tell him, but honestly, what do I say?

So today after I enjoyed a few tasty happy hour beverages, I happened to run into an underground wrecka stow. Now I bought a record player a few years back, and for awhile I was doing a good job of purchasing quality hits on vinyl. But soon the baby and other pressing personal needs were more important, my vinyl collection fell a bit by the wayside. But today I was inspired enough to buy four good records:

1)Mos Def and Talib Kweli Are Black Star (the instrumental): This remains one of my favorite albums of all time, and now I can pretend I'm going to write my own rhymes over the classic beats..

2)2pac - I Wonder If Heaven Got A Ghetto 12": This wasn't even in my top 10 favorite 2pac songs list, but this song does have sentimental value. I first heard it the day I got my first teaching job back in 1997. I was 22 and as altruistic as one can get.

3)Hall and Oates - H20: This album has Maneater and One on One, which is enough to reel you in alone. But there are other gems on here like "Open All Night" and "Crime Pays". Plus the cover of this album just looks intense

4)Miles Davis - My Funny Valentine Live in Concert: I really don't need to explain why I'm buying a Miles Davis record. Just know that I WILL be playing this on Sunday morning while I cook breakfast for the wife..

Do you realize that young Melvin will be here in a little more than a month? Soon this blog will go from me writing my mundane musings about the ignoramuses I come in contact with on a day-to-day basis, to real, live observations about this little man who will occupy our home (and I won't pull a Bloomberg and kick him out). We've found a daycare, I begrudgingly bought a car (which is a pain living where I live in DC), we've looked at strollers, and all kinds of baby things, and the fact that I'm going to be father again is slowly starting to hit me--in a good way of course.

Last night while the lady and I were watching Archer (my hyperlink function isn't working right now, but google it. Its an adult cartoon that is hilarious and shout out to Nichole for recommending it) and I literally felt the baby moving from side to side. I don't know whether he was moving his ass or his ankles, but he was causing quite a ruckus in there, as if to say, "Man I've had enough of this sh*t, I need to be free, I need to be on the breast (I can relate), and I need to see all the stuff I've been hearing in this damn womb."

I wanted to tell him that I can't wait for him to be freed either..and then I wanted to add that I need him to stay in there, so I can try and get laid as many times as possible before he messes it all up. I'm sure he'd love to hear that, as most kids do. I'm rambling horribly, but this is my long-winded way of saying that I'm excited, I'm ready and I plan on being knee deep in some trim this weekend (you've been warned wife).

Also, a big shoutout to my 26 year old co-worker (who I'm sure had googled me and found this blog) for bearing with me while I explained who the hell the D.O.C. was..you made feel old, but at least you learned something in the process.

I realize these self-congratulatory stories about the amount of restraint I've shown in any given situation is a bit annoying. But a)I was once in therapy for my anger, so these are continual success stories and b)What the hell else am I supposed to write about? Anyway..

As I've probably mentioned before, the wife and I get our groceries delivered. She doesn't mind the grocery store, but she doesn't always have time to get there during the week or the weekend. I can't stand going in the grocery store and waiting in line, and the delivery route is just so damn convenient. You can finalize your grocery list online one night, and BAM, your food is there the next morning. Plus, I can still get my fruits and veggies at the farmer's market down the street. Win-Win.

So on Sunday night I ordered groceries and scheduled my delivery between 6 and 7pm. My wife usually gets home at 5:30, so the 5 to 6 window was too risky. And it just so happened on this night, the wife had to pick up our wedding pictures (and if you come over to our house we will SO have a big production around showing you the pics and making you comment whether you want to or not--that's how we get down)so she was also scheduled to get home around 6, so I knew we were covered.

Now mind you, the wife and I usually order groceries via Peapod but every now and then I switch it up and use Safeway, which is what I did yesterday. Peapod has less selection, but they are cheaper and always on time. Safeway has much more of a selection but they are NEVER on time..I mean sometimes they are up to an hour late, but I rarely complain. I went with Safeway this time.

