I have absolutely no clue who I am voting for, and frankly these are the worst presidential candidate options since I first voted in 1996. A friend of mine who is from Ireland said to me, "Are you telling me that these are smartest minds/politicians that your country has to offer?" I told him that smart people (with some exceptions) know to not dip their toe in the murky political waters. I also told him that in my opinion, this year is not about good, smart politicians, it is about (allegedly) changing the system and the political landscape as a whole. The intent is a sincere one I'm sure but the the cast of characters we have to choose from simply cannot carry out that mission.

I don't doubt Donald Trump's intelligence in the business area, but his approach sucks. All he had to do is be sane, slightly contrarian, learn 10-12 pertnient issues plaguing the country, and lay out 4-5 comprehensive (and realistic) plans of action, and he'd have the whole country in the palm of his hand. If he lost the bluster, the ego, the race-baiting, the rowdy crowds, and just plugged into the people (rich, poor and in between), he'd be the man over Mrs. Clinton, Bernie, Cruz and everyone. There is a void there and I thought he had the tools to fill it. But he cannot get out of his own way, and he's mucked it up completely. He didn't read the running-for-president manual, he knows nothing about delegates, issues or being presidential, he race-baits, and he has zero accountability. He still gets plenty of votes because he talks a good game and other candidates on the Republican side were blindsided by his ability to basically play the dozens. But he ain't presidential. Personally, I wanted Chris Christie, but then he fumbled the nomination away, and went all Anakin Skywalker on me by going to the dark (Trump) side. His political career is over.

Speaking of Trump, what's with the coded language of "Make America Great Again"? What is the "America was great" timeline and when did it stop? When Obama was elected? During 9-11? I want someone to make me a Great America timeline so I can view with my own 41-year old eyes when we as a country, were vacillating between great and not-so-great. If someone can do that, I'd vote them in a heartbeat.

I would write a paragraph on Ted Cruz but there's no need. He has a face, I'd love to kick repeatedly, and he seems woefully out of touch with his ultra conservative views. He is smart and he's a great debator, but that just means I'd want him representing me as an attorney, not as the leader of this country.

Bernie Sanders is a great activist and the fact that he has rallied all of this support basically out of nowhere cannot be ignored--he's just coming around in the wrong year. This is not the time to overhaul the system and start over, even though he makes great points of why we need to do just that. This country's econonomy is not ideal but it is better than it was in 2008 (part of that is Obama, the other part is just the natural ebb and flow of the economy) and for right now, stability is more important. I'd be happier if he were trying to figure out a way to fix this country's bridges, highways, trains, etc, because that is becoming a major problem all over this coutry. See the DC Metro. Plus, and I'm wrong for saying this but oh well, but Bernie is 74. His Vice Presidential choice will be like the backup quarterback of any NFL team. It will be a matter of when, not if they will get in the game.

Hilary Clinton is easily the most experienced politician in this limited field which gives her an advantage as does having her still-beloved husband campaigning for her. But Hilary comes off as smug, and she has a little Trump in her, because she'll seemingly do anything for the black vote (Trump does anything for any vote). Plus she has the stench of Bengazi and mishandled emails all over her. I think if her past was a bit cleaner, she'd be rolling over Sanders and would be the overwhelming favorite over Trump. But as it stands right now, it looks like it'll be the established, slightly crooked woman against the business man who knows nothing about politics and everything about self-promotion.

I'll eventually make an educated choice and vote, because not voting is just asinine, but this is just sad. If Trump wins, it'll open the door for more dumbasses to try and run for president, instead of leaving it to the "professionals". If Clinton wins, and more of her past transgressions come out--or if she does something shady while in office, the voting public will be disappointed and frustrated once again.

That is my political breakdown. Yes it is flawed and oversimplified in spots, but for the most part I think I'm right...

I have one main thing irritating me this morning, which isn't bad considering it is a Monday and work is kind of busy already. It is Starbucks related and it has been bothering me since Sunday afternoon.

The wife and I went to Starbucks yesterday and we both ordered a Venti Soy Chai Latte--she wanted her drink to be extra hot, I just wanted mine regular. The two Starbucks folks (allegedly called baristas) were in the midst of a conversation about fatigue. One woman was talking about tired she was, and the other was hoping she didn't get reported by a customer who caught her falling asleep on the job. So right away we know we're dealing with two employee of the year candidates.

One of the baristas asked my wife two times if only one of the drinks needed to be extra hot, and my wife said yes both times. Of course the woman didn't hear either answer because she kept running her mouth. The first drink was ready and I asked the barista if it was the regular drink or the extra hot one and the following conversation started:

Her: I thought they were both extra
Me: No, just one drink
Her: Oh, well I thought they were both extra hot and I already made it, so you can just put a ice cube in the second one, trust me, plenty of people do it.
Me: No thank you I don't want a ice cube
Her: Ok well do you want the way it is?
Me: No
Her: So you DO want the ice cube?
Me: No
Her: Well I'm sorry I didnt know only one was extra hot, I was trying to compromise and offer you an ice cube
Me: So making it the way I want it isn't an option?

At this point, my wife and I had to go pick up our son and there wasn't time to sit there and argue so I just took my drink and told her we'd try again next time. Of course she didn't hear me because at this point she was bitching and moaning to her co-worker. Mind you, her co-worker already knows me from my weekday morning trips to this same location, and she looked at me as if to say, "I'm sorry". I wrote an official complaint to the Starbucks-powers-that-be, and I expect some sort of compensation.

First off, who the hell wants ice cubes in a hot drink? There is no way in hell that the Starbucks bylaws allow their precious baristas to just drop cubes in hot drinks. How do I know this? In most Starbucks I visit, if they mess up the drink even a little bit, they offer to remake it--no questions asked. The solution to an error that THEY made is not to use a half-ass solution that THEY came up with. That is a piss poor way of handling things.

Second, this Starbucks has a handful of women (I'm sorry to say who are black) who act like each Starbucks customer first called them at their respective houses, and then called them into Starbucks and forced them to make a drink at gunpoint. There are no "good mornings", "good afternoons" or even "hellos". All I've gotten is a brusque, "Welcome to Starbucks, what's your order?". I am far from high maintenance, but I do expect some simple customer service, but sadly, I've gotten used to their negligence. What I will NOT accept is people half-assing their jobs or just flat out being lazy. Me and my little $5 deserve better.

The sad part about all this is that the manager is the epitome of class and whenever she is behind the counter I get nothing but first class service. Perhaps she needs to do a better job of hiring staff...or maybe she's tried and this is the best staff she can hire. I feel like a snob typing this entry, because at the end (and beginning) of the day, we're talking about coffee/tea/hot chocolate. But goddamn, have you actually tasted Starbucks? It's the best Jerry, the best.

As as kid I never caught my parents having sex. I heard them going at it a few times but once I realized what was going down I scurried away. No kid (or adult for that matter) needs to be directly or indirectly involved in the dark, shady underworld of their parents infrequent sex life. In fact, I didn't even like to see my parents flirt with each other. I was happy they were in love, and I guess once they divorced I eventually was nostalgic about the bless-ed flirting events of the past, but while it was going on, it was disgusting--to me at least.

I remember Christmas of 1986, my parents decided to sleep in longer than usual, which was preventing them from presiding over all of the toys, books, clothes and music my brother and me were entitled to on Christ's birthday. I had exhausted all of the activities I had at my disposal in my room, and when I went to my brother's room, he was equally as antsy. At this point it was almost 9am, which we felt was simply much too long to be kept from our blessings. We walked to my parents door and proceeded to knock, and then I immediately retreated and made my brother come with me. He was first confused, then apoplectic that I had whisked him away from the door, and then he wanted me to tell him why mommy was "crying". I refused to answer. 15 minutes later when my parents emerged from their bedroom looking like Girard's parents in Boomerang, my brother demanded answers once again. Both parents refused to answer, which was the wise move considering Jamal was only eight years old. I knew the deal though and again it was disgusting.

Fast forward about 30 years. This morning, I noticed there were about 20-30 minutes of adult time to be had before my son made his presence and his hunger known. I will not get specific about what went down during adult time, because I'm sure it is as disgusting for you to read/hear as it was for me with my parents. The wife did her thing, and I did mine, but at the very moment that I finished--and I mean the VERY moment, we both looked towards the door, and young Nyles was standing with the door wide open looking bewildered as hell.

