So last Thursday night, I worked a little over a 12-hour day, and I decided that I deserved a nice bottle of red wine. My father-in-law was staying with me still, so I was a little leery about him seeing me drink (I'm lying), especially since he's been sober for quite some time, but I powered thru that pseudo-guilt and bought the wine. I was getting ready to venture back in the house, when I remembered that the wife requested that I buy some formula for young Nyles, so I headed into Rite-Aid to do just that.

***Sidebar*** I can readily admit that there is a bit of guilt involved when you buy wine AND baby formula on the same run. The wine cost me $15 dollars, the formula cost me $21, and part of me thought that I should be spending that money on TWO bottles of formula, instead of wine and formula. Then I went to the-grown-ups-need-to-have-fun-too card that adults use to rationalize bad behavior and child neglect, and I bought that f**king wine with no regret with one caveat. Usually I shun the purchase of the bag when I buy wine because a) the liquor store is right across the street from my house (and I don't live in a "black" neighborhood, so picture that. and b)bags are five cents. This time I bought a bag, because I couldn't be seen purchasing wine with a bottle in my hand..that's just bad business right? right.***sidebar off**

So as I was looking for formula, I saw this familiar looking older man bending over and looking at dog food. I stared for a few seconds and wondered if it was who I thought it was, but I said nah, and kept walking. I went to pick up some deodorant, then I headed to the counter, and the old man was in front of me once again, and THIS time I knew exactly who it was. Former Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld. We had the following conversation:

Me: Mr. Rumsfeld?
Him: Yes sir
Me: I don't want to bother you and ask for a picture, but then again, there's no way in hell anyone will believe me if I say I saw you in a drugstore buying dog food
**big hearty laughter by both of us..more him though***
Him: Ah its ok
Me: No that's ok, I just wanted to say hello and shake your hand
Him: Oh ok
**We shake hands**
Me: Take care sir

Of course five minutes later, these two girls begged him for a picture, and he played along, smiled and took the picture (with dog food in his hand), but I could tell he didn't like it. Now I don't agree with the man's politics, and I'm sure he's masterminded some things that would downright piss me off (and vice versa). But this was a man who held a pretty political office, and that alone commands my respect.

I should have taken a picture...anyway, more Nyles:

Yes I realize this video is 55 minutes long, and yes I'm aware that youtube may not let you watch it from my blog, because they want you to go their site directly. But this is a great documentary on Stevie Wonder's "Hotter Than July" album (back when you could call them albums without dating yourself). This wasn't Stevie's best album, but it had one of my favorite songs on there entitled "All I Do" (Mr. Michael Jackson sings background on it). But I digess..watch the video please:

What Love Is..

Top of the muffin TO YOU!!

Love is when you sit in your living room and watch the Fox Show, "Hell's Kitchen", with your wife and father-in-law. Sure you just poured a glass of wine so you could watch the Olympic Games, which are nice enough to come into Your life every four years for two entertaining weeks. And sure you told your wife to "go ahead" when she asked if you could turn the channel, and sure your black ass should have been honest and said, "hells no!". But because you love your wife, and you (allegedly) have enough manners to relinquish control of the remote and the television to your hard-working wife and your father-in-law (who is a guest at your apartment watching Nyles because daycare is closed this week). And yes you agreed to change the channel even though you and your father-in-law seemed to be having a bang-up time watching synchronized male diving (don't judge me) before the wife changed the channel. But because there is love, you shut the hell up, you take it and you don't complain (but you do write about it, because writing is what you do). You also know (and strongly urge) that your wife will put out like a champ sometime in the near future to right this horrible wrong..

And now, I will end on a high note..Nyles got his first high chair yesterday...

My favorite Sherman Hemsley moment

So last night, my boss asked me to put something together in Microsoft Visio, which is a program that I have extremely limited experience with (so limited in fact, I don't even try to be slick and put it on my resume as something I'm "proficient" in). If anyone else I work with asked me to complete this task, I would have hit them with the Double XX Posse logic. But since my boss asked me to do it, and since she needed it done before I left last night to deliver to HER boss, I foolishly said I could handle it. That was at 4pm.

Four hours later I completed the task, and luckily for me, my boss was working late anyway so it was no big deal. Around 7 or so, I went to her office and assured her I was still working, but it was going slow, and she gave me this look like that said, "You're still working on this?" (if you watch The Office, think of the time when Charles asked Jim why he was working so hard on the rundown):

Charles: You started on that rundown yet? [Looks at Jim's screen.]
Jim: Oh, this is just something I'm taking a break with.
Charles: Oh.
Jim: I will get back to the rundown, uh, right now.
Charles: Okay, great.
Jim: Hey you know what? Do you have a rundown that I could take a look at, just so I know what type of rundown you're looking for ?
Charles: Just keep it simple.
Jim: Keeping it simple -that's what I'm doing. But I am working hard on this one. Real hard.
Charles: You're working hard? On this?
Jim: No. Not too hard. Not harder than I should.
Charles: Right. I mean why work harder than you should.
Jim: No, I...

Anyway, I told my boss that I was powering through, and I could still handle the task at hand. But man I was struggling, and everyone who I called on for help either a) blew me off b) didn't know what Vision was or c)was unavailable (as an aside, another one of my friends told me later, that Visio was for lames, and it's all Mac-related design programs..she can kiss my ass). I felt like a jackass for biting off more than I could chew, but I felt a bit of vindication when I finally got it done to her liking (with some help from a lone IT guy who was still here too).

When I got home, young Nyles was sleep, my wife fought sleep long enough to imbibe with me for 30 minutes or so, and then she crashed too. Around 11:45 I finally went to sleep after a 14-hour workday, and then the sleep gods decided to f**k me by waking me up at 3:30am. The wife and son were fast asleep, and I was laying awake watching woman's soccer for two and a half hours. I have little to no patience today, which means it is entirely possible that I will be asked to tackle another impossible task on just 3 hours sleep. I'm not complaining, I'm merely giving a three-paragraph long excuse for me taking a nap in my office and/or leaving early today is definitely an option.

First of all, I would love if you would read the article that my colleagues and I slaved over by clicking right here.

Second, I would like to send a special, special shoutout to young Nyles who has given my wife and I his cold for the second time in a little over a month. I'm learning now that when your child is sick, short of living in a bubble and wearing masks, it is impossible to avoid getting that same cold..with one caveat. The cold my son has involves intermittent sneezing and coughing and mild congestion. Once it morphs into an adult cold, it picks up strength like a hurricane in the Atlantic, and it hits harder, faster and with way more impact. I stayed home with the little fella yesterday, and today I needed to stay home, but I'm back at work. So the big middle finger to that kid who gave the cold to my son.

And thirdly, my oldest son has started rapping, and he's dropping curse words and "N" words like he's Kool G Rap. His mother and stepfather don't seem to mind, which makes me look like the villain in this scenario..which is perfectly fine with me, but still. A 14 year old high school kid should not be posting his profane rhymes on facebook, soundcloud or anywhere, he should be trying to graduate and go to college. That's just my opinion, but it doesn't seem to be shared by the other adults his life, which is infuriating to say the least. I would post the link to the page with his music on there, but I can't do that right now...I'm not spreading that filth. I can't decide whether I'm offended as a parent or a fan of rap music..but I am offended. Clearly he's influenced by the cadences and rhymes of Drake, Lil Wayne and Rick Ross. If you were to scan my ipod, you may see 5-10 songs combined from those artists. I respect (kind of) their work, but I'm not a big enough fan to by their entire album. Plus they aren't talking about anything worth getting excited about.