So around 5:45, as I'm on my way home, I get a call from the Safeway delivery guy telling me he's out in front of my house. I checked the time on my cellphone, and then I kindly informed him that I was still en route, but I'd check to see where my wife was. He loudly sucked his teeth in my ear, and hung up without reacting to what I said, but I let it slide. I called my wife and she wasn't close, so I called the dude back and informed him that I'd be there by 6pm--which is the damn time I chose. The following phone conversation went down:

Me: My wife isn't home, but I'll be there by 6pm, I'm 3 minutes away
Him: 3 minutes away huh?
Me: Yeah 3 minutes
Him: I'm going to have to hold you to that man, I have other deliveries to make
Me (wanting him to repeat that dumb shit again): Say it again?
Him: I gotta hold you to that, I got other deliveries this evening

I hung up the phone at this point because I didn't want to say anything mean to the guy who had my food in his hands, plus I was close enough to see him in front of my house. When I got there, he didn't say hello, he just shook his head repeatedly, slammed my bags of food all over the place, didn't acknowledge my wife who walked in behind him, even after it was CLEAR she and I knew each other, then he shoved the pen and the paper in my face for me to sign the receipt. And even then he had this scowl on his face and he was STILL shaking his head like he was just so damn annoyed.

I wanted to ask him if there was a problem, I wanted to yank his locs and slam his head into the door, and I wanted to ask him to carry my groceries up to my apartment like I usually do. Instead I used restraint, signed for my groceries, said thank you and went up to my apt with my smiling wife. Still, how are you gonna be 10-15 minutes early AND demanding, when I have clearly paid for a delivery at a certain allotted time. Either you call and wait until 6, or politely ask me how close I am, but you can't get indignant and impatient, because you're early and can't tell time...or am I wrong here?

By the way, this song has nothing to do with what I've written, I just can't get it out of my head--and yes I realize Dolly's cameltoe is on full blast, but that's not why I'm posting this..

My friend Janelle, who writes this blog right here (not nearly as often as she should, but who am I to talk right?) has her own website geared towards greeting cards and event stationary. Check it out if you get a chance.

Joe Paterno was fired tonight, but a year ago in this NY Times article, he spoke about why that terrified him.

I've directly and indirectly written about death twice this week already, so as much as I respect Heavy D, I don't have it in me to write about that anymore. Instead I will write about subject that no one seems to be touching on (no pun intended) and that is Herman Cain.

Now, I suspect Herman copped a feel or two (and maybe he even sang about it afterwards), and it is being made into a big deal but I don't know for sure. Let me repeat, I don't know for sure, because I was NOT there. But I will say this..if I was a politician and I was single, do you think I'd be throwing my weight around to feel up on some nice, attractive women? Do you think I'd be begging or (over) extending myself at all, just to get unlimited access to some trim? Do you think I'd fraternize with "regular" women just to get my sh*t off? Hells no.

I would carefully examine the female landscape--aka the women who were free in the circles I ran in--see who I could and could not get with without losing my career, and then I'd enter into a mutually beneficial relationship with a nice lady who had as much to lose in the political realm as I did. And then we'd wear each other out and put "it" on one another for as long as we possibly could. Then when we were done or when we were bored, we would walk away with our careers and dignities fully intact. If we were questioned, we'd both deny it and give Fox, MSNBC, and everyone in between the middle finger. Little boys, married women, waitresses, people below my "status", etc wouldn't even be in play for me if I was Herman Cain's (or any politician for that matter) position.

As my father tells me from time to time, "Rashad, life is easy, its just our questionable decisions that make it hard" (again the pun is not intended). I've learned this lesson the hard way..

The word for the day is hard.