Me: Good morning Nyles
Nyles: Hi Daddy, I have to pee pee
Me: Go pee pee Nyles

**Then he runs to the bathroom, starts peeing and then...**

Nyles: Why were you hugging Mommy like that?
Me: What did you say? (knowing good and goddammn well I heard every word of his question)
Nyles: Why you were you hugging Mommy like that? (Of course that was the most enunciated sentence he's ever uttered in four years of life)
The wife (who finally decided to jump in here): Because we love each other

The wife's response must have been enough to pacify the youngster, because he ran in his room to get his slippers and to get his pre-school routine started. I feared that he may bring it up while he was eating oatmeal, or on the way to school or at school in front of his friends or teachers, but he kept his mouth shut like a good kid--for now at least. This certainly won't prevent me from wanting to "wet my beak" as it were, but now I have to secure the premises a little tighter, since I'm quite sure Nyles will do everything in his power to see Mommy and Daddy hug again.

Life is a weird confluence of events is it not?

As I sat down to start the this entry I realized my last blog post involved a video of Q-Tip from A Tribe Called Quest, being named the first artistic director of Hip-Hop at the Kennedy Center. Five days later, Phife Dog, the Scottie Pippen of Tribe, died due to complications from diabetes. Two weeks before either one of those announcements, the wife and I caught the tail end of Beats, Rhymes and Life documentary about Tribe. After we watched about five minutes of it, the wife and I started discussing whether Phife or Q-tip were more responsible for the demise of the group. Then we talked about how sad it was that they both seemed incapable of making anymore of the memorable music that so many folks in our generation had grown dependent on from 1990-1998 (such a short span of greatness by the way).

One night before Phife died, I took the time to watch yet another documentary on Organized Noize (the folks who produced OutKast, Goodie Mob and others), and I was just caught up in all kinds of early-to-mid 90s nostalgia about OutKast, Goodie Mob and my college years as a whole. And I remember being struck by the stark differences in how some of these artists had changed in the 20 years since we first "met" them. As I am writing this I am wondering why the hell I would be so naive to think I would change and age in 20 years but my favorite artists would somehow stay stagnant for my convenience. It does not quite work that way I know, but I never said my line(s) of thoughts were always rational, now did I?

The thing that struck me about the Organized Noise documentary--which ironically was one of the same things that struck me about the Tribe doc--is that Big Boi and Andre did all of their interviews separately. Now I understand that folks are generally more comfortable discussing group dynamics without members of the group being in their presence, but I would have liked to see some interviews where OutKast and Tribe appeared in their respective entirety. It never happened though. And for Outkast, when I listened to their interviews during this documentary, and I combined that with what I heard in the countless interviews I heard from them the past 5 years or so, I was convinced that OutKast would never record again. Like Tribe, I expected OutKast to do tours, tv shows, the Budweiser Superfest (which needs to come back) and other appearance that basically amount to teases. But there would be no new album to look forward to buying, dubbing or previewing on Spotify or Tidal. I even texted my brother to tell him to watch the documentary, and that 'Kast was done. He texted me back and said he'd watch it soon.

The very next text I received from my brother came at about 3:45am, and I didn't see it until 4:45 when I woke up, and it simply said, "Man, I am hurt over Phife. Damn". I suspected that Phife died but as most folks do, I scoured the Internet and Twitter for confirmation, and I saw that he had indeed passed away. For the next several days, I found myself playing not only Tribe, but all the music from my high schoo and college days--of course I honed in on Tribe stuff. I played songs, I downloaded tributes and compliations, I rewatched the documentary, videos and I did every damn thing I could do to fulfill my need to be nostalgic.

I didn't cry over Phife's death, but there was a sadness hanging over me for a few days. It felt like a dark cloud following me wherever I went, and I couldn't shake it (a Nas line from the World Is Yours comes to mind..). Not only did it feel like my innocence had been stripped away but the way Phife died was a wakeup call as well. Yes his death was sad, but it was very preventable. He did adjust his life and diet to accomodate his Type 1 diabetes, and it eventually caught up to him. I have stopped and started many workout/diet plans and then I fall into the familiar, destructive habit of not giving a good goddamn. I'm not a funky diabetic, and I am not that overweight, but I know I could and should be doing a better job to monitor my health. I know that in theory but when musical hero of mine dies and he's just 5 years my senior, it tends to resonate a little more.

So I waited a little over a week before I wrote about this, because I wanted to get my emotions in check. I'm sure I could say more, but this feels good enough for now. I'm still playing Tribe to death, but I'm working out and eating right again, the black cloud isn't following me anymore and life goes on. It still sucks though..

In this week's episode of hell yes I'm getting old....

Bryant Gumbel on Young Black Men and the Police:

BRYANT GUMBLE GETS IT! DO YOU?

Posted by Agyei Tyehimba on Saturday, August 15, 2015

As I am sitting here trying to blog for the first time in a couple of weeks, I am fighting nausea, congestion and a bit of dehydration. My four year old is sitting here watching the movie "Happy Feet" is in my face hovering over the laptop, even though he has a nasty cough and just threw his oatmeal up all over the floor. I just wanted to make sure I captured as disgusting as a visual as I could before I started typing this entry.

Speaking of my son, I have volunteered to read in front of his class this Tuesday,and I am legitimately excited and maybe a touch nervous. None of the male parents have volunteered to do this yet, so I figured I would be the first. It isn't often that a kid has the opportunity to show off his dad in front of his friends, so I need to make sure I do a bang up job.

First and foremost, I need to make sure that I (or my wife) pick out a great entertaining book. I want the book to have a subject matter worth listening to, some fancy pictures for them look at, and maybe a slight lesson to boot. That will win me points with the teacher. Second, I need to be funny and engaging with each of the 13 kids in the class--black, white, hispanic, male and female. Reading a book isn't like doing the opening monologue of the Oscars, but a good teacher/entertainer/point guard gets everyone involved and makes his/her audience feel like they are the only ones in the room. And lastly, after I leave the classroom and head back to work, I need Nyles to be able to brag to the teaches and his fellow colleagues, that I shut shit down. I want Nyles to be able to brag and I want his colleagues asking and damn near begging for my encore. I realize these are just Pre-Kindergarten students, but they still possess the ability to inflate my little ego. Basically I'm trying to win..

Speaking of fathers, my dad and his book club nerds are celebrating 25 years of being together, by putting together a list of their favorite songs during that span. My father took it a step further and broke down his favorite songs of each decade since the 60s, his favorite artists of all time, and his favorite 10 songs ever. He shared these lists with my brother and I, so I don't want to give them all away, but I AM going to show you his top 10 songs ever:

1. Old Man River – The Temptations


2. You’ll Lose a Precious Love – The Temptations (My dad loves Melvin Frankin's vocals in this song and he can imitate these vocals on commmand. No lie)

3. My Girl – The Temptations

4. God Bless the Child – Billie Holiday

5. A Change is Gonna Come – Sam Cooke

6. Ain’t Too Proud To Beg – The Temptations (this is my father's favorite song of all time. Hands down. He can sing all the parts in perfect pitch, and I suspect if he gets some of the devil's nectar up in him, he would do the choreography too)

7. Tell Me Something Good – Rufus, Featuring Chaka Khan (the perfect song to pluck an air guitar too while scrunching up your face)

8. Rainy Night in Georgia – Brook Benton (This song reminds my dad of his father, who passed away in 1978)

9. I’m So Proud – The Impressions and The Main Ingredient (I just used this song to end a blog entry of mine back in January, I had no clue this was on my dad's list.

10. The Ghetto – Donny Hathaway

Since I bitched and moaned about having to go see the Monster Trucks with someone who I did not really know, I thought it would be only fair if I offered some sort of follow up blog about how the actual event went.

Nyles and I woke up bright and early yesterday (Saturday) morning and headed down to Richmond. I packed a laptop with all the kiddie movies he could get his hands on, I packed an iPad with all the games and YouTube access he likes, and I loaded all of my podcasts (Bill Simmons and Tony Korneheiser) on my iPod for when he fell asleep. First Nyles played with this toys, then we listened to MJ's "Working Day and Night", then he fell asleep. He did pop up when Rhianna's "Diamond" came on my iPod, then he went back to sleep, and I was left with my podcast. And yes I have Rhianna on my iPod. I like Diamond and Pour It Up---the latter song reminds me of strippers, and what's not to like about them?

We arrived around 12:30pm which was a full 90 minutes before the monster trucks show was scheduled to begin. As I told Mike I would do (the dude who bought the tickets) I called him when I arrived to see where he was, and he told me he was at BBQ joint three exits away from the venue. He asked me to come meet him where he was, but I explained that I was in a parking garage by the Richmond Convention Center, and I already paid for parking. In addition, I asked the parking attendant if I could leave and come back without having to pay, and she said hells no, so I told Mike we weren't meeting. Plus, my wife had packed a lunch for young Nyles, so he ate that in the parking lot. No BBQ was needed.