Anyway, my son did record his last three songs profanity and "n" word free, so maybe I'm getting through to him. I know he curses and all that when I'm not around, which is fine (kind of). But you CANNOT put that b.s. up on the internets for all to see, because it stays with you...like herpes or Bob.

Thanks to my main man John for finding this audio clip about introverts

And shoutout to Nyles for this:

So today I am home with young Nyles, thanks to a kid at daycare who made it their business to give my son some type of bug. He's congested, he's coughing, he has a low-grade fever, and in the 2 hours since his mother left, he has kicked my monkey ass. He's clingy, he's cranky, and he's looking at me like "Oh you thought you were going to work from home today buddy? Hells no!".

Speaking of working from home, the new job is challenging but in a good way. When you're new, you have to delicately toe that balance between learning the ropes and being assertive, and I think I've navigated that successfully. I'm the only black man in the office, which has never happened since I started working at 23. Virtually every race is represented in my office (including some black women), but there are no black men--and it isn't even a big deal, which is all the more surprising. Unlike my last office, where my boss and others seemed to be preoccupied with everything BUT work, my new colleagues are all about work, production, proposals, etc. In essence (and ebony), I made the right decision...plus I get to be involved with the writing, editing and organization of proposals which is what I've wanted to do for a minute now.

But the bad part of my decision to leave my old office involved the commute. My commute has gone from a 10 minute walk to a 60-75 minute train/bus ride, which tests my patience in every way you can imagine. People get in my face on the train, the crazies invade my personal space, and the train seems to be delayed daily. And the sad part is, if I drove back and forth, my commute would be even longer--that's the bad part about living in DC and working in Northern Virginia. But that's a minor complaint, other than that I'm happy. Why does this feel like I'm typing an email to a penpal in jail? Why, because I'm rusty that's why...

As I'm typing this email, I just got text from wife that read, "I'm fairly certain they didn't do it in his bottom though". In context, her text makes perfect sense because we were trying to figure out how Nyles' daycare took his temperature yesterday. Out of context, it looks an email from the Jerry Sandusky files....

Too soon?

I haven't bought the Nas, but everyone tells me it is epic..

Ok so I'm back after a brief hiatus. My friend Janelle asked me about the blog yesterday as did my brother. My main man Sabin asked about it today, and the wife constantly asks me. To be honest, I actually have had things to say over the past few weeks, I just brushed them aside. Not to mention, if I'm being honest with myself, writers write no matter what, no matter how difficult it is, and no matter who is or isn't reading. I fancy myself a writer, so I'm must put my head down and power through any slump that may come (u)pon me.

That's all for now....

Oh and guess who's saying da-da now?

When I started this blog six years ago, I was just a few months into my job at the Department of Justice, and I had lots of free time. And this past Friday, several promotions later (less free time too), I worked my last day at that job. Partly because my boss is a jackass, partly because other opportunities came about, and partly because six years was enough, I decided to take another job with more money--however I'm not going to mention this new place of employment because Google is a powerful thing. I can no longer walk to work which sucks, but the piece/peace of mind I will have at the new spot, will make it all worth. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

When I got that job I was basically single, I was reckless, and this blog was probably much more fun to read. Since then, I've had a fire, I got married, had a son, and I am allegedly more responsible, but definitely more boring. I almost decided that this would be a good stopping point for my blog, especially I will have less time to dedicate to it. But I figure longer spans of time between entries is much better than just eliminating it completely. So it lives to see another day...

I was ready to leave the house at 7am sharp. My wife dilly-dallied around so she could take this picture of young Nyles..I'd say it was worth me being mildly annoyed.

Once my son and I leave the house in the morning, we walk to the car, and I put my work bag, and his diaper bag in the car. Then I fasten him in the car seat, put his toys in there with him, kiss him on the cheek, and close the door before walking to the driver's side. The look my son gives me as I walk away, is one of sadness and confusion as if he's saying, "What the hell are you doing to me man, and why are you leaving me?". For that reason, once I get to the driver's side and start the car, I usually reach back and touch his leg to let him know all is well. Then I tell him, "Ok we're headed to daycare buddy", and he says nothing back in return--although one day he will.

When we arrive at daycare, I go around and get the diaper bag, and then I get to Nyles' side of the car, and the look on his face is completely different. First he looks up at me as if he's startled, but in seven seconds or less, a big smile comes over his face and he starts kicking his legs with pure joy. Of course, he normally loses that smile as I'm trying to take him out of the car seat, because I usually try to do so without completely freeing him from the car seat straps. Still, once I pick him up and hold him again, he's fine.

But that moment when I walk up to the car, and he's smiling and kicking? THAT is the best part of my day..until I see my wife naked of course, but that's a separate entry.

My latest article

Here is my latest article. I'm a bit rusty, but that'll change soon.

I know two people who called it quits from the world of blogging, and for the 334th time, I have pondered it too. Less people read now, and I have no problems admitting that my life is pretty boring from a blogging standpoint. I'm a father, a husband, and every now and then someone pisses me the f**k off. I've gotten less angry (not really) of late, and on top of that, it just feels like a chore to write down my feelings. But like I told my main man Sabin, a six-year habit is not easy to break. So the blog will live on..for now.

Happy Father's day to the fathers reading this blog. Make sure your kids (even if their gifts come via their mothers) get you something nice. Make sure your wife/girlfriend/jumpoff gives you gifts, head, allows you to engage in some semi-rough sex, and when Sunday comes, you are allowed to watch the U.S. Open AND game three of the NBA finals without any hassle. These are my wishes for you...

Nyles F Baby

So my car was in the shop today, which means the wife and I had to get a zipcar for the day (which is a great plan B to have). The car was ready late this afternoon, and I went to pick it up, but my wife still had to pick young Nyles up in the zipcar. By the time they came home, I found a nice parking spot for my car, which meant I was able to take the zipcar back to its parking space, while the wife talked to Nyles at home after his first day of daycare in 2 weeks (thank God the cold is gone). I say all this not to bore you, but to properly set my scene.

The zipcar that I picked up earlier this morning, and was now returning in the evening, was housed in a parking lot of a hotel just two blocks away from my house. I waved at my Hispanic brothers who were working valet parking, and I pulled the zipcar into its rightful spot, locked the car, and proceeded to walk up the steep hill out of the parking garage, back to the mean city street. As I strode towards the street, a man with a suit and tie on emerged from one of the side door that connects to the hotel. He damn near stood in front of me, and we had the following conversation. Let me further set this scene by mentioning three things:

1) This man was white
2) I am black
3) There were two white men walking ahead of me who were dressed in summer clothes, while I was dressed in work attire, and he said nothing to them--not hello, not stop, nothing at all



Here's what happened:

Hotel guy: Can I help you?

Me: (hearing every word he said, but making him repeat himself): I'm sorry?

HG: Can I help you?

Me: Help me with what?

**there were five seconds of silence followed by five more seconds of mumbling. It sounded like this.

HG: Well you're walking out of the parking lot and I didn't see you drive in so...

Me: I'm still not understanding what I'd need help with in that scenario

**At this point my Hispanic brother (HB) jumps in

HB: He's cool sir, he dropped off a Zipcar

HG: Oh ok

Me: So my brother over there validated me now right?