When I was about 13 right up until I was 17, I used to sneak in my Dad's office (which was right next to his bedroom) to temporarily borrow (read: steal) all types of fun, fascinating items. Some days I would steal one of his many college sweatshirts to wear to high school. Other days I would steal music like the Jimi Hendrix Blues cassette or his Branford Marsalis Royal Garden Blues cd. I'm sure my father knew I was removing items from his office, and putting them in the wrong place, but he was nice enough to never say anything--thus enabling my thievery.

One day I was on a mission to steal something new, when I noticed some of his interesting reading material. My father had saved some old newspapers from significant dates in history like Nixon's resignation, Gerald Ford's inauguration, and Martin Luther King getting shot. I set all three papers aside to read, and then I saw two Sports Illustrated magazines buried in the corner. The first one read: End of Ali legend with Ali in the midst of falling from a devastating left hook from Joe Frazier, and the other one read: The Epic Battle with Ali making Frazier eat a right hand. I quickly stacked the magazines on top of the newspapers, and I prepared myself to pull yet another heist.

Unfortunately for me, two seconds after that, I heard the garage open, which meant my dad was home, and I had to attempt to put everything back in its place, and get the hell out of there. Before I went to bed that night, the magazines AND the newspapers were sitting on the desk in my bedroom, and I went to my dad's office. First I apologized for the theft, but he said not to worry about it, but to stop it immediately (I didn't). Then he proceeded to tell me stories about Nixon, about MLK, and most importantly (at least to me at that time) about the Ali/Frazier battles that he saw when he was in his early 20s. I was captivated and jealous all at the same time, and this was before I had ever seen tapes of those entire fights. Once I saw the fights, and combined them with stories I heard my dad tell, I felt like I had seen them live and in person.

So when I heard Joe Frazier passed away (while my Philadelphia Eagles were losing no less) I immediately wanted to call my dad to see if he maybe had one more story he had forgotten to tell me all this time. Unfortunately for me, it was 11:30pm and you don't call anyone that late unless there is family emergency. I'll call him this morning though..

Andy Rooney died on Saturday at the age of 92 after complications from surgery. Joe Frazier, 67, is weeks if not days away from death, due to the liver cancer he was recently diagnosed with. They are both considered to be giants in their fields, and just the mention of their names demands a certain degree of respect.

When Andy Rooney's death was reported, all kind of media outlets started off by saying that his death was a tremendous loss in the journalism field, and he would be sorely missed. I agree that his presence on 60 minutes will be a loss (as a side note, if you want to live longer than 80, 60 minutes is the gig for you..Morley Safer, Andy Rooney, and Mike Wallace have had their AARP cards since before I was even born), because I thoroughly enjoyed his parting shots. He was cranky and funny, and I'd like to think I am too, although I'm nowhere near as good as he was. But to think Rooney's death is a tremendous loss is absolutely ridiculous.

The man lived to be 92 years old..90 effing 2 years old. We had plenty of time to hear him, laugh with him, pick his brain, etc. In fact, considering most people are dead around 80 years old, we got EXTRA time with Mr. Rooney. So when someone like that dies, it isn't a loss, and it isn't sad, it is a celebration of his life. The only people who can legitimately be sad, are his family members and his immediate co-workers, since they will no longer interact with him. His fans? We should get over ourselves, youtube his clips, read his work, and get to know him even more posthumously.

Now Joe Frazier's inevitable, untimely devise? That is sad. 67 is too early to die, especially for a man who has lived much of his life in Muhmmad Ali's shadow. He needs some time (before he dies) to be thoroughly celebrated for his boxing achievements--much the way Negro leaguers have been celebrated during the past five years or so. Frazier should have been able to enjoy this celebration, only because he was tormented by Ali and others for so damn long. So if HE dies this week or soon thereafter, it is sad, its too soon, and it is a tremendous loss.

Here is my review of the movie Tower Heist (which I haven't seen) starting Eddie Murphy, Ben Stiller, Ferris Bueller, and other respective actors. I have no plans of seeing this movie, because I am furious at how unimaginative the writers were with their usage of Eddie Murphy--mind you this is simply based on the endless numbers of previews I have been watching for a little over a month now.