Mike texted me and said he'd meet up with me at 1:30 in front of the venue, so Nyles and I were there at 1:15. There were makeshift drummers in front of the Coliseum, and I gave Nyles a few dollars to tip them. After that we people-watched for a few minutes until I got a text from Mike letting me know he was running a few minutes late. I said ok. That was the first in a series of texts from Mike which chronicled his reasons for being later and later. First he missed the exit, then he couldn't find parking because the parking lots were full (which happens when you wait until the last minute to arrive to the venue). At 2pm, Nyles and I were still standing outside of the Coliseum waiting for Mike to bring the tickets, and we heard the Monster Trucks zooming around from the outside. Nyles was apoplectic and irritable and I did my best to calm his ass down, but I was just as annoyed. Not only was Mike late, but he was late because he had to have BBQ..that's the black person's job, not the white guy from Virginia...

He finally showed up at 2:!5, we went inside, and we had a great time. Our kids sat next to each other and had a great time, and Mike and I peppered a little small talk during the event, but nothing too heavy. The event lasted for a little over 90 minutes, we let the kids play outside of the Coliseum afterwards and then we both headed home. I was actually supposed to link up with my main man Sabin, but he was busy so young Nyles and I headed home. It was a great day but I must toot my own horn and add that it was only great, because I had done the necessary ;egwork ahead of time to ensure that I was inundated with small or greatly inconvenienced via a group trip.

Just to be sure I wasn't crazy, I asked my dad what he would have done in that situation, and he supported my actions 100%. Good times.

Read my latest article please.

The Cleveland Browns announced today that they are going honor Jim Brown, who played for them from 1957-1965 and has done numerous, favorable things for Cleveland and other cities in this country, with a statue in front of their football stadium. It will be unveiled later this year. Once again, in what seems to be a trend as I get older, I am faced with the prospect of trying to balance the good parts of someone I admire with the undeniably negative aspects of their life. I've had to deal with that weird duality with Michael Jackson, Marvin Gaye, R. Kelly, Bill Cosby, Joe Paterno and now Mr. Jim Brown. As an aside I've had to deal with those issues on a much smaller scale with my parents too, but that's another blog for another time.

On the field, Jim Brown was a grown man among brave, but ill-equipped boys. He ran over folks, he ran around them, he was fast, strong, agile and the ultimate alpha male. In college he ruled both the football and lacrosse fields, so he was no stranger to being the most superior athlete. He retired in his prime at the age of 30, because he wanted to film a movie--which in those days represented more money than he was making on the football field--so he just abrupty retired and never came back. Acutally he threatned to come back in 1984 when his rushing record was being challenged, but he ultimately never came back. He wasn't the best actor in the world, but he did get to make out with Raquel Welch, which was a big deal at that time.

Off the field, Jim Brown's legend loomed just as large. He was a key figure in the Cleveland Muhammad Ali Summit in 1967 when athletes like Brown, Ali Bill Russell, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and others met in Cleveland to discuss Ali's dedicated to the movement. He's also worked extensively with gangs and he's been a confidant and a mentor to countless younger athletes. That's the good part of Jim Brown.

The bad part? Jim Brown has had several domestic violence incidents with women, as The Big Lead chronicled today, after learning Brown was in line for a statue. He never seemed to particularly apologetic or contrite about his behavior at all. After one domestic incident in 2000, he was ordered to pay a fine, give money to a domestic shelter and do hours of community service. Jim Brown felt like he had been voluntarily peforming community service all his life, so to have to do it as punishment, was insulting. He chose to spend four months of jail instead, but he never really used his platform to speak on the issue of domestic violence..and this was after the O.J. fiasco.

So when someone glorifies Jim Brown, I try preemptively take the wind out of their sails by mentioning that he is deeply flawed and that has to be mentioned in the same breath as tremendous accomplishments on and off the field. But on the other side, when someone simply wants to shit on Jim Brown and his legacy because if his inability to keep his hands to himself, I am just as quick to point out that he did good things on the field and he helped a great deal of people in his lifetime. That is a terrible position to be in either way and I feel like a hypocrite at times, and I'm not even the one who did anything wrong.

I certainly can't expect athletes and entertainers to be model citizens, because Lord knows I've done some shady things in my lifetime. But there are missteps like the ones Tiger Woods made (cheating on his wife) that are minor issues related to bad-decision making and a need for power, control and personal anarchy. And then are mistakes like battery, having sex with underage kids, and drugging womene that make you feel dirty and conflicted. I'm tired of being put in that position with people I geuninely admire, but that's life right?

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar hasn't let me down yet, so he's the only one of my heroes not related to me, who is still on the up and the up...

By the way, the late, great Ralph Wiley wrote about this topic too. Read it.

A couple months ago at my son's birthday party, the husband of one of my wife's friends (we'll call him Mike, because that's his name), approached me with a proposition. Me, Mike and our sons went to see the Monster Trucks perform at the Verizon Center in Washington DC. Our sons had a great time, they both became instant fans of the whole Monster Truck genre, and good times were had all around. The only drawback was the small talk I had to engage in with this dude during the 90 or so minutes we were there. Our wives are good friends, but Mike and I were still feeling our way around each other, which makes for awkward times when you consider we are both 41 year old men with an established stable of friends.

So while I was in the midst of partying and celebrating my son's fourth year on this Earth, Mike told me about an upcoming Monster Truck show in Richmond, Virginia on February 20th. He suggested that we leave the wives behind, and just make a day trip of it with our sons. I begrudingly agreed. Very begrudingly.

On one hand, my son is absolutely in love with the Monster Trucks, and I would be a damn fool to deny him that opportunity, simply because I'm socially awkward. On the other hand, I have no desire to sit in a car for 4 hours (2 each way) with someone I do not really know that well. My small talk game is good for about 20 minute intervals, which means I would be forced to either listen to what he had to say or just sit in awkward silence while I listen to music that he chose (because the passenger has no right to pick the musical selections in another man's car). On top of that, Mike is white, and I am black, and that racial breakdown was fairly inconsequential when the Monster Truck Show was in DC (although the Verizon Center was 80-percent white and 20-percent black). In Richmond, Virginia, I have no problems admitting that I will be a bit more nervous about the racial climate. I am not scared of anything or anyone, I just don't want to have to hear ignorance (or act ignorant) in the presence of my son. If it goes down, so be it, but I'm leery of him being exposed to that on a day that is supposed to be about fun.

Earlier this week, Mike texted me and told me that the big day was near, and he wanted to hammer out the details about where we were going to meet up so we could ride down to Richmond, and I had to stop him in his tracks. I told him that I thought it would be better if we drove separately since I had plans to visit my main man Sabin after the show. What I did NOT tell him is that I had no desire to ride and talk with him, because there's no way to say that without coming off like a dick and a half. Then he asked me if we could meet up for him to give me the tickets, and I asked him to put the in the mail. I felt like a slight asshole, but I felt like that was the most efficient way to handle that particular transaction. I asked my wife is that was ok, and she approved, but I still felt bad...but not really. He put the tickets in the mail and I thanked him.

So I have successfully avoided four hours of small talk, and now I only have to worry about racist white folks and 90 minutes (or so) worth of small talk during the Monster Truck show. That is still a daunting task, but I think I can handle it...I think.

I love this song and I love this woman. If my wife ever acts up, I would totally leave her for Lalah Hathaway:

So my son is an official Marine now. His graduation was last Friday morning, and I could not be any prouder of him. He speaks with more confidence, he talks much more than he did before, and I can see that boot camp had a profound effect on the way he carries himself. He still has that sly smile, and he probably was focused more on his girlfriend, than he was his family members, but he's an 18-year old Marine now, and he can do what he damn well pleases within reason. Of course as his dad I had to warn him against premature pregnancy, getting into unnecessary trouble in Hampton,Virginia during his 10-day break, and staying in shape, but I suspect he knew all those things before I said anything.His next step will be to ship to Camp LeJeune in North Carolina next Monday, where he will be for 29 days. I will definitely be visiting him.

My next step in life began on Monday when I started my new job as Project Manager. I got a significant raise, more responsibility, and I will be challenged to take everything I've learned professionally up to this point, and apply it. I'm nervous, i'm excited and my predecessor at this job will only be training me for three more days before I am on my own. It isn't exactly an ideal situation, but what can I do right? New jobs and opportunities don't always present themselves tied up in a neat little bow. I'm not just making idle chatter here in my blog, I am actually trying to pump myself up via the written word. I don't know if it is working.