HB (touching me on my shouler): man don't even sweat it bro, its ok, just walk away



The hotel guy at this point turned beet red, and was babbling some bullshit but I walked away at this point. Now, I am well-aware racism is as alive and well as Tiger Woods' ability to win golf tournaments in 2012. I am also one of those black men who doesn't prematurely cry racism in any given situation. I like to study and assess situations before slapping them with the racism tag--in fact, I'll label someone stupid and ignorant before I hang the scarlet "R" around their neck. But I recognized this situation fairly quickly as racism. The other two guys in front of me (one of whom drove a zipcar too) were not stopped or questioned at all, and they were dressed like they had just come from a day long fishing trip (which actually sounds heavenly). But not only did I get stopped, but this guy blocked my path like I wasn't allowed to leave.

Maybe I overreacted, but I really don't feel like I did...

First off, young Nyles is still sick, although his cough and congestion situation is definitely improving. We are hoping he can return to daycare on Friday, if not next week. He has gotten me sick as well. I tried to go to work yesterday, which was a disaster, and today I feel marginally better, but not as good as Nyles.

I should be writing the press release my brother asked me to write, but I'm just not feeling up to it yet. But what I AM up to doing is recording and narrating yet another video of my son. I know my friends, family and others are annoyed at the barrage of videos I seem to be recording and posting, but I can't say I really care. I enjoy it way more than writing about the details of my mundane life..

And now, more Nyles:

Two follow up stories to yesterday's elaborate Starbucks incident. One, that woman who I got into it with, is a new employee in my building, and I saw her as I was leaving for the day. I didn't speak and neither did she, but eventually one of us will have to say something..perhaps I'll take the high road. And two, this morning after I got my hot drink, I spilled it on the bottom of my shirt, my crotch and my shoes..so I guess this means she wins, and I lose.

And now one of my favorite scenes, from one of my favorite movies...

So I'm in Starbucks paying for my Green Tea Latte and my banana, while listening to the loud chatter of pretentious people, when I noticed the woman next to me. Her wallet was dangerously close to falling out of her pocketbook, but she didn't notice because she was on her cellphone talking at deafeningly loud volumes. It was my intention to say something to her, but her big mouth just made me want to see her take the "L".

I was well on my way to allowing her to take that "L", when her wallet fell out, and on its way down, it knocked down four cd's (Esperanza Spalding's newest cd, "Radio Music Society" at that) fell on the floor. Since I'm a big Esperanza fan, I couldn't bear to see her cds strewn about the coffee beverage stained floor of Starbucks, so I removed my headphones, and attempted to pick up her wallet and the cds near my right foot (there were two cds that were closer to her right foot).

As I bent down to get the fallen items, apparently this loud woman decided she wanted to get the cds by HER foot..

**sidebar on** When one is trying to pick up items off the floor, there are two schools of thought in terms of what the best practices are. Some people just slightly bend down, and reach for the floor, putting their backs at all kinds or risk, and some people bend their knees all the way down to the floor, and pick up things that way. Keep this in mind **sidebar off**

So I attempted to use the reach method at the same time this woman used the bend down method, which meant on my way to getting the fallen items, I brushed up against her ass. I'm drawing this out for storytelling purposes, but I promise you it happened quickly. Undeterred by the ass brush, I still picked up the cds and her wallet, put the cds back, and attempted to hand her wallet back to her. This woman abandoned HER mission to pick up the cds, snatched the wallet from me, and proceeded to have this classy conversation with me (in front of Starbucks staff and customers):

Her: What the f**k you touch my ass for?

Me: Ma'am I'm sorry, I was trying to pick up your wallet and the cds, and...

Her (interrupting me): Bullsh*t. That don't have sh*t to do with you grabbing my ass, what you that pressed you need to get your cheap thrills on early in the morning?

Me: Ma'am, I just brushed it, and I'm sorry we just bent over at the same time

Her: You probably liked that sh*t, you f**king perv

Me: Look, we both been in line for 10 minutes, if I wanted to grab your ass I'd have been done it. You got your wallet, now get your f**king coffee, and shut the hell up

Her: F**k you

Me: If you drop some more sh*t, I suppose there's always a chance right?

Now at this point, we had an audience, and I was slightly embarassed, so I put my headphones back on and hightailed it out of there. (Plus it was clear I was NOT going to get the last word, as evidenced by the impressive string of expletives she continued to put together as I exited the premises). I really have been living the calm and serene life since Nyles was born, but goddamn, you can't curse me out like that, when I accidentally brushed you, while giving you your fallen wallet. COME ON!

Oh and the cds that were closer to her, were STILL on the floor as I exited. I don't believe in calling my black and white sisters out of their name, so I will allow Compton's Most Wanted to do it for me:

When adults are sick, they typically keep going to work (because they have so little leave), and they unintentionally (or sometimes with intent) get at least four or five other people sick in the office. Occasionally you'll get someone who chooses to stay home when the symptoms start to creep up on them, but even then, the preliminary damage has probably been done already. I've dished out some colds, and I've taken in plenty too (that's what she said).

When infants are sick and daycare is involved, the rules rely less on myopic planning, and much more on rigid policies. Nyles was sick yesterday, and the wife and I read the daycare guidelines, which basically said any hint of sickness means the kid cannot enter the walls of the daycare sanctuary. In fact, I'm sure the daycare staff is taught that words like sneeze, cough, and congestion should be viewed in a pejorative light--and frankly I don't blame them. Colds in youngsters spread like wildfire, and before you know it, 20-30 kids are home, which means 20-30 parents are using up hard-earned leave.

So the wife stayed home yesterday, and her and Nyles took turns volleying the cold symptoms back and forth. They were both coughing, sneezing, congesting and mucus-y, and miraculously, I was able to avoid any and all symptoms--until this morning. Nyles and the wife are home again (with my father-in-law, who will surely be sick by the time he leaves), and I'm at work sniffling and blowing my nose (not at the same time). I seemed to have temporarily staved off the coughing part, but I'm sure that's coming. This of course means that without investing in some rouge cold-stay-the-hell-away techniques, I will be spending my three-day Memorial Day weekend, all jacked up. I'd like to thank young Nyles and the wife for that.

Speaking of Nyles, here we are last Monday after his bath. And yes, in the top left hand corner of the picture, you can see half of Michael Jackson's Thriller album cover. I have it framed in my bathroom. And for those of you who read my blog, are photogs (I think at least three of you are), and hate these kinds of camera pics, please know that me, Nyles, my dad and my older son Carlton will be taking "official" pics this summer, which will be coming to a corny Christmas card near you very soon.

Five years ago this morning, I woke up to 34 missed calls and 10 voicemails--one of which was my landlord telling me there was a fire in my apartment and I needed to come home ASAP (I just happened to stay at an ex's house that night). Of course I later learned I lost everything except the laptop I am currently typing on, and my life changed forever, eventually for the better. Still, I would be lying if a day goes by when I don't think about an article of clothing I used to have, that 12" Bonita Applebum record I haven't replaced, pictures that are gone, furniture I purchased, etc. On the flip side, prior to the fire, I was engaged in some reckless behavior that needed to be reeled in big time. I know Don Henley tells us that we should never look back, but to some degree I'll always do it. I just won't dwell on it too long, which is why the length of this entry wills remain at one paragraph.

Also, read the article I helped to write. I don't want to end on a low note.

I have been floundering around the workforce since 1997, and during that time I have tried to follow certain rules. I don't discuss too much about my personal life, I don't do group lunches, I don't drink coffee brewed in the office and most importantly I do NOT put up pictures. It isn't like I haven't had people who are picture frame worthy in my life over those years, because from my parents, to my brother, to my oldest son, I definitely have. But if I had placed those framed pictures on any of the work desks I had over the years, I would have fallen into the trap.