Eddie could have done this role in his sleep 30 years ago when he was a brash, cocky 20-year-old kid. In fact, this could have been the role that took him from star to superstar. But 50 year old Eddie does not need to do a movie where he portrays a criminal who is granted a release from jail just to lead a heist against a dude who swindled millions out of his employees. I'm upset with the writers for not taking a chance and putting Eddie in a different role, and I'm more upset with Eddie for taking it.

You know what would have been funny to me? If Eddie played the role of the guy who swindled folks out of millions, and scoffed at the notion of a group of people coming to reclaim what was rightfully theirs. or, I'd have been cool withe Eddie playing the Ben Stiller role as the man who rounded up the troops and organized the heist. But to see Eddie play a role that he mastered, perfected, and basically created, is just annoying and lazy. Eddie should know better--however, if this bullshit role leads to a big comeback, which leads to more substantive comedic and dramatic roles, then all is forgiven. Until that magical, mystical day, i will protest and forsake this movie.

Yesterday was my nephew Nazir's fifth birthday, and based on what his father told me, he did not have the best of times. You see young Nas has been sassing his teachers for the past couple of weeks, and despite the strong urging of his parents to switch up his behavior, he continued to misbehave. The day before his birthday, young Nas tried to straighten up and act right, in hopes that he could salvage some semblance of a birthday celebration. Not so much.

My brother opened all his gifts in front of him, and then took them away--I swear my brother and I are DEFINITELY products of my father's upbringing. I told my brother that if I was there, I'd have taken it one step further, and played with each and every one of those damn toys in front of him, with a huge smile on my face just to rub it in. That's how I get down. The silver lining here is that Nas gets great grades, he just doesn't act right, so that's not a bad trade-off.

Today also represents what would have been my parents 38th wedding anniversary, which ended in divorce in 1993 (that's 20 years if you're counting at home). My parents both try to act like this day is no big deal anymore, but they are liars. They are friends now, but I know this day is on both of their minds big time. I used to wish they were still married, so I had one place to go during the holidays. Now that I know them as people, not just parents, I realize there is no way in hell they could have made it this long, and I'm just happy they are both still here.

And now, the song that was played on that glorious day, 38 years ago:

When I was younger and in the dating world, I had the whole seal-the-deal routine down to a science. In case you're naive or selectively acting like you are, seal-the-deal is a politically correct code for getting the boo-tay (but I'm quite sure you knew that).

To seal-the-deal, I would offer to cook a dinner of salmon, asparagus and rice if I was feeling especially in a good mood. After dinner I would suggest that we watch the movie Love Jones while we drank Riesling (I don't drink that anymore, my pallet is too advanced), and then I'd sit back and wait for all of that goodness to work in my favor. It may seem diabolical, simple and just flat out dumb right now, but nine times out of ten, your judgement is colored with mature colored glasses. Either that, or you're just not tipsy(read: drunk) enough to truly appreciate the (pseudo) genius of it.

Now that I'm 36, married, allegedly mature, and a bit more learn-ed, I no longer have to resort to such guerrilla tactics just to get some of the sweet goodness. However, I realize some of you people are single, lonely or just flat out have no game (if you read the previous paragraph, you will understand that I was right there with you not too long ago), so I will attempt to lay out a tried and true method for you to get laid.

1) Take your significant other to a jazz club. It shouldn't be a big jazz club, but rather one with an intimate setting like the Blue Note in NY or Blues Alley in DC. You don't want your date to feel swallowed up by the venue, and a smaller venue will give you both the feeling that you know and see everyone. You can see other couples kissing, eating, drinking and swaying to the music and say, "Hey they are just like us!"