One more thing, I REALLY want to write for this website. The Pros? It seems to now be under good leadership, and I am quite sure they will get great exposure and even greater assignments as it gets closer to the official kickoff date. The Con? Even if I force the issue and get selected, I don't think they could sufficiently compensate me as well as my current job does. Then the question becomes do I take a leap of faith and go all in on a lesser salary in hopes that the high-profile job will propel to me to higher heights? Or do I stay in the financially safe pocket and make sure my family is taken care of? I have to be offered the job for this to be a legit scenario, but I think about it often.

Don't forget to watch this Michael Jackson documentary on Friday night. It is going to be good I promise.

Right now, I am sitting in a hotel room in Savannah, GA, awaiting United States Marine Corps Family Day in Parris Island, South Carolina. Tomorrow, I will see my son Carlton for the first time since he left for boot camp in October, and he'll be participating in a series of exercises, and then there will be a special family day ceremony. On Friday, he will officially graduate from boot camp, and he'll be going home (to Hampton, Virginia) for approximately 10 days, before he's shipped to Oklahoma, where he will begin his assignment.

I have no problems admitting that I was less than thrilled about his decision to join the military, but I'm over it now. He made it through boot camp, he is well on his way to being a full-fledged Marine. I'm glad he finished what he started, and I'm even happier that he still wants to get his degree via the military. He will definitely need it. That is the good part of this trip...not on to the bad.

I had a choice between staying in Beaufort, SC and Savannah, GA, and I chose the latter just because South Carolina hasn't had the best track record in the Negro department as of late. I know that is quite the sweeping generalization to make but frankly, I don't give a damn. I drove eight hours here from DC, and I don't want any bullshit going down. That being said, Savannah isn't that much better, at least not where I am currently staying. There is a shady looking biker gang revving up their motorcycles outside my window, and I got funny looks in both the grocery and liquor stores. I know how to keep a low profile and I know how to defend myself if need be, but it is a little unsettling being here solo. I will get over it though.

The second uncomfortable part of this trip is the mixing of families. I am here. Carlton's mother (Sara) will be here tomorrow, but she is estranged from the rest of her family. Sara's ex-husband, along with Carlton's half-brother, will also be in attendance, as will Carlton's grandparents and uncles on the other side of the family (not mine). The family day ceremonies end at 10:30 am and by 3pm, he has to return to his Marine duties, and the relatives will be kicked off the base. During those 4 and a half hours, Carlton has to figure out a way to spend time with all of us separately, because if we do it together it will be painfully awkward. I feel badly that he has to make those kinds of decisions during his big day(s), but I am going to make it easier for him, by telling him that we can spend time together Friday, not tomorrow. No need in complicating his life further...besides we'll see each other next weekend.

Ok, I am done complaining, plus I am exhausted...

First - Read my latest article right here.

Second - Go read this blog post from my main man Sabin about Rakim Allah

Third - Listen to my wife's podcast about the Bachelor right chea. I'm not a fan of the Bachelor but she is, so I'm supporting her, not the show. I may or may not have used the phrase "dumb bi**h" 5 or 6 times while watching that show. Misogynist? Hell yes. Off base? Not at all.


There are positives and negatives to having a birthday in the month of January. It is far enough away from Christmas that people actually feel like gift-giving again, plus most folks have had two paychecks since they last Christmas shopped so the money and gifts floweth. Not to mention, the NFL playoffs are always in full swing around this time of year, which just kicks the party possibilities up 10 to 20 notches. Also, if I never mentioned this before, I share a birthday with Questlove--he gave me birthday shoutout on Twitter a few years ago.

But the bad part about having a January birthday is the weather always finds a way to upstage my big day. When I was younger, way before this global warming concept came to fruition, Januarys--whether I lived in Cleveland, Detroit, Connecticut or Maryland--were filled with snow and bitter cold. I can remember several birthdays when I would make plans to throw parties, then I'd look at the weather and my parents would forewarn me that it wasn't going to happen for me. Then my birthday--or the day of the week we chose to celebrate my big day--would come and go and I'd have no party. Yes my parents, my brother, sometimes girlfriends, did their very best to make me feel special despite my abandoned plans, but I'd still feel sad.

One year the plan was to invite 10-12 of my friends over to my house for a big football game in the snow. The weather called for like 5-7 inches of snow, which was far from crippling, and I just knew that we would still be able to play a game. Instead, we got closer to 20 inches, and nobody's parent would let them out of the house to play football with me. I remember not even wanting to watch the playoffs on Tv..I was just that devastated.

This year, I don't have a party or anything fancy planned, but my wife and I plan to send the kid to his grandparents house for the weekend. There is dinner, happy hour and brunch with mimosas planned, as well gifts and just the freedom that comes with being able to act like an irresponsible adult sans the presence of a child. I've been looking forward to this weekend all year, and then a couple days ago I get word that the worst snowstorm of all time threatens to descend on my house this weekend.

The storm is scheduled to start on Friday--which is when we were going to take my son to his grandfather's house, and last until Sunday. The lowest snow total I've heard is 8 inches and the highest total I've heard is two feet. Keep in mind, I live in Washington DC, where 3 inches of snow sends everyone to the grocery and liquor stores. I am not a happy camper right now. Not only are my birthday plans in peril but I may have to spend a three to four day weekend stuck in the house with a 4-year old hellion who will surely have a severe case of cabin fever, no matter how creative mommy and daddy get with devising activities for him. Scary, scary stuff.

I realize there are bigger problems to worry about like the Fresh Prince cast beefing about Oscars, Palin and Trump linking up, and Flint, Michigan's dearth of a clean water, but my birthday is important too right? Actually let me get serious, that Flint situation is a)terrible and b) not going away anytime soon. As one of my writer friends said, it feels like the 2016 version of the Tuskegee Experiment..

But I digress. My birthday is tomorrow, I'll take my head out of the clouds after that. By the way, the lyrics to this song are elementary, but I always thought the beat was hardcore...

The night of Friday, February 5th, 2016, I will not be going out to party, drink or watch basketball. I will come home from work, play with Nyles until he falls asleep, and then eat dinner with the wife. At the conclusion of this dinner, I will retrieve the fine bottle of wine that I will have purchased earlier in the day--most likely a Francis Coppola Diamond Black Claret 2013--and I will sit my ass down to watch Spike Lee's documentary on Michael Jackson.


Spike's first documentary on MJ focused solely on "Bad", and I have watched it at least 10 times since it came out back in 2012. I appreciated because Spike did more than just regurgitate the same MJ stories I had heard so much about up to that point. He interviewed dancers, engineers, Quincy Jones, Bruce Swedien, horn sections, video directors, background singers, Siedah Garrett, and he even used older interviews from Mr. Jackson himself. Spike took the attention away from MJ the freak show, and he placed it firmly on what should have always been emphasized, and that is the music and the dancing. If you have not seen that Bad 25 documentary, go to itunes, purchase it, carve out 2 hours of your time, and take it in (that's what he said).

This new documentary focuses on the period of time between the the Jackson 5 becoming the Jacksons and the completion of "Off The Wall". "Thriller" gets all the attention, "Bad" was the most difficult album to make ever because it followed "Thriller", "Dangerous" showed that MJ still had it even with Teddy Riley's attempts to sabotage MJ with synthesizers and synthetic sounding music and "Invincible" was just uninspired (but I still bought it, because I'm a fan). "Off The Wall" is probably MJ's best and most satisfying album, but most importantly, he announced to the world, "Baby I'm A Star" (see what I did there). I can't wait to see it, and the trailer is already dropping nuggets of information I previously did not know about:

First off, I finally got a promotion at work--something I have wanted since almost a year ago when I passed over for what I thought was a well-deserved upgrade. My resume was submitted for this position back around the Thanksgiving holiday, and then the government powers that be had to look it over and make sure that my background jived with what their qualifications were. After a few weeks elapsed and I had not heard anything, I figured they had moved to another candidate who they deemed more worthy of this managerial position. Then last week, I was told they wanted to meet up with me for a meet-and-greet, which is basically the final job interview. If I performed well and my personality matched up with my resume, the job would be mine. If I was dead-on-arrival, dry in the personality department, and I was stumbling and stammering with every question, I'm 100% sure they would have passed on me. I'm glad they did not, and I look forward to this new challenge. I am scheduled to start on January 29th.

I found out I got the job on Friday, so what I do to today? I ditched work and took the day off with my wife, and we went to see Star Wars. I really can't go into much detail about the movie, because there are plenty of folks who have yet to see it. Plus, my friends and family did a great job of not spoiling the plot and the other major details about the movie, so I was able to go into the theater fresh and naive. I will say this...if you loved the original Star Wars movies, then you will absolutely love this latest incarnation of the movie as well. They tied the present and the past together beautifully, and JJ Abrams knows how to tell a story much better than George Lucas did--particularly with the middle three movies. Lucas was sappy and corny with his dialogue, but Abrams knows how to move the plot alone, he skimpy with the sap, and he does all of this without compromising in the special effects department. That is my non-review of the movie.