First a co-worker would come over and look at the picture, and then pick it up off the desk and bring it closer to their eyes like Mr. Pitt.. Then they would ask me questions about who was in the picture, where they are, how old are they, how much I look just like whoever is in the picture, and they may even attempt to regale me about stories from their own life. Next thing I know, 20-30 minutes would have elapsed, and I would still be ensconced in a figure eight of small talk--and that's all with just one person. Imagine if three or four people came in during the course of the day. Rashad would get upset.

But yesterday when I got home, my wife had pictures of Nyles and our wedding on the table with accompanying frames. She suggested I take some framed photos to work and put them on my desk, and I attempted to give her the abridged version of what I wrote in the first two paragraphs. She ignored me, put a picture from our wedding in a frame (the one of Nyles didn't fit the frame), and put it in my work bag (which already contained crackers and rhymes).

This morning I came to work and put the picture up on my desk for all to see. It has been up about an hour and I only had one visitor, and he ignored it. If it stays that way, the picture will remain. If I get heckled, I'm taking it down..and as I was trying to finish typing that sentence a second co-worker came in and said something. I may have to disappoint the wife..

The Bribe Attempt

My grandfather died back in February, and since my mother did not want my grandmother to be all alone, she decided to move my grandmother in with her--in fact she completed the move two weeks ago. And judging from the phone and email conversations I've had with her during that two-week span, my 80-year old grandmother is thoroughly kicking my 60-year old mother's ass.

You see my grandmother is suffering from dementia, which means she forgets, she's cranky, she's depressed over things she can no longer do, and as difficult as all of that is, she still is grieving over the recent loss of her husband of 40 years. Meanwhile my mother has a very difficult job at her university, that has been kicking her ass for 2 years now. When you add in your sick mother who worked your nerves before her sickness, it is just an impossible situation. But I know they are both powering their way through. But this isn't about them.

This year is my wife's first mother's day, and I want to spend it with her and Nyles, so I won't be able to take that trek to Cleveland to visit my mother. And since my grandmother cannot travel either, that means that I will have to send my mother gifts and flowers. And usually that is no problem. But this year, since her and my grandmother are shacking up, I have to send two different arrangemetns

**sidebar on** A special shout out to my lazy ass brother. I asked him to pick an arrangement to send to either my mother or grandmother, and he just told me to pick two, and he'd pay me back. Good job brother.**sidebar over**

Anyway, I'm not sure what the hell I'm going to do in terms of sending arrangements. Do I send them the same thing? Do I send a slightly better arrangement to my mother, or do I respect my elders and give my grandmother the better one? I have no effing clue here.

A couple of months ago my wife looked at me and said that she would NOT allow our son to watch the Wiggles, and at the time I just basically shrugged my shoulders and said whatever. I knew it was something kid-related, and at that time I was in absolute denial about the prospect of having to watch, screen and analyze that type of programming. Of course, a day after that, I found myself knee deep in all kinds of kiddie tv, but I still didn't come across the infamous Wiggles.

But last week I saw these four gentlemen called the Wiggles on my television, and I was deeply disturbed. These four full grown men (I wouldn't be surprised if they were my age) were singing, dancing, and prancing around my television in outfits that looked like rejects from Star Trek's USS Enterprise . I didn't take the time to truly listen to what they were saying, and I DID notice that young Nyles was pretty captivated, and I was disturbed. I figured out instantly what my wife did not like about these gentlemen--they just looked like they were a Chris Hansen visit away from being thrown in jail for unsavory acts. I hate to be cynical, but damn.

And then I found myself wondering what kind of action they get socially. Can you go in a bar and say you're a member of the Wiggles, and get the ladies hot? Or if they are on the other team, do the other men of the ghey, look at them and their profession and think that they are prime catches? I have no idea what their collective salaries are, and maybe if I did, I'd know exactly how they do in the social arena. But still, it is deeply disturbing to know my son may get hooked on them.

My friend Janelle has business called "Designs of a Butterfly", where she designs greeting cards, invitations, and other magical things that I'm sure she doesn't even realize she can do. Go visit her site and buy something please.

So last night the Knicks lost to the Miami Heat for the second time in three days, and afterwards, Amar'e Stoudemire was so upset, that he threw a punch at a glass fire extinguisher case, which required serious medical attention. The classy, but funny headline writers at the NY Daily News countered with this headline

I could not help but think back to February of 2007, when I got into an argument with my then-girlfriend (not my wife), and I hit a wall in my house, and fractured my left hand in two places. One moment of anger cost me 8 weeks of being a cast/ace bandage. I had to quit my flag football team, I couldn't really write anything, my co-workers thought I had hit my girl, and not the wall, and it was just big bag of wrong. To top it off (Starks got ejected), my doctor at the time told me, "Rashad, the wall always wins in those situations", and I couldn't even get mad because he was right.

My then-relationship pretty much ended after that, but a few months later, me and my healed hand re-connected with a lady who would later become my wife, so who is the f**king winner here? Ok maybe not. But the point is, I feel Amar'e's pain, because a) he's way more famous than I'll ever be, b)he probably will cost his team a quicker exit than they would have had if he was healthy, and c)he'll have to wear the Scarlet "L" on his chest all summer. I also feel sorry for him because he's wearing nasty looking cornrows in 2012, but that's his challenge.

No words today, but here is an excellent article on Samuel L. Jackson from this weekend's NY Times.

Nyles had a follow up appointment with the Ear, Nose and Throat doctor at 8am. Nyles, the wife and I left the house at 7:30, and arrived at the doctor's office my 7:55. We filled out the paperwork, and we were called back around 8:05. They took Nyles' temperature, listened to his heartbeat, weighed the little fella, and then put us in the waiting room around 8:15. The doctor's assistant asked us some prelimiary questions, looked in Nyles' ears, and then told us the doctor would be with us "shortly", and she pulled the door closed behind her.

After 20 minutes, the wife was irate, and she opened the door, then peered her head out, looking for someone to scream on--and the nurse just happened to walk by. As the nurse began to explain that the doctor was late arriving, the doctor walked right in behind her. Of course the doctor was nice, gave great advice, and was out of there in less than 10 minutes, but the damage had already been done, and the wife and I were already pissed. Why get to an appointment early when it will at least an hour to complete it? And why do doctor's consistently get away with this b.s.?

My short term solution? I am going to start stealing items from the doctor's office. A syringe here, band-aids there, a stethoscope, gauze and maybe even an eye chart. Then the doctors and nurses will be scared to leave me alone for an extended period of time, and I'll get quick and efficient service right before I do jail time. It is worth the risk.

Thanks to Questlove, I now know Michael Jackson and the Jacksons didn't do the original:

You have to watch the above video, otherwise nothing I say from here on out will make sense. This will probably only be funny to my wife, since we spent many (drunken) hours on Saturday night (our first overnighter without Nyles) laughing about this video.

1) The part where he is dancing by himself on some kind of balcony is just flat out funny to me. I have mimicked that dance for my wife many times, except I do it with my thumbs up, with no sunglasses and there is plenty of determination on my face

2) I'm a fan of Bruce Bruce (not really) and I'm a fan of Anthony Anderson, but for Kem to include them in a video as his running mates is just odd and completely random.

3) Kem looks just like Lex Steele, which makes the video that much more hilarious. If you don't know who Lex Steele is google from your phone if you're at work.

4) There's no way Kem can pull Goapele the way he does in this video. Or maybe I'm hating.

5)It bothers me when a brother doesn't have any facial hair. Get a soul patch, an Artis Gilmore or something. You can't be running around looking smooth like a seal.