2) Drink wine (I'm a Merlot guy, but there are other out there)

3) Take your date to see Kurt Elling (tour dates listed here). He's smooth, his phrasing is beautiful, he's always dead-on pitch, and dammit, I've been telling you about his ass for three of the five and a half years I've been writing this damn blog. You owe it to me (and yourself) to check him out, and see why he will most definitely seal-the-deal for your ass. The wife and I saw him tonight, and it was great as usual

4) Take her to get dessert at a place other than a jazz club. I don't know what it is about going somewhere with the sole purpose of eating dessert, but it just feels adult. Sharing a fine dessert dish is an option, but if you're like me and you are selfish with your food, just get two damn dishes and share that way. And if the wine hasn't done any damage, this is your time to drink Amaretto or even a Port

That's it..that's the list. Just follow those four steps and you'll be doing the grown up and thanking me for the Blueprint. Of course, as with everything else, I am quite sure I am way off base with this one, so don't hold it against me.

After witnessing snow and feeling 30 degree temperatures this weekend, I think it is a safe bet for me to say that the summer is over. Usually that means the end of baseball, the continuation of football, and the start of NBA basketball--which would mean I'd be peppering this blog with all kinds of links from articles I had written. But instead the NBA is still locked out and I'm writing little to nothing.. which isn't such a bad thing because my participation during the season would be limited because of my yet-to-arrive son..

My oldest son and I were in the barbershop this past Saturday, so he could he get that haircut that has apparently eluded both he and his mother all month long. Because it was a new barbershop, at the completion of my son's cut, the barber gave my son his business card. When we got out to the car, I told him that there are rules when someone gives you their business card, and they go as follows:

1)You take the card
2)You flick at it
3)You say, "Oh yeah!"

My son looked at me like I was crazy, then he denied that I was telling the truth. So I put him on speakerphone and called my wife, my brother and my boy from high school, and they all verified what I said, in the order I said it, and my son was dying laughing. Where did I learn this bit of information? New Jack City of course:



I have been at job fairs, interviews, barbershops, networking events, etc. .and each and every time I get a business card, I do the same thing. Sometimes I get odd looks, most times I get ignored, and every now and then someone knows what I'm referencing and they just laugh and laugh.

and oh yeah, the boys of summer are gone..

So I took the train to work this morning, because a)I got about 2 hours of sleep thanks to my lovely, sexy, pregnant and snoring wife, and b)it was raining, and I didn't feel like coming to work wet. The train was quiet, everyone kept to themselves, and when my stop came I got off the train and headed towards the escalator.

The escalator was broken which is par for the course for the DC Metro system, so I had to walk up about 20-25 stairs or so. Usually when the escalators are broken, they tell the people who are walking up to stay to the right, so that the anyone coming down can do so on the opposite side. It is a great system when it works..however on this day, I decided to do something different. I peeked to see if anyone was coming down, and they were not, so I decided to walk with alacrity, skip steps, and make my way to the top before interfering with passengers going down.

I made it to the top, but I heard an older gentleman behind me mumble something in my direction, so I removed my headphones and then the magic began:

Me: Excuse me sir, I didn't hear you?
Him: This is a two way escalator so you aren't supposed to do what you just did
Me: No one was coming sir
Him: Still, this is a two way escalator, you should follow the rules instead of doing what you want

**sidebar on** At this point, I really wanted to steal this old man in the jaw and watch him fall backwards down the same escalator he was defending like the American flag. But I have common sense and a scintilla of restraint, so I relaxed.**sidebar off**

Me: Sir if someone had come down, I'd have gladly gotten out of the way, but no one came, I made it to the top, and no one got hurt, except for your feelings, and you'll get over that by the time you get to work I'm sure
Him: I'm sure I will

I put my headphones back on, and he walked up ahead of me, and I figured it was over. But five minutes later we were at a crosswalk that had the "do not walk sign" up, but since there were no cars coming, this same follow-the-train-escalator-rules guy, ran across the street. He barely dodged a car, he almost dropped his briefcase trying to run, and his glasses almost fell off--and he did all of this just to get in a crowded line in Starbucks. I know this because yours truly sidled right behind him in line. So I talked to him..