Also go read my latest article, I'd appreciate it.

The temperature was 16 degrees when I dropped my son off at school yesterday morning, but according to the weather folks, it felt like 3 degrees outside and I felt every bit of that bitter cold. Of course Nyles was leisurely walking around like we were in balmy Miami, until a strong gust of wind brought him back down to Earth. We ran into school, I kissed him goodbye, and I headed back to the car. As I got closer to the car, one of the bus drivers saw me walking by and said, "Where is your hat young man?". I told her I didn't have one, and she said, "You need your hat".

I do have a hat, but it is that hat I wear when I go running in the morning, so it is sweaty and not meant to be worn with fancy work clothes. I keep saying I'm going to buy another one, and then I forget and either a)throw on the ratty workout hat or b) walk around without one like I did yesterday morning. Neither option is a good look for a grown ass man. My wife keps saying that I need to stop faking and buy one, but we both know that the hat will not get purchased until she does it. That's just how these things go. But you certainly didn't visit my blog to hear about hatonomics.

When my grandmother was living (she died in 2004), and my family lived in Cleveland from 1980-1982 she was CONSTANTLY on my dad about wearing a hat. My dad would have a nice jacket, gloves, a scarf, but no hat. My dad would buy hats for my brother and I, and my mother had an assortment of hats, but somehow but father felt like he was immune from the effects of the mean, windy, snowy, Cleveland winter. One winter, my dad literally got frostbite on his ear and spent a brief time in the hospital. But did he buy a hat upon being discharged? Hells no.

When we left Cleveland and moved to Detroit, Connecticut and eventually Maryland, my grandmother would still ask my dad (and me) if he was wearing a hat, my dad would say, "Don't worry about me mama." Then my grandmother would bring up the frostbite, and my father would effectively shut down the conversation. He knew my grandmother was right, but he wasn't trying to hear that bullshit. If he didn't buy a hat in a cold-ass Midwest city like Cleveland, he wasn't going to purchase a hat any damn where. For the record, I always had a hat..up until yesterday.

Fast forward to my grandmother's funeral in 2004. It was like 10 degrees at the cemetery, and it was me, my dad, my aunt, my brother and my grandmother's best friend at the grave site. They lowered my grandmother's body into the ground (nobody cried, which was weird), and the pastor said a prayer afterwards. It was eerily quiet after the prayer, and we were all just kind of standing around looking forlorn (and cold as hell). Then out of nowhere my aunt looks at my dad and says, "Michael where the hell is your hat?". All of us fell out laughing and it broke the tension, and we walked back to our respective cars feeling better about an otherwise sad day.

So when that woman asked me where my hat was, I felt like I was carrying on the family tradition. That being said, I need a hat, it was cold again this morning and my ears hurt.

My son and I spent the last 30 minutes before bed time working on the spelling of his name. December has been full of parties for others, his birthday party, relatives, Christmas gifts, and sparse school attendance. As a result, I have noticed that my wife and I have had to do engage in much more disciplinary-related activities than usual. In fact, during December it felt like Nyles was either playing with toys, getting yelled at or occasionally getting spanked.

Since today was the first day back to school, I decided to a) spend some time doing some educational activity before bed time and b) go online to take a peek at his teacher's curriculum to see the themes the teacher is now hammering home to the kids. Nyles was resistant at first, because all he wanted to do was play with his pinball machine, the monster trucks, his Minions or one of the millions of toys he received for Christmas and his birthday. But eventually, he warmed up to it, and we practiced writing his name legibly. He did not achieve mastery like I foolishly thought he would, but he tried and at this point that's all I can ask.

After we finished writing, I told him it was time to get read his night time story, and he responded by saying, "I don't want to read". I ignored his ass, and nicely asked him again, and he repeated his refusal. This time I went down to his level, gently touched his shoulders, and explained to him that it was time for bed, and part of the bed time routine involves reading, and he calmed his ass down, and picked out a book. I left the room, my wife entered (she's on bedtime story duty), and she excitedly asked him to read and he gave her the same bullshit company line. She explained to him that it was time to read, he complained again, and then I doubled back and went in the room, and yelled, "What did Mommy say? What did I say earlier? It is time to read ok?". He said ok which made me happy. But he cringed and backed away from me when I entered the room, that made me cringe.

I have raised my voice and spanked my son, and I only feel bad about one of those things. When I spank my son, it involves a singular open-handed smack to his back side. It is never hard enough to make him cry, but it is hard enough to get his ass in gear. It is usually a deliberate, calculated move on my part, and it is never done out of misplaced, uncontrolled emotion. My dad got out of control when he used to spank me, and my brother and I paid dearly. My father has since expressed his regret for taking that extreme route, and my brother and I accepted his apology. Ironically enough, his apology came not too long after the Adrian Peterson situation.

But I sadly have to admit that when I raise my voice at my son, I am usually irritated at something or someone else, and my emotions combined with whatever Nyles is doing wrong, adds up to a bad situation. When I raise my voice, I see my son visibly get smaller and turn away from me (like he did at bedtime) and that has to stop. I have to do better in that department. Don't get me wrong, I do think fear is an effective tactic for black fathers to use when raising young black kids but respect has to be peppered in just as much. I want my kid behaving because he fears the consequences AND he respects me enough to do his best.

Kids are nice and the nice pictures I put up here, facebook, Instagram, etc represent the glorious side of parenting. But there is another side of it, and at times it is far from pretty, but luckily for me (and Nyles) it is very correctable. I'll get started on that tomorrow when he wakes up.

My father and I have decided to write a book together. We couldn't really decide on the title or subject matter, so I suggested that we just start having random conversations via email. My basketball writing friends and I have used this tactic before, and it has worked like a charm. First we start emailing about a particular player or Wizards-related subject, and eventually a theme develops and someone says, hey, we should write an article on this. My dad and I will do the same thing, except we are shooting for a book.

In a way, this book is spawn from nothing but hubris and arrogance. My dad and I have some amazing phone conversations about everything from sports to politics to music to women. There are times when I sit there and wonder we are sharing this knowledge with the masses, and then I feel like a pompous ass, and I just go back to talking to dad. But at some point last month, my father decided that writing a book with me was on his bucket list, which brought my pomposity back to life. We are going to trade emails for another month or so, and then we're going to start writing. Wish us luck.

I'll refrain from making any New Year's resolutions, because I know good and goddamn well that I possess neither the energy nor the resolve to actually devise and stick to any grandiose plans. I just want to be dynamic at everything I do, and I'm pretty sure everything else will fall into place.

Speaking of dynamic...

At 5pm on Christmas Day I was over my in-laws house and I was alone in the basement. My brother-in-law was cooking, my wife and sister-in-law were talking and drinking and Nyles was running up and down the stairs causing chaos and mad confusion. I had a red cup full of Crown Royal Black, and I was watching the Golden State Warriors defeat the Cleveland Cavaliers and then I saw this commercial:



Now, before I gush over LeBron and this commerical, let me say that I can't stand the man as a basketball player. I respect his abilities, his once-in-a-lifetime talent, and his two NBA titles. But he tortured my beloved Washington Wizards in the mid 2000s, and I simply cannot forgive that just because his star has shone even brighter since that time, while the Wizards have basically been treading water. Rivalries are forever. I'm an Eagles fan, which means I hate Washington and the Cowboys (even though Washington just ended our season). 75 (The same rule applies to the rivals of the Wizards: LeBron and the Cavs, the Chicago Bulls, and maybe the Toronto Raptors. I am stingy with my compliments of other teams/players, but I have to give LeBron props for that commercial for several reasons:

1) He did a commercial about Cleveland. I may have been born in Manhattan, but my dad and brother were born in Cleveland, and my mother and aunt currently live there (my mother was actually born in Akron like LeBron). I have an uncle who lives there as well. At one point I my grandmother and other family lived there, but sadly they have all passed on so I don't visit quite as much. But from 1975 (when I was born) to about 2003, I went to Cleveland at least twice a year (from 1978-1980, and 1982-1984 I actually lived there). Cleveland is far from the most glamorous of cities, but there is a certain blue collar work ethic (as there is in a lot of midwest cities) that commands a certain degree of respect. LeBron was born in Akron and considers that to be his real home, but he plays in Cleveland, and he understands that work ethic, so this commercial in an odd way, felt like an ode to my family history. That may sound like a bit of stretch, it is more palatable to look at it that way, than it is to just be giving LeBron endless props.


2) Public Enemy got some love. Public Enemy was voted in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame back in 2013, and given the political nature of their lyrics, one would think that their music and legay would be pretty popular right now in these politically charged times--but that has not been the case. I've loved them since I was a young impressionable 13 year old watching the Night of the Living Baseheads video on Rap City. Chuck D wasn't the best of rappers, but he has the voice of a preacher, the intelligence of a professor, arguably the best producers on the planet, and a DJ who only talked with his hands. Their mainstream poplularity faded in the 90s, but they are huge overseas (that theme has been the case with black culture since the 1920s) and they tour year-around. LeBron used one of their most popular and controversial songs for his commerical, and hopefully that is a catalyst for folks young and old to re-visit their music.

3) The message. LeBron looked straight into the came and rapped, "Black to the bone, my home is your home...so Welcome to the Terrordome". The "my home is your home" was an ode to Cleveland/Akron and the "Welcome to the Terrordome" part was an ode to the workout room, and to Public Enemy depending on the way you look at it. But for LeBron James, who arguably one of the biggest and marketable athletes on the planet right now, so look squarely into the camera and say, "Black to the bone", that is a big deal. Most elite-level athletes--most famously Michael Jordan are not 100-percent comfortable with using their sizable platform to send messages great and small to the masses. LeBron has spoken about about Tamir Rice, and Trayvon Martin with no hesitation or fear that he may lose his endorsements. He's seemingly comfortable with the level of blackness he allows the public to see, which is refreshing. But again, the way he says "black to the bone", even down to the scowl on his face while he says, sounds like a man who is damn near defiant about his blackness. Just scroll up to the video again, start at the 1:09 mark, and just watch for yourself.

Young Nyles and I attended the Wizards/Grizzlies on Wednesday night in the the pouring rain and summer-like temperatures. I came home from work, walked through the door, and Nyles' first words to me were, "Daddy I don't want to see the Lizards, I want to see John Wall." I stopped myself from laughing, and clarified that we were going to see the Washington Wizards and John Wall, but no lizards would be present. He repeated that he did want to see the lizards, and I again assured him that the lizards would maintain their distance.

My wife dropped us off at the game around 6pm, which was an hour before the game was to begin. I wanted to walk around the arena so he could look at the floor, get some pizza and snacks (and I got me some wine), and I wanted to buy him another Wizards jersey (he had no interest in getting another one because in his words, "Daddy I already have John Wall's jersey"). Point taken son. I did take him to meet my main man Kyle from Truth About It (aka my editor), who had some nice things to say to him. The last thing we did before we took our seats was to go down to the court, where we said hello to Mr. David Aldridge. My son was desperately trying to find John Wall, but he was back in the locker room, which caused my son to have a mini-meltdown. Luckily for me, the game was getting ready to start.

If you've ever been to a Wizards game--or any NBA game for that matter--you know that the pregame player introductions are filled with fireworks, fire, loud explosions, etc. I completely forgot to warn Nyles about the pyrotechnics, and when the first few fireworks went out, he clutched me as hard as I was clutching my wine. He begged me to take him home, and since he wouldn't shut up about it I was 90% percent sure I wasn't going to see the game at all. Then John Wall was introduced, and Nyles started smiling and jumping up and down. Thank god.

First Nyles was just fixated on what John Wall was doing, why he passed the ball, why he shot the ball and why he was sitting on the bench, instead of playing on the floor. Once he realized Wall was going to be on the bench for a minute, he actually started to take note of the other basketball nuances going on during the game. He liked the dunks, he noticed when someone passed the ball, he knew certain players were taller than others, and I did my best to fill him in. I cannot tell you how good it made me feel to be sitting there with my son--in an arena where I normally cover games--explaining what basketball is all about. My dad took me to my first basketball game when I was 12 years old, and by that time, I was an expert about everything related to basketball, except what it was like to watch live. But my son was hanging on my every word, he told me he loved, he was jumping all over me and he had a great time--until halftime.

At halftime, Nyles told me he was tired and he was ready to go home, and I decided not to torture him anymore. As we were walking out, one of the older workers at the Verizon Center told me that at Nyles' age, one half of basketball was all he could take, and I agreed. I called an Uber with a car seat (which is expensive as hell), and we headed back home. As soon as we got home, he hyped up the game to my wife, and said he couldn't wait to go back to another game, even though he just pressured me to leave the one that was still going on, I told him we'll go again.

Good times.

Today is my youngest son's fourth birthday party. I am not overly emotional and sentimental about it this year, but I am definitely happy. Just this morning, while we were on our way to the grocery store to buy cupcakes for his classmates, young Nyles held a serious conversation with me--at 6:40am no less--about the type of cupcakes he wanted for his birthday. Apparently chocolate cupcakes are not good enough for his underdeveloped palate, and he only wanted cupcakes of the vanilla variety. Duly noted little man.

We pulled up to the grocery store at 7am, walked over to the bakery section, and of course there were no vanilla cupcakes in sight. In fact, the only cupcakes I could find were Christmas-themed (and chocolate), and I figured those would do the trick, so I grabbed them and headed towards the checkout line. I had not taken but two steps when young Nyles started screaming at the top of his lungs (again, at 7:05am) talking about how bad chocolate cupcakes were, and he wanted vanilla. I politely explained that there were no vanilla cupcakes and he continued to lose his shit over my alleged oversight. Then he took his screaming up a notch, and I firmly grabbed his shoulders and explained to him what the options were: 1) Chocolate cupcakes or 2) No cupcakes and an ass-whipping at 7:06am on his birthday. He wisely took the first option, while still trying to mumble under his young breath about vanilla cupcakes. After school was over, my wife told me that he ate chocolate cupcake at school, but he still bitched about dearth of vanilla.

Even though it is slightly annoying, this will be my lasting memory of Nyles' fourth birthday. He asks lots of questions, he has lots of opinions, and his four-year old mind now has the ability to articulate these things in a semi-competent fashion. My dad told me this moment would come, and he told me it would be rewarding, but I had no idea he would be as right as he has been. I used to sit and watch him, and wish that he would talk to me about any and everything, and all he did was stare at me. Now he stares AND talks, and it is awesome.

Tomorrow, I will be taking him to his first Wizards game, and that should be awesome.

Friday afternoon I received a call from a job recruiting agency regarding an individual who used to work for me named Nelson. She asked me the usual questions about my job title, how long I managed Nelson what his duties were, etc. When she got to the question of why Nelson left, I politely told her that Nelson did not leave, but instead he was fired for poor performance. She paused a bit, asked me was I sure, and then I proceeded to go down the laundry list of things Nelson did wrong. The recruiter was taken aback by my honesty, and quickly decided to bail on any further Nelson inquiries. The conversation then switched to me.

She asked if I was looking for a job, and I explained to her that I am always listening and looking, and she asked me a bunch of questions about my background, my salary requirements and where I’d be willing to work. I put a stop to her line of questioning just as quickly as she bailed on inquiring about Nelson. I told her that I had no interest in being pursued on the tail end of a call that was initially made with someone else in mind. She was a bit taken aback, and perhaps I was being a bit persnickety, but she respected my wishes and called me back later in the day. I appreciated that.

When she called, she told me about two jobs. One is a managerial job (I’d be in charge of 10-15 people), it is in litigation support (I’ll spare you the details), and I would be making $15-20k more than I make now, which SOUNDS awesome. But the job itself sounded boring as hell, and I know I would be selling out for the money, which would have been fine about five years ago, but not now as I am trying to figure out a way back to writing. I hope I don’t regret that decision.

The second job is a technical writing position that isn’t available until February or March, and it is only a 5k raise, but it is everything I want. There’s writing, there’s researching, and there is ZERO managing involved. The only catch is this recruiter was hell bent on trying to make me take the managerial position—I suspect there was more incentive for her company. She spent 2 hours on Sunday (during football no less) trying to get me to take that damn managerial position, and she even had her manager call me to sweet talk me. I didn’t take his call, and I didn’t call her back, I just decided to sit on his for 24 hours.

I want that writing position and I will wait for it, I am 85% sure about that. But still, I find myself wondering if I am making the correct decision…

I really want to see the new Star Wars movie in my living room--preferably at 9am, when the kid is at school and the wife is at work. I would be perfectly willing to pay $15 or whatever "they" are charging these days, except I wouldn't buy a ticket, I would just pay a PPV-fee like I would for a boxing or an MMA match. Instead of popcorn, I'd have waffles, fruit, veggie sausage and all the mimosas I could get my non-Jedi Knight hands around.

In preparation for this bless-ed event, I would watch all of the Star Wars movies in order--to clarify for you lames, not in the order they were released, but in the order they are meant to be consumed. In fact, just to ensure that I was knee deep in the Star Wars culture, I may watch the cartoon Star Wars Rebels. It lacks the intensity and the complexity of the regular Star Wars franchise, but there are more episodes than there are movies, so it'll do. It is the equivalent of drinking sparkling cider when you really want champagne. Yes getting drunk is more fun, but every now and then you need a break. Not the greatest of analogies, but you get it.

What I do NOT want, is to sit in the movie theater with a bunch of kids, nerds, neophytes, and drunken fools, to watch this new movie. The last "hot" movie I went to see in a crowded theater was Michael Jackson's "This Is It" and it wasn't enjoyable, although I did get to meet Dick Gregory so it wasn't all bad. People were laughing too long and I missed key lines in the next scene, there was applause which is so not necessary in a show that isn't a live play or concert, and people brought their stupid ass, young kids in the theater, which just further hindered my ability to hear pertinent details.

Look, I've been watching Star Wars since I was five, and Empire Strikes Back is my favorite movie all time...

**sidebar on** My top five movies of all time in order are:
1) Empire Strikes Back
2) High Fidelity
3) Mo Better Blues
4) The Fugitive
5) Aliens (Love Jones used to be in this fifth spot, but I think the great soundtrack made me think higher of the actual movie than I should have)
***sidebar off**

and when you've been watching a movie franchise your entire life, you develop an intimate relationship with it. I don't want to share my enjoyment with anyone, let alone 200 people in a theater. I mean yes, in a perfect world, I'd rent out an IMAX theater and watch it solo (no pun intended) but that ain't realistic. I really want to watch this in my living room, and I am hoping after 3 weeks, when this money made from this movie eclipses Donald Trump's net worth, "they" will offer a watch-Star-Wars-in-your-living-room option. Maybe I should start a petition...

The next time someone asks me why I don't like Drake, J. Cole and a slew of other newer rappers, I'm going to send them the song I'm about to link on the bottom of this paragraph. It isn't that I don't think the newer guys (with some exceptions..Kendrick, Lupe, Big KRIT, etc) have talent, it's just that I'm used to a certain level of rhyming. Is that so wrong?

Here is DJ Premier featuring Black Thought and Royce

My son's fourth birthday party is this Saturday at a kids indoor playground called "Pump It Up". Basically what will happen is the kids (I think 8 of them are coming) will bounce around on a bunch of inflatable devices for about an hour, then they will eat cupcakes, pizza and go home. The whole ordeal should take around two hours, and hopefully Nyles will be appreciative of the efforts of his parents (mainly my wife).

The past few years Nyles' birthday party has been at his in-laws house, and he's been surrounded my friends and family. He really wasn't cognizant of what a party was and how important they are in order for little boys and girls to survive. Since his third birthday, he's been to at least five parties, and he has seen first-hand how much joy these glorious parties bring the faces of his peer group, and he is on board. He's been talking about his birthday and an accompanying party all damn year, and even when my wife and I tell him his party is forthcoming soon, that still isn't soon enough. He's money, he's ready to party, and he's all growns up:



Anyway, I have decided to put together a playlist for this Saturday's party. Sadly, I cannot play this list while the kids are playing around, but I can play it during the cake/cupcake/food portion of the afternoon. I have made many playlists during my day, and there are many different types. Sometimes I make lists for people because I want to put them on to the type of music I listen, I've made playlists to impress people with my musical taste, and I have made running playlists to help me stay angry while I run. For young Nyles playlist, I had to forget about the songs I know and love, and strictly put the songs on he likes. Here is the list:

Kendrick Lamar - Alright (the clean version): Nyles doesn't understand the lyrics, but he sings the shit out of the chorus which is enough for me right now.

Pharrell - Happy: Remember how "Nuthin But A G Thang" was THE party anthem in 1993? That's how "Happy" is for kiddie parties. Your party simply is not credible without this song in the rotation.

Fun Fun Fun and Despicable Me from the movie Despicable Me 2: If you've seen the movie, you understand how catchy these songs are. If not, don't click on the link. Save yourself.

Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae): I have no comment except to say my son likes it

Doobie Brothers - Minute by Minute: My son loves the chorus and he frequently sings it in the tub

Michael Jackson - Human Nature/Smooth Criminal: Kids love MJ, which is weird to type, but it is true

Foreign Exchange - Asking for a Friend: He likes the house beat and the repetition of the word "Work" at the beginning of the song

Vince Guaraldi Trio - Linus and Lucy/Christmas Time is Here: Seasonal songs that Nyles loves are a must

Drake - Hotline Bling: Again, no comment

In Summer/Let it Go/Do You Wanna Build a Snowman from the movie Frozen: See my comments about Happy

Oh Cecilia (You're Breaking My Heart): This is a song that my song learned in music class at school. The lyrics are a little mature for 3-4 year olds, but it's catchy as hell.

We'll see how this party goes on Saturday.

I sat up in here on Friday saying I was going to write everyday, and I totally forgot that I would be celebrating my anniversary which would severely hinder my ability to author a blog entry. So now I am back.

I am in line for a promotion at my new job, and the guy who is recommending me to take this new position, asked me to forward my resume, so he could present it to HIS boss. I forwarded the most recent copy of resume to him, and I waited to hear some good news. Two days later my guy called me and said I needed to rework my resume, and when I asked him why, he told me that his boss took one look at my resume and said, "This guy is not a manager, he's a writer." I chuckled when when I read that.

The resume I sent over was the one I send out when I am trying to get a writing position (sports or technical writing). I lead with my writing accomplishments with basketball and other jobs that I have held, and I backload the resume with my managerial positions. 99-percent of all the jobs I've applied for are related to writing, because frankly I have no desire to manage people anymore. I mean any fool who reads this blog can see that I operate best in a sparsely-populated vacuum, not a scenario when I am the center of work people's universe. Unfortunately, managing is where the money is, and I know I'm not supposed to follow the money, but I have a family and lots of bills, so for now writing will be on the side, until a lucrative position in the field reveals itself unto me. I digress.

The timing of hearing that someone seeing my resume and thinking that writing is my calling came the same day of me making my grand declaration to write every damn day. Not to turn this blog into some type of Stuart Smalley affirmation, but I know I can write well enough--whether it is technical writing, sports writing, book writing--to sustain myself, but I have not pursued it as fervently as I should have. At least I had not until last week. This "he's a writer" comment is yet another kick in the ass, and confirmation that I'm on the right path.

With that being said, go read my latest article.

I got married five years ago today at 3pm on South Beach in Miami, Florida. In attendance on that glorious day were me, my wife, a minister, and my friend Janelle, who recorded the entire thing. About five minutes after the ceremony was over, we were joined by cheerleaders who were practicing on the beach, and some people jogging by who were nice enough to speak and yell their congrats. It wasn't big, it wasn't extragvant or expensive, it was just us. My wife, Janelle and I went drinking afterwards, then my wife and I kept right on drinking until the next morning when we went Jamaica for the honeymoon. We were supposed to go to the Dominican Republic, but they had a cholera outbreak, and neither one of us wanted any parts of that.

In some ways that wedding and everything that went with it feels so damn long ago. Back in 2010, my wife and I were free to do whatever we wanted within our financial means. We drank, we hung out late, woke up late, and it felt like party time--well as much as it can feel like party time when you're in your mid-to-late 30s and you have a job. Now? We have soccer practice, swim lessons, PTA stuff, quality time with Nyles, work, and little time for ourselves or each other. It takes the juggling act from hell to pull this off, and I should not complain because millions of folks doing it everyday, but I will complain because a)it's my blog and b) this struggle still feels relatively new to me.

I say all this to say that I am still happy I got married. There have been struggles, short arguments, extended arguments, cursing, loving, joking, parenting, consoling, etc. I am not an easy person to live with and neither is she, but for five years we have done our absolute best to navigate through these tricky, yet rewarding waters. I'm glad I got married at 35, because I'm quite sure I wasn't ready in my 20s and early 30s. When folks ask me should they get married, I just ask them to be sure they like the person, because that's a huge deal. When she's on her period wearing porous drawers, a scarf and pants that look like Wolverine got to them, you still have to enjoy conversation and the smaller things.

Ok now I'm preaching, so let me shut up. It is my anniversary, I am happy, be happy for us goddammit.

So I went to the doctor's office a couple of weeks ago and he informed me that my cholesterol was too high, and I needed to get my ass in gear. I have a follow up appointment in mid-February, and in the interim he gave me a relatively low dosage of cholestrol pills to take, and he told me that I have to start working out consistently the way I used to do in my mid 30s. He also said that it wasn't about vanity, fitting my clothes better or preparing to strut on the beach, but this was about extending my life. His tone was quiet serious, and I got the message loud and clear. As of the day after Thanksgiving I'm running, I'm swimming, I cut out most dairy (need soy milk for my Starbucks), and I've cut back on the alcohol (although in fairness, I mostly drink wine and per my doctor, that isn't causing any cholesterol elevation). As my wife said to me yesterday morning, working out now has to be like brushing teeth, showering, eating, etc. It isn't an option, it is an absolute necessity.

This workout urgency sounded very familiar to me, considering I have been equally negligent with my writing, as I have both casually and not-so-subtly mentioned on this here blog several times. Yes my plate is full of family, kids and other shit, but surely I can fit writing into that same tight spot (pause) where I am currently fitting my workouts. As I told the young Hampton University student I am now mentoring, if you want and aspire to be a writer, you have to do it each and every day, until you achieve a certain level of mastery. And even then, when you think you've mastered it, you'll read something like this, and it'll humble you and make you realize you ain't there.

***Sidebar**If you didn't click on that link I mentioned in the previous paragraph, you absolutely should. Even if you aren't a basketball fan, you can still appreciate how Jackie MacMullan tells a story, and weaves in and out of paragraphs with an effortless eloquence. Yes she's been doing this for 33 years, and yes she has way more access and cache' than I do, but I was still in absolute awe of her article, and I realize I have miles to go before I catch her. But I will catch her my friends, believe that**sidebar off**

The purpose of this particular entry is for me to pump myself up to blog every damn day from now until infinity. It can be short, it can be long (pause again), it can be heartfelt, it can be superfluous, but something has to be written between this four laptop walls. I need to start thinking and sinking into the paper like I was ink, I need to be trapped in between the lines, and when I finish the line, I cannot escape, I have to keep writing. That is my pledge to myself and tangentially to you people too.

First off, I had a wonderful Thanksgiving at my house with my mother, my brother, my sister-in-law, my nephew and of course my wife and Nyles. . We watched the parade, we told jokes, we watched the kids do crazy things, we cooked (by we I mean my mother and my wife), we ate, we drank (by we I mean my brother, my wife and I), and by 11pm everyone had left and I was sleep. The only two people I did not talk to were my son Carlton (who is in Marine boot camp) and my father who most likely did not want to call or return my call, because my mother was at my house, and he knew that she would find a way to get him on the phone. My mother is still pressed for my father like that, and it is painfully awkward to watch and listen to at times.

I love seeing my family, and I loved the 5-mile run I did before dinner yesterday, which helped me feel guilt-free about the copious amounts of food I ate at dinner. I stayed off social media yesterday too (except to send this ironic picture up on Instagram), and I just decided to enjoy my family, the football and stay in the moment. That is refreshing to do sometimes.

But what I DON'T like to do is to come to work the day after, and listen to other folks tell me about their bullshit Thanksgiving. I don't care about your family, I don't care that you want to know how good (or bad) my day was, I don't care about the baller-ass spread of food your old ass mom or grandmom cooked for you and your 34 family members, and I damn sure don't care how full you got (like you were just SO shocked that you ate lots of food on Thanksgiving like that day does not come every f**king year). Just come to work, put your head down and power through the work that is on your desk.. The advantage of coming to work on the Friday after Thanksgiving, is to enjoy the quiet, the peace, the solitude, and the ability to accomplish more while the attendance is sparse. If you're all up in my face for 20 minutes with Thanksgiving tales of joy and woe, it directly impedes my ability to maximize work productivity and blog creation--I have been trying to write this blog for 45 minutes now, and I keep getting interrupted with some variation of the same questions:

How was your Thanksgiving?
Did you eat a lot?
Did you see lots of family?
Did you see the games yesterday? (of course I did motherf**ker, everyone saw the same three games)

My apologies for being so crotchety so early, but I felt this warranted a good rant. And now, I present a song full of Ghostface rants:

As I have alluded to many times on this blog, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar is my main man, my second hero behind my dad, and I am in absolute awe of his accomplishments on and off the basketball court. When I found out via his publicist Deborah Morales (yeah I'm name dropping someone you've never heard of) two years ago that Kareem would have an HBO documentary based on his life, I nearly begged her and HBO to either a) let me be involved or b) let me get an advance screening. They only obliged on the latter, and but that was still enough to assuage the angst of not being more involved. That being said...

The documentary, which I highly suggest you watch two times if you have not already, was a supreme disappointment to me. Most of what was covered in the documentary was already covered in great detail in his autobiography Giant Steps, which came out in 1983. Yes there were interviews from Billy Crystal, Bob Ryan, his longtime friends, Herbie Hancock and even the great Quincy Jones, but they were merely pontificating on details I already knew about.

In fact the only detail that was discussed in the documentary that I was previously in the dark about was regarding his scratched cornea in the great Game-of-the-Century matchup against Elvin Hayes in 1968. I always thought Kareem was simply outplayed, but his eye hampered him, and he later avenged that loss in the NCAA tournament. Hearing that made me smile and re-affirm Kareem's greatness, but it was not enough pacify me. Not even close.

I called my father the next day to get his take on the documentary, and before I could bait him with a question, he also had complaints about the regurgitation of common Kareem knowledge. We both did a little pontification of our own about the omission of what makes Kareem unique--his post-basketball career. Kareem has written history books, children's books, he's written reviews on jazz and movies, he's had columns with Time and ESPN magazine, he's started a foundation, he's been very vocal about his fight with leukemia, and as recently as two months ago he had a public spat with Presidential candidate, Donald Trump. Yes Kareem was a great ball player (I'd argue one of the five greatest ever to play the game) and that should be celebrated but a documentary (in my opinion) should be a little more thorough, and appeal to a broader audience--not just basketball fans. HBO is known for their sprawling documentaries, but they fell short this time. Perhaps I need to start begging folks to let me do the sequel.

I highly suggest you go on over to my main man Sabin's blog, and read the series of entries he wrote on OutKast (pronounced OutKast). He nailed it.

My son Nyles and I walked to school this morning, which was about 10-percent annoying and 90-percent gratifying. Yesterday, as we got ready to drive to work, Nyles expressed an interest in walking to school, and I shut his ass down. It was Monday morning, I was tired, and he wasn't exactly doing the best job of being a good listener, which would have turned a 15-minute walk into 3-hour affair. This morning he was good, and aside from him being distracted by the acorns, garbage trucks, and red/green lights, we had a nice time. That was only the second time we've done that walk, but I may start doing this every day. It saves gas, I don't have to find parking, and I'm sure as he gets older the quality of our conversations will only improve.

The walk was also mildly therapeutic for me. I have been struggling with my emotions since Saturday night--the night before my son Carlton left Marine boot camp. It is funny leading up to the day, I wasn't very emotional at all. I would talk about the occasion like it was just another day in the park. I helped Carlton get ready, we joked about him having to cut his hair, and it never dawned on me that there is an emotional component to all of this.

Saturday I tried to call him via FaceTime and he didn't answer, so I headed to the Wizards/Knicks game, hoping to catch him later. As I was halfway there my wife told me that Carlton tried to call back via FaceTime, so I turned around, came back home and had a 20-minute conversation with him which was excellent. I covered the game, did my journalistic duties, came home, got ready to go to bed, and then it hit me like a Mike Tyson uppercut. I cried and cried and I had to call my father at 2am (he's in Phoenix so thankfully he was wide awake) and he temporarily calmed me down. But all day Sunday and yesterday, I had these 5-10 minute crying fits. Finally last night, Carlton called me to say he had arrived, and that he'd only be able to write (not call) between now and late January. That conversation made me smile, not cry, and I think I will be ok.

Back to the therapeutic part of the walk...walking with Nyles--as well as playing and talking with him, make me appreciate the little day-to-day operations of raising a 3-soon-to-be-4 year old. I didn't have that with Carlton, and judging by how quickly things have gone with young Nyles, he'll start shunning me for girls or sports in no time. So the innocence of this morning's walk was very calming. Carlton's innocence will be beat and dragged out of him during boot camp--just like it would have been in college, although in a slightly less harsh way. That's what happens between 18 and 22 right? That's a bitter pill to swallow, but I'm doing it slowly (pause). As I told my wife the other day, being an adult is difficult. It's rewarding, fun and better than being a minor, but man it is difficult sometimes.

My main man Sabin, in our discussion about the demise of Grantland, told me to step up and do more with writing in the sports department, beyond my normal Wizards-related duties. He's stepped up and developed a website and written a new book of fiction. The last time he challenged me, I learned how to swim in 3 months. I already know how to write, I just have to take that leap, or as Herbie Hancock said to Questlove, "walk that stage".