This could possibly be the most inside baseball blog I've ever written. But it's funny to me (and my wife)./

Please let me know if I'm being petty. The background? My manager is calling a 3pm meeting today for everyone in the office, and afterwards, I'd like to meet with my staff to discuss an upcoming project.



My email: After our meeting today, would you mind sticking around, so I can go over an upcoming project? I won’t take more than 5-10 minutes of your time.


A co-worker's email response: Cool beans


My response: Cool beans?


His retort: I don’t mind sticking around after our meeting to go over the upcoming project.


I didn't respond. Am I crazy for wanting some semblance of professional email decorum? If we were talking and he said that, I wouldn't mind (although I've never used that expression, I don't judge guys who do). But on a work email? Come on dude...

In this latest Nyles video, we learn that he can kick off his socks with great skill and speed. I would say something about my wife's narration, but I have to sleep next to her every night.

I am a little late with this recommendation, but if you like jazz--specifically the sax and the piano--then go buy Branford Marsalis and Joey Calderazzo's collaboration entitled, "Songs of Mirth and Melancholy". The title is a dead giveaway in terms of the types of songs on there, but it is awesome. I listened last night and again this morning. That's all for now.

Nyles' daycare is closed thanks to DC Emancipation Day and thanks to an unreliable babysitter, I am spending my second consecutive Monday at home with the youngster. He is currently eating his feet while I am typing this, after being rudely awakened by the loud voice of my mother (who just left). Good times.

This past weekend, my older son Carlton was in town, and we took a trip to the barbershop the way we always do. He wears his hair longer, so he just got a mild shape up, while I got my usual close cut. At the end of his haircut, the barber held a mirror in front of Carlton, and asked him if he liked the cut, and he said yes. Before I paid the barber, I asked Carlton if he liked the cut, and he said yes, I asked him if he was sure, and he said yes again. This was at 10am on Saturday.

Yesterday at noon, when he arrived back home and got off the train, his mother saw his haircut and did not like it at all. She asked my son if he liked it, and he said, "Not really". Two seconds later his mother called me up and started bitching and moaning about why I allowed my son to get a haircut he didn't like. I let her talk, and then I told her that Carlton is 14 going on 15, and if he doesn't like something, he needs to speak the f**k up. I want him to wear his hair short, he likes it longer, which means that HE controls the way his hair is cut, not me. She disagreed, we argued, I won, and that was it. My son knows better, or at least I thought he did. Now he has to use his own money to fix something that he could have spoken up and had me pay for...he'll learn though.

In the meantime, more Nyles

My older son Carlton is coming to visit today, and he's staying until Sunday morning. My mother will be staying with me Sunday, and she'll be leaving Monday afternoon, which means this will be a weekend of family. Young Nyles will be the center of attention, and my wife and I will have to simply move out of the way--which is fine with us. I doubt Carlton will care, because he's 14 and in his own little world. But I do have a bit of an issue.

Carlton has discovered the joys of pleasuring himself, and his mother has caught him at least three times in the past month alone. I don't mind that he does that because it is perfectly and natural to (discreetly) get that done, but I don't want any accidents. Nyles is everywhere and my mother is coming in town, and an ignored, lost or undiagnosed "accident" that is found at the most inconvenient of times could be tragic, and downright embarrassing. I need to figure out a way to tell my son to put a moratorium on that this weekend without embarrassing him. Or he can do like his father and handle those things in the shower, where the operation is quick, efficient and clean.

Good times.

This never gets old...

The daughter of one of my wife's friends reached out to me yesterday, and asked for me some assistance with getting into the sports business. She heard that I wrote for True Hoop, and figured I had some light to shed on how to get started. I basically the exact same thing Michael Wilbon told me way back in 2000: Read as many sports books as humanly possible by GOOD authors, write every day, and be able to talk eloquently about many different sports. He also told me to never ask anybody famous about how to "get on" anymore, and I did not. I told this girl to give me a couple writing samples, so I could see what kind of talent she has. She's only a junior in college (Towson), but she's looking for some kind of break and/or internship, so at the very bottom of her email she attached her resume--and that's when I felt old.

Honestly, college students shouldn't even be able to construct resumes, because everything on there is related to high school, summer internships or extracurricular activities like clubs, athletics, etc. I looked at her resume, and it said class of 2013, along with a whole host of college clubs she belonged to, and I immediately realized that I am almost 20 years older than this girl. The chasm between our ages certainly doesn't seem that sizable, when you consider I can still vividly remember each and every (il)legal, ill-advised thing I did at Hampton University. I still talk to friends of mine, and when we wax nostalgic, it feels like 5-10 years ago, not 20. And it definitely doesn't feel like enough time has gone by for a 19-year old to be talking to me about her college years. I'll get over it though.

The flip side to being old? This little girl in Starbucks (she can't be older than 22) has a crush on me, and she keeps giving me my Soy Green Tea Latte for 45 cents (normal retail value: $5.34). I'll take that all day long..

Oh to you jackasses on facebook, twitter, and other places saying sh*t like "We did it" and "We won" just because George Zimmerman was arrested, please get a hold of yourself. "We" didn't have our son brutally murdered and "We" can still be outraged when and if he walks away with what "you" deem an insufficient punishment, and then "you" will sit on your ass in your living room when "they" start rioting, revolting and reacting to that verdict. This battle is far from over, and I am sorry I violated my self-imposed gag order on this subject, but the rejoicing I've been reading is just a bit ridiculous. Kind of like the people who were happy to see OJ Simpson arrested only to see him walk a year and a half later.

Well, my day with Nyles was not that bad at all, in fact it was kind of fun. We watched the Disney channel, we went for a walk, we watched golf highlights, we listened to Poncho Sanchez and Terence Blanchard, and we read two books: "Where is Baby's Belly Button?" and "I'm Back for More Cash"

The belly button book was especially challenging, because it required me to lift up a part of the page to reveal a (clean) body part of the baby. Nyles was all into the story while I was talking, but once I struggled to lift up a part of the page, he would lose interest and start looking at other things in the room. Then I had to reel him back in by putting the damn book in his face, and he'd laugh and try to eat my fingers, and it was a big production. This went on about 5 times, and the book is only 5 pages long. But we made the magic happen. The other book was full of words he couldn't possibly understand, but I like to read it to him anyway just in case he's a genius.

Right before his mother got back home, Nyles got all hysterical and starting crying, kicking and screaming before falling asleep peacefully. And of course when he woke up and saw mom, he smiled and laughed..little bastard. But overall, it was good times, and I really wish I could maintain my current work salary, while watching Nyles all day long.

Nyles' daycare is closed tomorrow, and the wife is fresh out of leave, so it is just Nyles and I all day tomorrow. We are going to the park, we are going to register him for swim lessons (he'll start later on in the summer pending the doctor's approval), we'll listen to the Tony Kornheiser show, and we'll read books. It'll be a fabulous time I'm sure..wish me luck.

The latest article I contributed to. The Wizards' season is almost over, and next year (when the Wizards possibly get THIS guy), everyone will be on their jock, so show that you're a real genuine fan(they don't exist) by reading and commenting on all things Wizards-related right now.

I would like to send a special shout out to the three church employees who were standing out in front of my son's daycare this morning. You saw me carrying my son, his diaper bag and an extra package of diapers. All three of you looked me dead in the face, said "Praise the Lord, and good morning!", and I nodded my head and said good morning right back (I passed on the Lord praising). You then proceeded to watch me struggle with the door, while holding three items including a baby, without any of you lifting so much as a finger. And why did you do this? A woman with a big ass was walking towards her car, and you all were mesmerized with your mouths open.