Me: I'd say we're even now my jaywalking friend
Him (laughing with that I-drink-coffee-and-smoke-cigarettes laugh): Touche' my friend, touche'

When it came time to pay for his coffee, he was taking way too long to get his money out of his wallet, so I paid for his coffee (it was only two dollars and change) and my Green Tea Latte (much more than that). He patted me on the back and said thanks, I said don't mention it and I asked him to follow the rules, and then I left out (on a high note I might add).

So yeah I won this one.

On Sunday morning as I took my weekly trip to the Farmer's market, I inserted my headphones into my iPod, and prepared myself to be serenaded by the sweet vocal stylings of Mr. Kurt Elling (who will be at Blues Alley next Tuesday, if you're in the Georgetown area of DC). I hit play and I noticed my screen was completely blank. I turned my iPod off, turned it back on (as any IT person would suggest), and STILL nothing happened. In fact, after my Kurt Elling-less trip to the market, I tried all damn day to revive that iPod and it did not work. That night I made the impatient, rash decision to order a new one, which went against to advice of my wife who suggested I simply take it to get repaired. I should have followed her advice instead relying on my knee jerk instinct to get some new shit, but that's my challenge.

The bigger point here is that I would like to give the middle finger to the late Steve Jobs for making me so dependent on this damn iPod. I listen to it at work, I listen during my walks to work, I listen on the way to barbershop, to the market, while I workout, and sometimes in my bed. Now I must resort to listening to songs and podcasts on my Blackberry (no I don't have an iPhone, so save your sales pitch for me to get one, T-Mobile has me in a box) and it simply isn't the same. When my phone rings or I receive an influx of texts or emails, the music or the podcasts are interrupted. Then I have to reach in my pocket, look to see who is calling or emailing, assess whether I want to talk or return their message, and then re-start what I was listening to. I am quite sure there are more inconvenient things to do, but it certainly doesn't feel like it when I'm enduring all of that. I want my iPod back, and it should arrive today.

Perhaps I'll take the other one to the shop, get it fixed, and then give it away on my blog or something. Maybe that will increase my dwindling readership..or I could just try to actually write on a consistent basis. Although in my defense, as much as it seems like my blog sucks now, the excitement level will increase exponentially once this kid makes his way out of my wife. Actually it will get more exciting tomorrow when I do a Hubie Brown-like breakdown on the 3 new people who work for me.

No one really warns you about how equally challenging and humorous third-trimester pregnancy sex is...they just let you find out for yourself, which I guess is how it should be. It would be pretty damn creepy if someone broke it down for me, which would force me to picture them (and their spouse) doing the dirty deed. But it IS funny and it IS challenging..I'll stop there...

I have been upgraded to supervisor at my job, which means I am now in charge of six people--and I hate it. I like being independent, but this position (and the little bit of money that came with it) was put in my lap, and I'd be foolish not to step up to the challenges, take one day at a time, and give 110%. But the minute they f**k up, get on my nerves, or just flat out annoy me, I promise to pepper my blog with all kinds of stories with changed names..

Melvin will be here in two months or so...my wife bought this for him yesterday. Very exciting stuff

I work with someone who does not know how to use the phrase "no pun intended", but because this person is above me (my boss), I cannot say anything. Usually I just laugh quietly to myself, but today I will go a different route, and write about it here. But first a brief tutorial on how the phrase should be used:

How it should be used: The Energizer Bunny was arrested and charged with assault and battery--no pun intended

How my boss uses it: No pun intended or anything, but the last person who worked in this office was not a good worker.

REALLY?

No one is putting a gun to her head and asking her to use the phrase "no pun intended", so I don't understand why she even bothers to utter it. The phrase she SHOULD be using is, "No offense or anything"..or "I don't mean any harm but..". Occasionally when I interview athletes, I hear them use a phrase or a word that I know good and goddamn well they know nothing about, and I want to correct them too, but I'm no fool. Am I saying that I'm better than anyone? Hell no. Am I saying that I am better at researching the corret ways to say or write certain phrase before I use them? You bet your sweet ass I am. Am I usually the rhetorical question techinique to slam my point home?

Maybe I should stop being a punk and tell my boss (in a non condescending way) how to correctly use the phrase, but I see that going horribly wrong. It is much easier to be passive aggressive (and employed) by doing it this way..

By the way, the uncle I made fun of yesterday for the God texts? He called me back last night to say hello, AND to say he wanted to visit me while he's in DC today. So I owe him an apology...this time.

And finally, I just bought the new Lalah Hathaway, and the jury is still out on whether it is good. But this song with her singing lead and Rachelle Ferrell singing background vocals, is excellent:

This is going to come off as mean, but I would like to preemptively say that I am not trying to be that way at all. I'm just annoyed with something..

Every Tuesday, under the guise of something he calls "Touch Tuesday", my uncle texts me a bible verse and/or a story of great God is. My uncle is a devout Christian, he is in Church every Sunday, and he knows that I am neither, so I suspect he wants to keep me near and dear to the cross via text--and I'm ok with that. In fact when I see my uncle, he is carefully not to beat me over the head with Jesus, but he does like to make sure I know of His divine power. Sometimes I listen intently and make mental notes to investigate further, and sometimes I just flat out ignore it, which I think is fair.

But what annoys me is that after my uncle sends me these holy texts, he just checks out and doesn't send anything else to me. I try to hit him with that, "What's going on with you?" or the "Good morning" or even the ""How is your mother (my grandmother)?", but he completely ignores my texts. Then next Tuesday like clockwork, he populates my inbox with more verses, more God, more preaching. Why can't I get a little banter? Why can't I get a side dish of personal touch with my main entree of God..is that too much to ask uncle?

I'm not overly dramatic, but you really can't help to get emotional when you see this picture of Martin Luther King's daughter Bernice, kissing her father's statue during yesterday's ceremony. I can't even imagine the kind of emotion she must be feeling..I'm sure she appreciates his legacy, the effect he had on the world, and the millions of people who will inevitably visit this memorial. But she just misses her daddy..

1) What the NBA Lockout means for...

2) If you are a fan of jazz (and if you are on this blog I hope you are by now) please buy this new cd/album/download by Terence Blanchard and Poncho Sanchez called Chano y Dizzy. It is a tribute to two pioneers in Latin Jazz (Chano Pozo and Dizzy Gillespie) and it is damn good. It'll make you want to dance with someone, dance by yourself, or do dirty things that I dare not discuss in this here family blog.

You'll thank me later. And now here is a tease...

So any remote shot I had at naming my child Melvin completely went out the window last night, when my wife shut it down with swift and authoritative force. Ok honestly, I knew Melvin wasn't going to make the cut as a first name, but I was hopeful that I could sneak it through the back door as a middle name. My plan was to give my wife first dibs on the first name, which by (unwritten) law would give me carte blanche (within reason of course) to choose the middle name of my child.

Now, I did have a backup first name that I wanted, and my wife liked it, and I thought we were going to go with that, until last night. That's when she started dropping subtle hints that she wanted to use her first choice as the first name, and I said no problem, but Melvin has to be the middle name. My friends, not only did she shoot it down, but she shot it down hard, she told me she didn't like Melvin, and that I didn't have a shot in hell at getting that name anywhere on the birth certificate. I tried to explain that it was only fair that if she wanted the first name, I should get the middle name, because that's what good compromises (and marriages I might add) are made of, but she did NOT fall for that b.s.

In fact, I am convinced that she was so hell bent on making sure I didn't try to further convince her that Melvin as a middle name was the way to go, that she decided to go with my second choice as a first name just to spite me(not really, but that's what I'm telling myself).