You all completely forgot about the looking-at-the-sun rule which says you take one look at a big ass (or cleavage), make a mental picture, and then look away. Or if you're lucky enough to stare at the ass or cleavage via a mirror or a window, then you jump on that. But you don't stare at an ass in front of a church, and you damn sure don't do that when your fellow brother is struggling. Shame on you all.

Today's guest blog entry is brought to you by my wife:


I see how people start blogs based on their life and events surrounding them. Marriage, Baby, Divorce, Pregnancy etc. Every time I think of starting one based on something like say when Rashad & I got married or being pregnant and becoming parents together, the thought exhausts me. I try to gently tell people that no one gives a rat’s ass about their wedding or baby like they do. It’s the truth. Tell me when to show up to your ceremony or when the kid’s here. I don’t want to see every little effing detail about how your tent cards arrived and some were eggshell and some were taupe and now you have to find tent cards that are all either/or. No one cares – trust me. Rashad and I nearly did the whole wedding ceremony thing but mercifully he heard me explaining to a relative why this one and that one wouldn’t be invited to the super small ceremony we had in mind. The next thing I know within a week we’d booked a wedding beach planner and room in Miami – and no one was invited.

While I continue to shun then seriously consider the mom blog I may start, I’ll just continue enjoying my husband’s for now. Though his recounting of some of our parenting foibles are a little skewed. Perhaps, its perception VS. reality Matt.

There are a lot of things I just shut up and let go on as far as Mr. Nyles is concerned. Once I had him, I have to relinquish control over how some things are done so my husband will continue to be a willing and active participant. Sort of like the bed making but not really. I don’t go behind him and fix things where the baby is concerned. Luckily, Nyles is a little boy and will never require getting his hair done – I don’t guess – I mean if he wants to wear barrettes and a headband someday I’m okay with that. But hopefully for his sake he’ll never need for his dad to do his hair because I’m sure that would be one hotbed of shittyness. Let’s take a fine look and Rashad’s pampering shall we? So, with the diapering – there’s really not an issue with it being wrong so much as Rashad has a style. I think he thinks the “fold-back” with making the bed is a style but it ain’t. You can always tell when Rashad’s changed Nyles because the two fasteners will be crisscrossed in the front. That’s his move. Like and X marks the spot. You’ve been officially stamped with freshness. Yeah he really likes the crisscross and is quite proud of it. I don’t know why I find it particularly funny but I do.

This isn’t all about Rashad’s quirky habits though. I’d be miss and remiss if I didn’t share some of my own. Like waking up when he’s slept longer than three hours to see why he isn’t waking me up. I did that oh about three times last night at midnight, one and two am. Finally, at 2:30am he woke up as if to say let me give this lady some business. Crazy.

About two weeks ago we tried for three weeks to unsuccessfully sleep train Nyles. He wasn’t having it and every place I read, tells me that it was too early to have been attempting it anyway. I hated every single minute and was uptight, cried and agitated every night we tried it. Now he goes to sleep after eating but still in my arms. I realize we’ll have to try this again in a month or so but I am against crying it out unless I’m the crier.

I appreciate those of you who have sent a prayer along for us to get through the first day of daycare. Boy was that a nightmare. Nice timing on my part to return to work and have his first day of daycare on the day after my birthday. I had approximately four or five crying fits on that day alone. That’s not counting the times I had complete breakdowns in the couple of weeks leading up to it. I’m much better now but still would like to take this time to shamelessly request the services of a super in-home caregiver for Master Nyles who speaks English, doesn’t cost the same as a monthly house payment and won’t steal my underwear. Anyone? Anyone?

My latest article is here.

My lovely wife found this pic of me trying to burp Nyles, when he was just a few days old...

So yesterday I took young Nyles to take care, I signed him in, I dropped off his diaper bag, gave him his medicine, and then I realized I forgot his bottles. The first thing I said, out loud, in this fine church establishment was, "Sh*t!". I had to go all the way back home in traffic to get the bottles, then I had to come back in more traffic, and deliver the bottles. I was late for work, and basically thrown off the whole next day--but I got over it.

Today, I brought all the materials necessary for Nyles to have a a great day at daycare, and I apologized to the nice daycare lady for cursing. She claimed not to hear me (I don't know how that's true) and she said to me, "Yes, we don't do that here in the house of the Lord." I apologized again for that and forgetting the bottles and I left. But the defiant side of me wanted to curse again, because of the condescending tone she laid on me. But I was wrong, she was right, and that's just one of those things that you have to eat---that's what she said. Not to mention, I can't piss of the daycare staff taking care of my beloved son.

So Nyles in indirectly involved in me learning the art of restraint..I'm sure it will all unravel as he gets older.

Thanks to my main man Sabin for sending me this article from Diverse Issues in Higher Education. The title of the article is "The Black Woman's Burden", which may or may not interest the 4 people who read this blog. But this article is of special importance to me because my mother is quoted, so check it out.

Good morning. The train just off loaded. not sure if there will be a delay or not.

This is the text I received from one of the individuals who works for me. The combination of us being contractors and my boss being a bit anal, means that my staff has to get in contact with me if they are going to be running late. It really isn't my style to micromanage such things, but I have to play the game. No problem with that.

But I have told my staff to tell me what I need to hear, as opposed to telling me the circumstances around their problem. I learned this lesson from my father, and some of the bosses I had in my younger days. I'd say stuff to my dad like, "There's a field trip coming up, and the teacher said we need $20." And he'd look at me without saying a word, and I'd ask him why he was ignoring me, and he'd say, "You haven't asked me a question yet." Or I'd tell a boss that I had a lot going on, and I hadn't finished an assignment, and they'd ask me when they COULD expect it. We are adults, and the bottom line is more important than the top and medium lines.

So I ignored my co-worker's text message, because it told me nothing. I can go on any number of websites and find out if a train is delayed or not running at all, but that still won't help me determine WHEN I can expect him to be in his seat working diligently. He ended up being 15 minutes late, and he said good morning to me, and eventually I'll talk to him (again) about sending me what I need to hear. I don't think I'm being a d**k here, but if I am please feel free to tell me otherwise.

The song below is the first jazz song I learned how to play back when I was 12 and an aspiring jazz musician:

As tough as yesterday's daycare-related activities were, today was a lot smoother. I drove young Nyles to daycare this morning, he wiggled free of one sock, I found the sock in a puddle, the daycare went to the backup pair, I signed paperwork and I rolled out. I kissed Nyles, but he was fixated on the yellow calendar with the day's activities, and he barely looked at me. All is well for now. And he slept relatively well last night, so whatever went out at daycare needs to continue.

Someone told me yesterday that considering I have two sons, I need to write or say something about this Trayvon Martin murder situation. I disagree. I have nothing to say on that, because from my vantage point, things seem pretty cut and dry and the much-delayed wheels are finally in motion..kind of. But I'm not going to waste (more) time discussing something that is currently being discussed (and justifiably) on every medium known to man. Not to mention, I work for the Dept. of Justice, and it is been my job to have those discussions that past few days. I've said too much already..besides, if you want it discussed, start your own blog and go crazy with this issue.

And while you're at it, go buy Esperanza Spalding's new cd which came out today.

I wrote an entire blog entry the other day, where I asked my four loyal readers to say a prayer or send positive vibes for my wife, since today was Nyles' first day at daycare. In doing so, I totally glossed over the emotions I would have about this same event. Nyles did not cry or get upset, he was just observing his temporary day caretakers as well as the other scenery. His mother didn't cry in front of me, but I'm sure she did when she closed the door to her office. And I held it together until one of my co-workers asked my how my wife as holding up...of course I'm way too smooth to cry in front of anyone I work with, but I came in the office and released the emotions.