**As an aside, I must say that I have two reasons for wanting Melvin to be the first or middle name. First off, my father is a huge Temptations fan, and he used to play their records to death when I was younger. Despite the distinctive voices of David Ruffin and Eddie Kendricks, it was the deep voice of Melvin Franklin that intrigued me, because my dad always seemed to be singing his parts. So that name had an early entry into my brain. Secondly, when I was in high school, there was this older dude who I looked up to, because he was a popular all-world athlete who I wanted to be like, because I was neither. We also ended up going to college together, and I always looked up to him to a certain degree. His name was also Melvin. That name was shot down when my son was born in 1997, so I was hoping the second time would be a charm. Not so much.**

So I say all of that to say, we finally have the full name of our unborn child. Oh and sorry for being so damn vague about the names and all, but I do have my reasons. My mother told me that we should not tell folks what the name will be, but it is African tradition to whisper the baby's name in his ear first, then tell everyone else second. That's what my parents did with me, and I turned out to be a halfway decent human being, so why not carry on the tradition? Then again, if I was granted permission to name my son Melvin, I would absolutely kick that tradition to the curb.

I would also like to mention how creepy it is to be sitting next to my wife looking at her stomach, only to see my son kicking, moving and doing whatever the hell he's doing in there. It doesn't bother me to touch her stomach and feel him, but to see her stomach moving like her name is Sigourney Weaver is a bit of adjustment, but its beautiful too.

84 days and counting..

I know I'm not writing as much on this blog, but hey, this things come in spurts (pause). But one thing I am still doing, is listening to music...

Nas - "Nasty" Music Video (NasirJones.com) from Nasir Jones on Vimeo.

My latest contribution to ESPN

Whether you are a sports fan or not, please take some time read this article by former NY Times writer, and current ESPN/Grantland writer, Jonathan Abrams. It is a great piece of journalism, and it makes me realize that I still have a long way to go.

Secondly, I'd like to give a special shout out to my son's mother, who decided to wait until my son is 14 years old (and my wife is nearly seven months pregnant) to give serious consideration to having my son live with me full time. Great timing. You see my son has started off with poor grades (again) and his mother kicked him off the JV basketball team he JUST made, yelled at him, and then decided that she can no longer steer him in the right direction--something I noticed about 5-6 years ago I might add. I'm not saying I'm SuperDad with all the answers, but I had good parents and they slid me the how-to-be-a-good-parent manual. I'll stop there.

Thirdly, I wonder what its like to walk down the street, and see people of all ages, races, sexes and nationalities, using the devices that you were instrumental in creating. Is it overwhelming? Does your ego shoot through the roof? Do you get paranoid and start thinking of the next invention? I don't know what that's like, but he did.


And now the next installment in the "Listen to Michael Jackson Sing Background Vocals" week:

I contributed to this article
And I interviewed Michael Lee of the Washington Post for this one

and lately i've been obsessed with finding songs that Michael Jackson sang background on, so here's another one from 1981 that he did with Kenny Loggins:

So at the absolute last minute, I received a job offer, which means I can continue to work, get paid, support my family and my gambling habit, so I am a happy man. A couple friends of mine who I work with, were not as fortunate, and lost their jobs, so I was not happy about that at all. I have vowed to help them find work, and I do believe it is wise for me to considering leaving eventually as well. For now, I am happy.

In other news, my son has made the JV basketball team, and I absolutely ecstatic. Earlier this year he tried out for the 8th grade team, and when he got cut he was absolutely devastated. I told him that Michael Jordan got cut as well, and that he worked hard to make the team and prove folks wrong. My son worked out hard all summer, ran, played pickup ball, became a vegan (a strict vegan at that), and he got serious. Last week he tried out for the team, and he made it, and I am proud. I'm saddened that I live here in DC, while he lives in Hampton, VA, which means I'll miss most of the games. My dad never missed ANY of my JV or varsity games so this sucks.. But I'll find a way to make some..

That's all I have for now