And with those same emotions came a bunch of rhetorical questions: Why don't I live closer to family so they could watch Nyles? Why don't I make more money so the wife can stay home longer? Why haven't I hit the lottery? Needless to say, today is rough for both of us today; however, parents (single and married) have been dealing with these types of issue for years, and they got over it, as will we. It's still a bitch though..

Here's Nyles with his Hampton University football that aunt Janelle bought for him:


And here's some humor about the issue of crying when no one is around...

I swear I didn't buy this shirt for him...

I think I've started and eventually deleted about 10 entries this week alone. I don't want to bitch and moan about my home life, because frankly nobody cares and no one likes a complainer. So I will diplomatically say that life is a challenge right now--and I do mean all of life. Yes I have my health and my immediate family seems to be healthy as well. I don't want to glaze over that or take it for granted..but let's face it, who the hell centers a blog around how healthy they are every day? I sure as hell don't. And never in my life have I been so ok with living a sexless life..I thought folks were exaggerating about the sex-life falling by the wayside, but they weren't. The libido is still there, but the lack of opportunity and energy are winning in a big way--my wife and I are the Washington Generals, Nyles is playing the role of the Harlem Globetrotters.

Anyway, I won't go into (anymore) detail, I will focus on the next challenge which comes on Monday when daycare starts. I am on drop off duty, and the wife will be picking young Nyles up from there. Last night, the wife had me sign various forms in preparation for daycare, which is in a church (that I'm not a member of..actually I don't belong to any church right now). One of the forms basically said that I have to allow the staff to raise Nyles according to God's word, and I looked over to my wife and smirked (she was not amused). If my son were 5, I could see the word of God coming into play, but at two months? What does God's word have to do with anything? And if He is in the mix, can he help me put Nyles to sleep for at least 6 consecutive hours? That would be awesome! In all seriousness, I want them to take care of my son, and considering that I'll be paying them more money than I'd care to shake a stick at, I will be monitoring their God-fearing tactics.

This entry has no direction, no purpose and lots of restraint. Speaking of God, if you pray, please say one for the wife, who has to let Nyles out of her sight on Monday when she goes back to work. She's going to cry, I don't think anything can stop that, but I'd ask that you pray that she doesn't assault any of her co-workers who dare cross her path on that magical day. I would also like to send a shout out to young Nyles who had to listen to rap the song you see below in an animated fashion last night (twice in a row in fact), while Mommy was in the shower. He smiled, he laughed, and he was thoroughly confused, but hopefully he learned all the words.

Have you ever had something bad or challenging happen to you early in the day, and your knee jerk reaction is to mentally make a list of 5-10 destructive things to do to help you forget about that early challenge? But then you take a look at your driver's license and realize that you're three years short of 40, and that type of immaturity is unacceptable?

Well I have.

Nyles didn't sleep, he threw up and was seemingly gasping for air this morning (that's not the challenge I'm speaking of). Mommy and Daddy got no sleep, and snapped at each other at various points in the evening and morning(totally her fault--and no, that STILL isn't the challenge I'm speaking of). We had an appointment with the Ear, Nose and Throat doctor at 8am, we got there at 7:50 (per their instructions), we waited until 8:30, received a two minute consultation from the doctor's assistant, then waited 20 minutes for the doctor to stick a probe/camera down Nyles' throat (which took 5 minutes at best), then we waited another 15 minutes for the doctor's assistant to give us a prescription (HERE is the aforementioned challenge). I wanted to take whip my genitals out and smack everyone on sight with them repeatedly.

Why does the doctor's office ask you to arrive early, and then make you wait for them for up to 45 minutes? Why do they ask the same questions the doctor's assistant asked you, which are the same questions on the form you initally filled out, which are the same questions you answered just two weeks ago when you went through this exact same process? I swear I wanted to drink an adult beverage, skip work, take my anger out on co-workers, etc. Instead, I walked to work, talked to my mother, listened to the song you see below, and now all is well. Thank God for plan B.

Rachelle Ferrell and a humble, but eventually confident Jennifer Hudson:

A few days ago my friend Valerie wrote a scathing blog entry about how she felt (that day I might add) about kids as they related to her wallet and other things. I read it twice, and both times I said "goddamn" out loud. She threw in nice things about her son at the very end, but not before getting her point across loud and clear. I thought it was harsh, but I knew I had not come even close to seeing what she had seen, so I didn't dare judge--ok maybe a little.

Then came last night, when Nyles decided to inflict pain and inconvenience on his mother and father. I know it wasn't intentional and I know he's just an infant and these things can and will happen millions of more times. Still, yesterday, I had to work from 9-5:30, and then I had a Wizards game from 7-10, so I was beat. The wife had spent all day trying to get young Nyles to nap (to no avail), plus she's emotional because we're trying to get him to cry himself to sleep, as opposed to being rocked. So the wife and I were dead tired, and Nyles basically said, "F**k you and your fatigue, I'm about to add to it!"

He vomited, he cried, he screamed, he was up every hour, he laughed at us while we changed his diaper, he kicked my wife's breasts, he smashed my balls like LL squashed the imaginary jellybean, and it all added up to a sleepless night. My wife and I may have slept 90 minutes total. And for a second, I thought back to Valerie's blog, and I silently gave her a high five.

I want to say all is well now, but I'm shoo-in to fall asleep in at my desk in T minus 2 hours..I love Nyles and all, but damn...

I know 90% of you could give a flying f**k about basketball, but my main man Kyle gave me a chance to do something on ESPN's site, and you can read it right here (scroll down to the Wizards game). It is small, and it wasn't as fun or difficult as it was to tweet about the game (via an ESPN account) all evening, but it is something..

The first two lines of this song are how I feel this morning

My latest contribution to the basketball world

The Robert Glasper Experiement featuring Bilal and Lupe Fiasco, "Always Shine":

My main man Bill Simmons got to talk sports with President Barack Obama. Check it out here.

I can't get my son to smile on camera or video to save my life, but the wife has the magic touch. Whoopty damn doo for her. In other news, I've started another I-need-to-get-in-shape blog, which will not only spread myself thinner (no pun intended) than I already am, but it be hopelessly boring and basically for me only. If you're into that kind of thing, have at it.

I have listened to this song 13 times in a row and counting. I suggest you put your headphones and do the same--especially once he kicks up the emotion at the 3:30 mark:

One of the best parts about being around family when you're younger, is being able to sit back and watch the older family members interact. You can see you parents talking to people their age, grandparents are holding their grandkids while simultaneously annoying their kids, and aunts and uncles are generally doing things that your parents would rather you didn't see. For me it was eye opener, because I always knew where I stood in my household because it was just me, my brother, my mother and my father. But when the extended family came around, whether that was on my mother or father's side, I realized that I had an entire army of family at my disposal.

Then you have moments like last week at my grandfather's funeral, when you realize that are fewer people making up that buffer between young and old. Grandparents are moving on to glory, the aunts and uncles that come around are moving a little slower, and the ones who don't come around are trying to hide that very same thing. Parents are weighed down by the burden of grieving or looking after their parents. Older family members start heaping a more responsibility on you, and the life lessons they have to offer seem to be more substantive and plentiful. And then, as if magic was involved, there are all these younger cousins around who ask millions of questions, and refer to you Uncle or Cousin Rashad, and you look around wondering if they are really addressing you. The shit is weird.

I don't know.. when your family is on facebook, or in contact with you via text or phone calls, you realize everyone is getting old(er), and younger family members are sprouting up like weeds. But it isn't until you see them face-to-face, and fellowship in a familiar spot, that you realize just how much things are changing. It isn't scary and it certainly doesn't add to my growing grey hair count, it is just sobering.

Enough of that morose talk..if you have a few dollars, go out and buy the new offering by the Robert Glasper Experiment. He usually plays jazz, but for this release he veers off a bit, and it is great. Guest stars include Erykah Badu, Bilal, Mint Condition, Mos Def and Ledisi. Here's Ledisi:

Nyles in the stroller..

Some pictures need no introduction

So young Nyles is officially two months old today, which meant today was his doctor's appointment. The doctor wants him to take a precautionary visit to the Ear Nose and Throat doctor, and he got four vaccinations (three via the needle), but he powered through, and aside from a two-minute stint of insanely loud crying he's fine. I'm not totally comfortable with the idea of vaccinations and needles in my child, but given that he's going to daycare in less than a month, I'd be a damn fool not to acquiesce.

The best part about visiting the pediatrician's office is watching the parents. Some parents look overprotective, others look absolutely bewildered, and then you have the competitive parent(I don't think the wife thinks this way) like me. I was looking at every child, toddler, infant in that damn waiting room, and comparing them (like a fool) to Nyles. Mind you, I have no business comparing a two month old to a one-year old (or older), but I was doing it anyway. I just want to make sure my child measures up, but I should be listening to the doctor (which I did) and not my horribly untrained eye. But I did it anyway.

That's all for now. Happy two months little buddy.

My latest article

I won't get too melodramatic, but I did have one parting comment regarding my grandfather's funeral on Saturday. First off, the funeral was so damn inspirational. He was a great, great man who loved God, his wife, is church and is job before he retired. I've attended some funerals where there is either a) an elephant in the room surrounding the circumstances of their death or b)a struggle to find positive things to say. There were no such issues with my grandfather's funeral and it made me proud.

But after all the festivities were over and my uncle and I were leaving my grandmother's place, I noticed one last thing. At the nursing home where my grandparents had been the past couple years, every room had a nameplate outside of the door--this was done to promote a community atmosphere among other reasons. I saw the one outside my grandparents door and I smiled, then cried. It is still a little sad now, but that is temporary of course. I'm proud to have known and loved my grandfather.

My grandfather's funeral is going to be Saturday at 2pm, and I did not find this out until yesterday, which meant a plane ticket was out--unless of course I was willing to drop $400. Luckily for me, my uncle (who lives in Northern Virginia) wanted some help driving, so we will take that 5-hour drive tomorrow after work. We haven't really hung out (not for 10 hours anyway) in a long time, so it'll be good to catch up and discuss our families. Not to mention, he's a big Ice Cube fan, so I fully expect for him to play as much Cube as he can:

1)Amerikka's Most Wanted
2)Kill at Will
3)Death Certificate
4)The Predator
5)Lethal Injection

And that's it. Cube has had a good song or two since then, but none of his albums have been worth purchasing. It is difficult (but not impossible) to be an effective gangster when you have a wife and kids. Thank God he can still act..but I digress.

I don't like to say I hate funerals, because I think that's a universal position to have. The wake creeps me out, especially if they leave the casket open throughout the sermon. You see family members for the first time in years, and come to realization that you probably won't see them again unless there's another death or a wedding. And then I'll have to manufacture some outward sadness, so the people who are really sad won't judge me--and yes this has happened before.

I did my grieving in my kitchen last Sunday with my wife, and then I straightened up because my son needed to be fed, and my wife needed a break. I have had fleeting moments of nostalgia-tinged sadness, but for the most part I've kept my wits about me. I need to be strong for my mother and grandmother (and others) and that can't happen if I'm crying and falling all over myself.

**Disclaimer** I know this next part is selfish, but I'm being honest, so suck it.**Disclaimer over**

As strong as I need to be for my family, I REALLY would rather stay home in DC, and take advantage of this relatively mild weather and take two-month old Nyles out. Yes I'll have plenty of time to do that this Spring, but I'm impatient and I wanted to do it this weekend--and perhaps I still can when I return..still..Ok enough of that.

It is going to be a fun and trying weekend, I think I'm just trying to prepare myself by talking it out. Thank you for humoring me.

There's an Allen Iverson article in me that I have yet to find the time to write, but I want to. I used to teach at the high school he attended, I use to live and attend college in the city he's from, and he went to college in the city where I live, and I even interviewed him before..not only that, but I have followed his career for over 20 years, and now the man is in complete shambles. One day soon I'll write an article or maybe a book (with my main man Sabin) on my Iverson experience..it won't be long now but until that magical, mystical, majestical day happens, here are some good and interesting reads on Iverson:

My main man Sabin's take is here.
My main man Bomani Jones's article is here
And the sad article I just read is here.

Saturday morning the wife and I woke up, looked over and saw that young Nyles was sleep, and we decided to watch a little mindless television before we started our day. We were flipping channels and came across a picture of Whitney looking a bit disheveled and Ray-J right there with her. The wife and I talked and joked about the both of them briefly, and then we went on about our day.

Later in that day, the conversation drifted towards my mother, and how I wished she still lived in the DC area, as opposed to Cleveland. I mentioned that the only way my mother would move back here is if my grandparents died, because the whole reason she moved back to Ohio was to take care of them. It started off as me wanting my mother to be closer to me, then it sounded selfish, then it drifted to something morbid, and I veered out of that conversation too.

That night Whitney Houston died and Sunday morning my grandfather died. The first death is sad and unfortunate, but I'm not losing any sleep over her. I cried when I got the news of my grandfather, and my heart was intermittently heavy yesterday, but damn, the man was 88 years old, beat prostate cancer and alcoholism, and died on his terms--just a week after he had left the hospital after rehabilitating a broken hip. I worry about my mother and grandmother now, although last night they both seemed to be doing much better. It is just a little strange that two seemingly innocuous conversations took dramatic turns. But life goes on I suppose...

A little over a month ago, my beloved 14 year old son Carlton ventured into the bathroom of his mother's house armed with what he thought was fresh gear, a comb, and his cellphone. He proceeded to take about 10 pictures of himself at various angles, he picked the one that accentuated his teenage aura, and he plastered it up on facebook. I watch my son's page like a hawk, so within 15 minutes I saw this picture:


I called young Carlton on the cellphone I'm paying for, and I explained to him that cellphone pictures in the bathroom were just plain foolish, especially in that bathroom picture where a hanger and some of kind toiletry were clearly visible. I asked him if a girl told him to take that picture, and he said no. I asked him why his brother, his mother or someone else could not take that picture, and he had no answer, but he said he'd do better.

Yesterday, while I was waiting for him to call me to discuss his sub par Math grade, I saw him put yet another picture up on facebook:


As you can see, it looks like even more thought went into this pose (the facebook caption was, "I'm looking for my mirror") but zero thought went into removing the roll of toilet paper in the bottom left hand corner. After I went on T-Mobile's website and disabled his Web privileges, I texted him to give me a call and he failed to do so, but I was too tired to have that conversation anyway. I had the energy to talk to him tonight though..

I told him that he was a half-step away from losing his phone for good, and then we talked about his Math. Then I clowned him about his picture. He laughed at first, then he got quiet, then he got mad and told me I didn't know what was I talking about when I said the pose was corny and not sanitary. Apparently taking bathroom shots of your afro with a white tee and a whiter roll of Charmin is what the kids are doing to keep it real. I shouldn't be joking, let alone blogging at my son's expense, but I'm not yet ready to write about the condom his mother found..that's a whole other story..

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: