I've been feeling trapped lately and it has prevented me from writing anything about the issues going on in our convoluted country right now.

I have black friends who unfriended me on Facebook because they felt like I wasn't vocal enough about the police brutality cases which have gone down recently. Apparently, they think it is necessary for me to be vocal online among a group of folks who I have handpicked to be my "friends", because that's the thing to do. I did not acquiesce, I just temporarily shut down my Facebook page. The shit was flooded with pompousness anyway, and I needed a break.

I have white friends who stayed silent on the police brutality--which is well within their right, because I did too--but then broke out their pom-poms and cheerleading skirts when the cops were tragically. The broke out the blue and all lives matter slogans, they called on Obama to help the police and they said a bunch of stuff that was true, which didn't make me mad. I asked them why they were silent on the civilians being killed, and they got all intellectual on me and said that "we don't know all the facts".

I agree with the spirit and the feeling behind "Black Lives Matter", but I hate their disruptive approach, because it isn't helping anyone. Not in this current climate anyway. Like it or not, emotions (and stakes) are high, white and black folks are angry, and in order to heal, everyone needs to make some damn concessions. Black Lives Matter folks should relax on the protesting for now and come up with tangible ways help fix the broken judicial system--starting with cops. White folks should get their head out of the sand and realize that if they help black lives matter folks AND cops, the solution(s) will come quicker and less blood will be shed on both sides. The good cops should have a safe space where they call out the bad cops who are messing up, without having to worry about their job, their lives or being shot at by crazy folks who lack real problem-solving skills but seem to have an abundance of guns and ammo. And the politicians--both locally and nationally--need to stop the financial corruption, the grandstanding, the holding up of meaningful legislation, and start doing their job by coming up with solutions, suggestions and plans of action. That's why they get elected right?

Right now, it feels like everyone I listed in that paragraph above is just running in place. No one wants to compromise, everyone wants to be heard with varying degrees of forcefulness, and there's an undercurrent of pain and anger on all sides. I thought the President and former President Bush did a great job in Dallas yesterday, by setting the stage for judgement-free conversation, but who knows if anyone will take the bait. I just know that it sucks when no one wants to talk or listen, they just want to judge and pounce. You don't have to agree with me---in fact there's a whole lot in my blog that folks don't agree with--but I'm sure you still read because you respect my ability to explain my point.

All I know is I have two sons, 4 and 18 and I am scared to death what they are going to face from other black men, cops, terrorists, etc. I don't have the answers to all the problems, I just have to do my job in raising them to be critical thinkers and doers while navigating through this crazy world. But it isn't easy.

Sorry for rambling, and if I've offended you with anything I wrote, I suggest you a)leave my blog or b)scroll through my archives and find something equally as offensive to be mad about.

Two significant events have happened in my life since last I blogged, and I will attempt to address them in today's latest blog entry. I've started and stopped this particular blog about 54 times over the past week or so, and each time real life steps in like Dikembe Mutombo and prevents me from finishing. I shall try again to just that.

The first big thing that happened two weeks ago was my son's graduation from Pre-Kindergarten. I have no problem admitting that at first glance, the whole concept of a Pre-K graduation sounded ridiculous as hell. Their attention spans are basically 30-seconds long, it was in the middle of the morning when most adults are supposed to be at work, and the kids will have more substantial graduations as they get older, which are way more meaningful. That being said, graduation was awesome.

My son, his classmates and his two teachers performed a song that I do not remember, they got their names called one by one, and then they closed the ceremony with this song My son saw me as soon as he and his other classmates walked into the auditorium, and he could not stop smiling. I heard him tell his other friends, "There's my mommy and daddy!". During the ceremony he pointed at his mother and father, he strutted across the stage, and he kept that million dollar smile on his face. All the kids were happy, the parents tried to navigate that balance between being proud and taking pictures like paparazzi. I can't say I want to do this every year, but considering this was my son's first year of school, it was rewarding.

90 minutes after the ceremony was over, I hopped on a bus and headed to New York. My main man Kareem Abdul-Jabbar was being interviewed by Walter Mosley and the New York Public Libary. The NYPL asked Kareem to show up and talk about his latest book entitled, "Mycroft Holmes" which is now in paperback. They asked Kareem who he wanted to be interviewed by, and he said Walter Mosley, who also had a new book out entitled, "Charcoal Joe", which is the latest in the Easy Rawlins series.

For approximately 90 minutes, Kareem and Mosley traded stories about writing, their past, Muhammad Ali, the shooting in Orlando, religion, jazz and race. Kareem is usually reserved and a bit shy, but Mosley asked the right questions to get him to open up, and Kareem was up to the challenge. My favorite exchange is when Mosley asked Kareem who his favorite mystery writers, and aside from Mosley, he named folks who I had never of in my life. Kareem then asked Mosley that same question, and he paused, then he told the audience that most writers lie about their influences. He revealed that most writers want their colleagues and their readers to think they are deep, so they bring up some obscure or seemingly deep authors. Mosley then admitted that his two biggest influences were Nancy Drew and the Marvel comics series.

After the talk, I went and bought Kareem's book, and I started to remind him that I had interviewed him back in 2009, but I didn't want to be "that guy", so I went another way. First I asked him to sign his book for my son Nyles and he did, and then I asked him to recommend a jazz artist I should be listening to, and he gave me the name of an 11-year old prodigy named Joey Alexander from Indonesia. I said thank you, he said you're welcome and that was that.

I had so many more things I wanted to ask Kareem--in fact I felt the same way after my 2009 interview--but it wasn't meant to be. I'm still hoping that one day, I'll get 30 minutes of uninterrupted time to ask him about jazz, basketball and everything else, but who knows if that will happen. But considering that day started with my son graduating and it ended with me getting an autographed book from Kareem, I gotta say it was a good day.

I couldn't write about Ali's death at any point during the last week, which sucks for someone like me who fancies himself as some kind of a writer. Every time I turned on the computer or the television, there was someone I respected, writing or discussing Ali and it was making me gun shy about writing any damn thing. From Bryant Gumbel to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, to Jeremy Schaap, to Jim Brown to Bob Costas, to Tony Kornheiser, there were respectful athletes and journalists, who were discussing Ali's legacy and what he meant to each one of them. And I was in awe every time.

I remember when Phife died, I was pissed that certain news outlets were covering his death strictly as a news story, rather than an emotional event that they felt passionately about. Looking back, I don't know why I expected news outlets to do anything more than what they are paid to do, but the fact that I irrationally wanted more just speaks volumes to how much Phife's (and Tribe's ) music meant to me. Phife started his career in 1988 when I was 13, and it ended prematurely in March of this year when I was 41. In between that time he made a bunch of amazing music that served as the soundtrack of part of my life. That seems quite corny and cliched but it indeed the truth. That is why I appreciated the memorial service that was done in Phife's memory. All the people who spoke about Phife, actually lived in during his era of relevance. These weren't second-hand stories or things people heard on the Internet, they were authenthic, heartfelt stories...which brings us to Ali.

I wasn't fortunate enough to have been conceived during Ali's dominant, talkative, militant time. In fact, the first time I saw Ali fight it was in 1980, when he fought Larry Holmes.. Holmes, who had been Ali's sparring partner at one point, was young and in his prime, while Ali was slow as molasses, barely a shell of his former champion self, and based on what we know now, he was in the embryonic stages of Parkinson's. The fight was so bad that at one point Holmes would hit the defenseless Ali, and then look to the referee and beg him to stop the fight. The ref never stopped it, but eventually (and thankfully) Ali quit.

My father cried during that fight, and at five years old, I really did not understand why he was crying. When I asked him, he took me to his room and showed me two Sports Illustrated covers: This one after he defeated George Foreman and this one after the last Ali/Frazier fight. My dad said he was used to seeing Ali as a frontrunner or coming back from adversity, but he was not used to the sedentary Ali who was hit repeatedly and no longer had the ability to be elusive. My father said Ali was a hero of us, and that fight signified the end of relevance in the ring. From then one, I knew Ali was someone I need to learn about.

Since then, I've read book and articles, I've watched documentaries, I've listen to men and women in older generations, and I've even watched fights, and I feel like I know the man, and more importantly I know the effect he had on people. I know he was hated by some and loved by many, and I appreciate how he empowered so many of the adults who have helped raised me over the years. But I'd be selfish and foolish if I sat here and waxed rhapsodic about the good old days of Ali, when I wasn't there. I'd much prefer to leave that to folks who were there, and I can appreciate from afar.


By the way, 11 years ago today Ralph Wiley, who is still my second favorite writer behind John Edgar Wideman, passed away. Back in 2002, he wrote a brilliant article on OJ Simpson that I highly suggest you read.

No real blog entry today just two morning observations:

1) I was at the water cooler just now trying to fill my bottle for the day, and one of my female colleagues got there before I did. Me being the gentleman that I am (sometimes) I stepped out of the way and allowed her to get water first. It kind of annoyed me that her water bottle was half full, and I was wondering why the hell she was even at the water cooler already, but I stayed silent. As she bent down to get more water, some of the existing water in her bottle spilled all over the little lever that has to be lifted and pulled in order to get the water to come out. She apologized, adjusted her now 3/4 empty bottle and went down to try again, but since she had spilled water everywhere, her fingers keep sliding all over the place. The following conversation happened:

Her: Jesus, it is so wet I can't keep my fingers on there

Me: You said what now?

Her: Oh my good that sounded so pervy didn't it?

Me (in my best DeNiro voice): A little bit

Her: Well it is wet

Me (grabbing some paper towels): How about you take both of us out our misery and wipe it down and try it again. This is weird

Her: Good idea


I am quite proud of myself for taking that elusive high road, because the minute she said that pervy sh*t, I wanted to hit her with a "That's what she said", but she's an attorney and there are way too many attorneys around her to be that reckless.

2) Right before I walked into the building, Quincy Jones's (it was originally written by the late James Moody) "Moody's Mood for Love" came on my iPod, and I forgot what a beautiful song it is. Brian McKnight and Rachelle Ferrell sing lead, Take 6 handles the background vocals, and it is just a beautiful song where everyone can sing, and it is they are having an internal competition without getting all Patti Labelle on the song. Check it out:

On my way into work this morning, I received an email from the Kennedy Center regarding a Marvin Gaye tribute concert this Sunday at 8pm (the same time as Game 2 of the NBA Finals, which is not smart). The lineup is pretty impressive: Whoopi Goldberg will host it, Babyface will sing, as will Audra Day, Ledisi, Jussie Smollett (from the show I don't watch, Empire), Valerie Simpson (her husband was Ashford), BJ The Chicago Kid, Mary Wilson (her former group was The Supremes) and Leslie Odom Jr. (who is playing Aaron Burr in the hit musical Hamilton), and others.

I'm not necessarily a fan of all the artists I listed, but I do know that each one of them can carry a tune and they have made enjoyable music that I have purchased in the past and probably will purchase again in the future. I preferred Ledisi the jazz artist more than I do Ledisi the-semi-crossover-singer, but this is not a bad lineup at all--except for one thing: Marvin F Gaye will NOT be there to sing.

Marvin had a unique sound. He could beg, he could croon, he could demand that you pay attention to his sexual desires, he could get deep and observational, he could make a song where he says, "I'm gonna give you some head for two straight minutes, and most importantly to me, he sang layered background vocals like no one I've heard. Those are the traits people have come to know, love and respect, and that is why Marvin's music is timeless. No one listed in that tribute concert is going to appeal to the audience's emotions the way Marvin could if he was in attendance.

Babyface is my main man who sings beautiful love songs, but let's be real..he's a little soft. The time to listen to Babyface is on the night of your wedding (if you're sober) when you want to make sweet love to your spouse. You can listen to Marvin's music in the car on the way back from playing basketball, and just storm in the house and give it to your spouse on the coffee table while they are watching television and doing meaningless things on their phone. If it was a Stevie Wonder tribute, I'd be ok with Babyface. Not for Marvin though. There are also a lot of women in the lineup who will be singing, including Valerie Simpson who co-wrote some of Marvin's hits, which is beautiful. But I don't need to hear a woman singing Marvin's songs. It isn't sexist, there are just some male artists (like Teddy P) who should always have a male covering their songs, to maintain the essence of the song. Granted, I suppose there are some songs like "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" and "I Heard It Through The Grapevine" which have been covered by women before, but still, I want to hear Marvin, and I cannot, thanks to his dad gunning him down way too soon.

This same reasoning is why I have grave concerns over the Prince tributes that will coming down the pike over the next year or so during the BET Awards, the Grammys, American Music Awards, etc. I don't mind if the Wendy and Lisa, the Revolution, Rosie Gaines, Sheila E, The Time, and Questlove are involved in the tribute, because they all have played with Prince and received that elusive stamp of approval from him before he died. But there are a select group of singers who can do his songs justice, and they may not necessarily be tv-friendly, ratings grabbers, which is what television is all about. It is rare that I've seen a tribute for an artist that I liked..usually they just make me want to run and hear the original singer's catalog, and who knows maybe that's the secret motive any damn way.

And now, the aforementioned, "I'm gonna give you some head" song by Marvin Gaye called, "Soon I'll be Loving You Again". At the 1:07 mark of this song, he tells the woman that he's never given head before (which was a f**king lie Marvin), and that he would gladly make her the first one. 46 seconds later, he goes from being shy about the head-giving to just repeating "I'm gonna give you some head" for the last 90 seconds of the song. You don't really need headphones to hear it, but put them on anyway for the full effect. And then when you get home, repeat that same phrase to your man/woman, and thank Marvin(and me):

A couple weeks ago I went on a rant in this blog space about people who bury their heads in their phones, and walk right into folks because of their refusal to look ahead. Now I have a second related rant--although this is more like a public service announcement than anything else.

This morning I had just completed my 5-mile run in the 70-degree Wednesday morning weather, and I was doing my little cool down walk before I headed back in the house. For my cool down walk, I removed my headphones, put my iPod in my pocket, and I just walked slowly and tried to think relaxing, cool thoughts. I was sweaty, tired, and in need of water. I do not believe I looked menacing or threatening, but who knows.

While I was walking I noticed a woman about 200 yards or so in front of me. She had on a short, free-flowing sundress as the ladies are wont to do in warm weather, she had on sunglasses, headphones and her head was buried in her phone. She did not notice the gentleman on the bike who was trying to pass her from behind, but could not do it easily because she was walking erratically. She also did not notice my sweaty ass getting ready to walk by (but into) her. I wanted to make lots of exaggerated noise and yell "heads up", but frankly I was too tired to and unable to expend any extra energy besides walking and cooling down.

Eventually this woman was two steps away from me, when she finally decided to look up and see me getting ready to walk by. She screamed (not a loud orgasmic scream, just a muted yelp like a dog who is ready to be taken outside) and dropped her phone.

Her: Oh my God you scared the sh*t out of me

Me: And good morning to you too

Her: Oh my God, that was so scary

Me: Well you did have your head in your phone, I'm just getting ready to walk in my house. Have a good day.


As I walked towards my house I noticed that she put her headphones right back in, buried her head right back in her phone and acted like nothing had happened. This is how folks get robbed or worse. I'm not implying that I live Chicago or anything, but I do live in a semi-gentrified area, and rich, entitled folks are sometimes targeted because of their carefree, I'm-going-to-act-like-I-own-the-city attitude. I'm not saying they can't do that, and I'm not saying anyone deserves to be profile and robbed. But I AM saying that it happens and you have to--as John Madden used to say--take the temperature of the room and adjust accordingly. You can wear headphones, but keep your head on a swivel and look at your surroundings every now and then--especially at 6:15 in the damn morning.

Even when I go running at 5am, I keep the volume on my iPod low, and I look up and around to make sure things are relatively safe. It isn't a foolproof method of safety, but it is much better than the hear-no-evil-see-no-evil method I see used all over this city. Plus, if I can be candid, I am not too keen on having white women screaming in my direction at any hour of the day, especially when I've done nothing wrong. The optics on that--even in a progressive city like DC--are just all wrong, and I don't want to be a 2016 version of Emmett Till. That may be a slight exaggeration, but you get my point right?

So the last time I asked for help via the blog, things turned up lovely for me. My mother-in-law read the blog I wrote about the strange dream, she analyzed it, and then gave me some homework assignments for me to dissect future dreams. Now I have another request for anyone out there who reads this blog.

So back in '91, Public Enemy had a song out called Nighttrain which appeared on their album "Apocalypse '91, The Enemy Strikes Black". The song that appeared on the album was good, not great. The remix to the song--which came out in 1992--was simply amazing for so many reasons.

1) James Brown. The remix used the beat to Brown's song, "Get Into It, Get Involved", which is absolutely impossible not to dance and move to. In fact, my mother and father used to tell me that when they were in college, that record had to be a staple at any GOOD party. Public Enemy was smart to incorporate that into the remix.


2) The presence of Pete Rock and CL Smooth. By the time this Nighttrain remix was released, Pete Rock and CL Smooth had already released their 1992 classic, "Mecca and the Soul Brother", , and "(T)hey (R)eminisce (O)ver (You) was just picking up steam. But they already had an EP out from the previous year entitled "All Souled Out", and Pete Rock had been doing great remixes for a few years now--including my favorite remix of his ever for EPMD's Rampage.. So when they both made an appearance on this Public Enemy remix, it set the song off that much more. Pete Rock was on the beat and the adlibs, and CL Smooth laid an efficient verse which effectively stuck with the train theme:

The conductor, track the structure overstood
Nighttrain the plain, little engine that could
One express so the next stops Mecca
A place to face to make a black man better
CL and Chuck D, we don't talk rubbage
But just like a slave, we gotta ride wit the luggage
On the nighttrain

3) The voice. Chuck D has the best verse in all of hip hop. It really doesn't matter what he's saying, because he has the cadence, the tone and the gravitas of a Baptist preacher. But sometimes it is easy to forget just how adept he is at writing rhymes that flow perfectly over the beat--this Nighttrain remix allows him to "catch wreck" as the kids used to say in '92. Chuck is never on anyone's top 10 list in the rhyme department but this song would get him some honorable mention votes.


So why am I mentioning this damn song? Back in 1992, I first heard the remix on Rap City when they played the video and the next week I went to Sam Goody and bought the maxi single. The maxi single had the original song, the instrumental, the remix and the instrumental to that. Sadly, that maxi single was lost some time betwwen 1992 and 2000, but thanks to lovely music sharing sights that popped up around 2002 or so, I was able to find the song and place it on a CD (I didn't have an iPod back then). I lost that damn CD before I had a chance to convert it to mp3, and now I can't find the song. It isn't on iTunes, Spotify, Tidal or anywhere. I've seen it for sale online via vinyl and cassette, but that ain't helping me get it on my iPod. So I need help. If anyone can help, I'd really appreciate it.

And now, the song:

Nyles has had the same bath routine since he's been a year old. My wife reads him a story or two, and then I give him a bath for about 5-10 minutes. We talk, I politely and repeatedly ask him to wash all of his little body parts, and I always play two to three songs that I want him to hear. When my wife gives him a bath, she tends to play the Pandora station geared towards children, but I do no such thing. I see it as my mission at bath time, to force feed as much good music as I have in my iPod, so when my son gets older, he'll have Questlove sensibilities, and not someone with the music IQ of Fetty Wap (and hell no I'm not hyperlinking anything related to that man).

The first bath song Nyles latched on to around two years old was Michael Jackson's "Human Nature", which made me very happy, since I am the world's biggest MJ fan:



The second song Nyles really took a shine to was the Doobie Brothers song "Minute by Minute". Nyles really had no interest in the verses, the instruments or even the background vocals, but he loved the chorus where Michael McDonald would sing "Minute by Minute" over and over again. I never realized just how catchy that song was until I heard Nyles gravitate towards it.

Fast forward three years later---more specifically about two weeks ago, when Nyles was listening to Maxwell's new song "Lake By the Ocean" at bath time. For the first 50 seconds, Nyles was more interested in playing with his toys than he was listening to Maxwell. Then the chorus came on, and Nyles had no clue what the words were, but he recognized the cadence of Maxwell's song, and he said, "Is this Minute by Minute Daddy?". Now I corrected him and told him it was Maxwell's "Lake By the Ocean" and not "Minute by Minute", but I could barely contain the smile on my face because it appears as if my son has a good ear.

So listen to the chorus of the Doobie Brothers (start at the 1:02 mark):




And then listen to Maxwell's chorus (start at the 48 second mark):

It rained every minute of the weekend, and since my wife and I decided not to register young Nyles for soccer for a fourth consecutive time, it was imperative that we come up with activities for the weekend. Saturday there were errands, an indoor playground, blocks, coloring and indoor basketball (via the timeless invention called the Nerf Hoop), but we needed an activity for Sunday morning. Usually he watches cartoons, while Mommy and Daddy read and watch inane political shows, but this time we decided to switch it up and visit the National Air and Space Museum.

Now, I had not set foot in this particular musuem since my son oldest son Carlton was 12 (almost 7 years ago), so I had completely forgotten how overwhelming the sights are when you initially walk in the building. There are planes, propellers, planets, pieces of space vehicles, exhibits, things for the kids, and of course lots of people. Nyles was just as overwhelmed as I was, but to his credit he asked questions, he (for the most part) kept his hands off the exhibits and he enjoyed setting foot in the antique planes. His questions were not quite a sophisticated as the ones I heard from kids who were seven, eight, nine years old and older, but I was proud of my son for holding it down at the age of four. My wife always says it isn't a contest or a competition, but that's bullshit. EVERYTHING is a competition. I digress.

I will readily admit that I was deeply concerned about setting foot in the museum, because I loathe crowds. People are arrogant, oblivious to people around them (the rule is to keep your head on a swivel, or as we say in basketball, see your man, see the basket and see the ball) and they are loud. But since it was raining, and my son needed an activity, I had to place aside my own personal insecurities and make sure those two hours or so were good for my son. For the most part, I was able to do that, but there were two annoying things I observed.


Cutting in line

There was an older plane which was cut open so visitors could see inside the cockpit, and I'd say the line was about 20-25 people deep. There were people taking annoying selfies in line (more on that later), but for the most part people were patient, relatively quiet, and they acted like they had home training---except for this one gentleman. He looked to be around 50 or so, and he was way too close to my wife in line. My wife would move up three inches, and this ass would move up two and a half inches, so that he was RIGHT on her ass. I mean literally if she took half a step back, she'd bump right into him, which naturally would have set me off. My wife does not like my temper, so I decided I would stew in silence, while keeping an eagle eye on the situation.

As we got closer to the cockpit, the line narrowed a bit, which allowed me to let my wife get in front of me, which meant the creepy old man was now on my ass. When the line moved up, I purposely stood still and didn't move, just to annoy this guy, but eventually he got the point--that was until we got closer to the cockpit. There was a couple in front of us taking pictures, which meant my wife and I were next to view the cockpit. After the couple was finished, but before my family could walk up and in the cockpit, this creepy dude steps in front of us and starts observing the cockpit as if he were next in line. My first impluse was to do a Rambo and then pull out the jammy and flat blast him
, but I instead I opted for the cooler approach. I said to him, "So you're just going to step in front of us like that boss?". He looked back at me incredulously, stood there for a second, and the got the hell out of the way. My family looked at the cockpit, lingered for a minute just to f**k with creepy guy, and then we left. Nyles asked why we were leaving, and I said, ""We have some people really pressed to see the exhibit Nyles", and then I looked back at the creepy guy who was foaming at the mouth to see the exhibit.

Did I mention I hate crowds?

Selfie sticks and camera phones

I apologize if I sound old and out of touch, but back when my family visited museums--and even back in 2008 when I brought my son Carlton, we simply enjoyed the museum. We took a picture or two as we left, but the bulk of our visit was for questions, answers and learning. It was basically an extension of the classroom. Yesterday, every damn kid and parent decided that they had to take pictures of everything and put them on Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, etc. There were cameras and selfie sticks everywhere and in some cases, folks got annoyed if you walked into their shot, not really grasping the fact that their were six million people trying to see things in the museum. If folks really want to see what's in the museum, they should bring their ass in there and see, rather than getting an eyeful via someone's social media page. Not five seconds went by without someone snapping a picture of some sort, and it made me angry, but it made me a little sad too. There is such a thing as being in the moment and soaking it all in, but I guess that is lost on some parents and kids.

I've played one instrument in my life and that was the trumpet from age 8 to age 16. I briefly took trumpet and bass lessons, but because of various duties I had to tend to as an adult, they never really got off the ground and I damn sure didn't achieve any level of proficiency. My main man jazzbrew used to be a proficient trumpet player and more recently he has switched over to the bass and he's moving closer to proficiency in that as well. I admire that and one day soon while my son Nyles is taking piano lessons, I will attempt that feat as well.

But this morning while I was in the shower, I was listening to Paul Simon's "You Can Call Me Al", and the nasty bass solo came on, and it reminded me of why I even wanted to learn the bass in the first damn place. I can think of several songs with unmistakable bass solos or basslines that I would attempt to recreate simply with the air guitar, and I would wonder what it would take to learn the instrument. I shall list some of them now--the aforementioned "You Can Call Me Al" is on the list by the way.


Robert Palmer - I Didn't Mean To Turn You On

The bassline of the song is average and nothing spectacular or noteworthy. And then at the 2:23 mark, there a nasty bass guitar pluck and makes you want screw your face up while you play it. That nasty pluck reappears at the tail end of the song as well. I was 10 or 11 when this song came out, but I'll never forget that.




Steely Dan - Peg

The only reason I knew about this song was due to the De La Soul Song, "Eye Know" which was on 3 Feet High and Rising which used the Steely Dan. I later looked up the song on my own and initially it was Michael McDonald's background vocals which reeled me in. Then later as my ear got more sophisticated, I zeroed in on the nasty bass line and now I can never unhear that part. A few years ago, there was a documentary on Steely Dan, and the bass guitarist mentioned that Steely Dan did not want him to pluck the guitar during the chorus, and he snuck it in anyway (skip ahead to the 1:15 mark of the video below):



Chaka Khan/Rufus - Tell Me Something Good

Come on, do I really have to explain this one? Just listen how the song starts, and tell me it doesn't make you want to do something x-rated..



Stanley Jordan - The Lady in my Life

Yes I am well aware this song is smooth jazz, and I generally am condescending towards the entire smooth jazz institution. However, when I was a nine year old lad going to and from soccer practice, my dad (who was a huge jazz head) fell in love with bassist Stanley Jordan and his inaugural album, "Magic Touch". One of the standout songs from that album was a remake of MJ's "Lady in my Life", and the bass parts were damn good



On Green Dolphin Street - Jimmy McGriff

This is yet another song that I discovered thanks to a hip hop group. A Tribe Called Quest sampled this in their song "Jazz (We've Got)", and thanks to the extensive liner notes in the tape cover, I was able to discover that and other basslines.



Get on the Floor - Michael Jackson

The lyrics were written by Michael Jackson, but the beat was done by legendary bassist, the late Mr. Louis Johnson (half of The Brothers Johnson). The bass is so nasty in this song, I don't even think the air guitar can do it proper justice. It is intricate, it is funky and to me it is flat out amazing. Louis Johnson briefly discussed it in this interview:


Bass Solo: Louis Johnson - "Get On The Floor" by Fanuchi

Here's the real song


I'm sure there are more, but that's a start...

Let me begin by saying I know right from wrong, and for the most part, it is my intent to do the right things in life, and to make correct decisions. Occasionally I fall short of that mark and when I do, it is unintentional 90% of the time--my behavior this morning was not one of those times.

I don't know if you've noticed, but people tend to be obsessed with their cell phones these days. It isn't as big of a deal when someone is at home, waiting on the train or just out of harm's way. But it is a problem when texting is done while driving or walking. Today during my rainy walk to work, I had an encounter with a woman who was texting while walking.

Now the responsible thing to do would have been for me to sidestep her as she walked down the sidewalk with her head buried in her phone, but then I thought to myself, "How will she learn her lesson?". So as she walked towards me, I kept walking towards this woman, and she ran right into me and dropped her phone on the hard concrete face down. The following wonderfully profane conversation took place:

Her: What the f**k man? Watch where you're going

Me: I did, I was walking straight down my side of the sidewalk but you didn't look up

Her: So you just f**king run into me"

**She looks down at her phone***

Her: And now my phone is cracked, what the f**k man? You're a f**king asshole

Me: I may be an asshole, but I'm the asshole who walks with his head up on the sidewalk and my phone isn't cracked so...

Her: Whatever asshole

Me: Have a good day sweetie


Now again, I realize that there may have been a better way for me to handle this type of conflict, but I'm tired of enabling folks who can't look up from their phone enough to simply walk down the street. Of course is someone was texting and driving, the stakes would be much higher and of course I would be much smarter. But since this collision was only going to happen on foot, I thought I had some leeway to teach lessons. The fact is, you can't barrel down the street with tunnel vision--and she should know that as a woman. A myriad of things could have happened to her and a cracked phone is at the bottom of that list. I didn't get mad, I didn't yell, and I overlooked the fact that she was cursing at me like Bobby Knight at halftime. She had a right to be mad, but I had more of a right to be, and that was that.

And I also realize I didn't have to call her sweetie, but I know woman hate to be called that by men they don't know, so I just threw it in for good measure.

Happy Birthday Stevie...

I have no idea if anyone reads this blog, and I definitely don't know if the folks who still read are savants in the dream interpretation area, but I'm just going to write about it anyway to get it off my chest.

I was in the middle of a kickball game with the teachers and staff members from my son's school. I was playing in right field, I saw my son's teacher in center field, and the co-teacher was on the other team preparing to kick the ball. I had on sunglasses, and I distinctly remember swatting gnats away like a crazy person. I can also distinctly remember that it was hot, and I really did not feel like participating, which is unlike me because I like kickball a great deal.

The pitcher rolled the ball to the co-teacher and she kicked the ball high in the air, and far away from me. I remember taking two steps towards the ball, before I quickly realized it was well beyond my grasp. My son's teacher and some random schmo in left field both converged on the ball, and it ended up dropping right between them. I remember saying loudly (come on man, what are we doing out here man , but nobody paid me any attention). The schmo went to pick up the ball and all of a sudden out of the clear blue--and this is where it gets a bit surreal--three giantrobots came on the field and started dismantling the field.

First they threw the ball out of sight, then they started tearing up the grass, the bases and everything. Most of the teachers and faculty started running in the opposite direction, but I just stood there because the robots clearly had no interest in terrorizing the humans. This destruction continued for a good 45 seconds or so, and then I woke up. I didn't wake up via my alarm and I didn't wake up sweating or excited, I just woke up angry that my kickball dream ended a)prematurely b) on an error by my assclown teammates and c) before I had a chance to kick the ball my damn self.

So what the the hell does this mean?

During my formative years, my parents partly relied on Sesame Street to reinforce the lessons they taught me, as well as the ones that were being taught in school. Sometimes they would sit and watch with me, and other times they would take off to do other tasks, while trusting that the little, multi-colored Muppets--along with a few adults--could sustain my attention for approximately an hour. Based on how I turned out, I'd say that was a mutually beneficial transaction.

Now that I am in the midst of raising a four-year old son, I too am relying on the fine Seasame Street Institution to help raise my son. I particularly like for Nyles to watch Seasame Street in the morning while he's eating cereal and after he gets dressed. It puts him in an academic state of mind and it makes him more receptive to learning than just playing on the iPad, playing with his toys or watching Toy Story for the 567th time. Just this morning, the Sesame Street crew (Gordon to be specific) was describing what a stapler was and why it was necessary, and when my son got to school, he wanted to see the teacher's stapler. Win-Win.

But yesterday morning, there was a Sesame Street skit with Cookie Monster on it, and it backfired a bit. You see, Cookie Monster wanted to give cookies to his mother as a mother's day present, but Mr. Monster could not keep his hands and mouth off of the cookies long enough to actually gift them. He would start off calm and reserved, and then eventually, Cookie Monster would dominate the cookies as he is wont to do. When I was younger I thought it was funny the way Mr. Monster would devour the cookies, but as I got older--and particularly now that I'm a parent, I think it's flat out disgusting.

Young Nyles and his impressionable mind were sitting down eating mini-pancakes for breakfast as Cookie Monster ate and dominated cookie after cookie, and he made the executive decision that his pancakes should be eaten the same way. He picked up three mini-pancakes, put them up to his mouth, and proceeded to imitate the Cookie Monster as best he could. My knee-jerk reaction was to get mad and tell Nyles to stop, but he had his retort ready:


Me: Nyles don't stuff your mouth, why are you doing that?

Nyles: I'm doing what Cookie Monster is doing

Me: I know but the way Cookie Monster is eating is wrong, you eat one thing at a time and you chew and swallow

Nyles: But Daddy Cookie Monster isn't doing that

Me: What the f**k did I say? (I didn't really say that, but I wanted to)


At this point, I wanted to ramp up my anger, but given that I was the one who plopped my son down in front of the TV to watch this fine television show, I had to take some responsibility, which made me feel like this:




Anyway, Nyles now knows that Cookie Monster is a poor eater with less-than-desirable habits, so I guess in that respect, the show still allows for teachable moments. But it backfires sometimes too. That is my Public Service Announcement for the day.

I have been singing The Stylistics Song, "Hurry Up This Way Again" for years because the beat and singing and are so on point. But as is the case with most songs of my youth (take Evelyn Champagne King's "Love Come Down" which I sang religiously when I was young lad--not knowing that this woman made an entire song about how her dude has the ability to reach, touch and then bring down all of the wonderful, wet goodness that has previously been untapped, so to speak), I neglected to pay close attention to the lyrics until recently when the song came on my iPod during a walk home. As my wife said, you don't think of the words being particulary shady, because the lead singer of the group has such a high, disarming voice. But basically this dude is giving the business to a woman who has another man at home, but he wants her to hurry up and come back so he can administer more of the deep di....well you get it.

Here are the lyrics:

Oh, how it hurts loving someone who has someone else
So many nights I've spend here all alone by myself
Whenever you're with him, whose loving me, nobody
Hurry up this way again, I love you, hurry up this way again

I'll never know when I'm going to see you again
Can't make no plans, I just see you whenever I can
What happens in between, I sit and dream about you
Hurry up this way again, I love you, hurry up this way again

So many lives I spend here all alone

I love you, hurry up this way again
I need you, I want you, I don't want nobody else
Hurry up this way again, I love you, hurry up this way again
I love you, hurry up this way again

I've gotta have you, I want you, hurry up this way again
Hurry up this way again, I love you, hurry up this way again

And here's the song:

Eddie Murphy has a joke about how he used to scare girls by waving a stick around, telling them he had rubbed against a dead bird, and then chasing them with it by saying, "Dead birrrrd, dead birrrd, gonna put it on youuuu". It may not sound funny when I repeat it--in fact Eddie Murphy also has a joke about people butchering his jokes--but just click on the link at the beginning of this paragraph, and maybe you'll laugh. If you don't, f**k it, the joke is funny to me and my main man Sabin. In fact in college, every time Sabin and I would see a dead animal or any dead bird for that matter, we'd start saying, "dead birrrd, dead biiird, gonna put it on youuu." No one around us got it, but we did, which again, was all that mattered.

So this morning as my son and I were walking to school, we saw not one, not two but three dead birds beside his school building. Apparently the school windows are so clean that the birds, who clearly are not being praised by MENSA for their overwhelming intelligence, are flying directly into them. This is prematurely ending their precious lives and probably scaring the shit out of parents and some kids who have to step over the carcasses. Some kids went and stepped directly on the dead birds, which was funny to me, but not really. Some kids screamed and ran in the other direction, and then there's my son Nyles.

Young Nyles didn't scream, he didn't step on the dead bird, but he took a few steps towards it, then immediately took two steps away, and proceeded to start the following conversation with me:

Nyles: Daddy, what's that?

Me: That's a dead bird Nyles

Nyles: Well who killed the bird?

Me: The bird accidentally killed itself by running into the window

Nyles: Noooo, someone else killed the bird (he's already subscribing to conspiracy theories, I like that)

Me: Maybe, but I think the bird flew into the window and died

Nyles: Well why did the bird do that?

Me: He's dead so I can't ask him

I thank god that my last statement, along with the fact that it was time to actually enter the school, effectively ended our conversation. The inquistive mind of a four-year old is relentless and not bound by time, how annoying their line of questioning is, or how repetitive they are--which is fine since it is their job to be curious. But I was trying to get Nyles to class, and then I needed to get to work, so we had to cut it short. Plus, from the time I saw the bird, until I dropped Nyles off, I had to keep myself from laughing in his face because all I really wanted to do was say to him, "Dead birrrrd, dead biiiird, gonna put it on youuuuu." But he wouldn't have gotten it..not yet anyway.

I texted the abridged version of this story to my main man Sabin when I got to work, and he laughed, and then told me how he was in the process of introducing his two daughters to clean Sinbad and Eddie Murphy jokes. He told me a story about how his wife told one of his daughters that her room was a dump, and her daughter responded, "When you think of garbage, think of Akeem!" That is the level I need to get to with Nyles, so in addition to the educational and musical content I've been shoving down his throat the past few years, I may need to pepper in some fine comedic stylings as well. While he is in the nascent stages of his comedy education, I need to stress to him how harmful it is to latch on to bad, unfunny comedy. That just sets a bad precedent that I simply cannot be responsible for as his father.

And now, one of my favorite routines from Richard Pryor. The line about the luggage (around the 0:53 mark) makes me laugh every time. But don't just fast forward to that part otherwise you'll miss the essence of the joke...

Robert Reid, a former Houston Rockets basketball who achieved minor success in the NBA from 1997-1991 (he averaged 11.4 points, 4.5 rebounds and 2.7 assists during his career) had some rather strong opinions about current Houston Rockets star, James Harden.. The Houston Rockets greatly underachieved this past season, and although the finger could be pointed at their head coach instability (they went through two coaches this season), the failure of Daryl Morey (aka Dork Elvis) to bring in a third scorer, and the de-evolution of Dwight Howard as a productive basketball player. Mr. Robert Reid places the blame solely on the shoulders of young James Harden.

In an article--which can be seen here--Mr. Reid, who is clearly still passionate about the fortunes of his former team, criticizes the selfish way Harden plays. The article is strewn with quotes that have that get-off-of-my-lawn quality about them, but there are a few quotes that stick way out to me. Allow me to share:

"The new coach that they bring in here is the one that's going to have to say, 'I'm the one who gets fired if we don't win, not you. Do you feel lucky? Because your happy-jack behind will be at the end of the bench until you come to this game that we want to play.'

Now, 95% of that quote sounds perfectly normal. Yes it is a little dated to use the Clint Eastwood do-you-feel-lucky reference but that is a timeless movie loved by folks old and young and it is constantly on tv, so people of all ages have carte blanche to say such a thing. However, the usage of "happy jack behind" is not the language of young person. In fact, as I told my wife, no one under the age of 55 has ever used that expression in life. It sounds like something my grandmother would say when she wanted to be authoritative without cursing. "Jack" is used my mostly men who most likely drink brown liquor, smoked Kools or Newports and rub their hands together when they are about to holler at a young lady. But sometimes women use it too when they are really trying to slam a point home without using "nigga", "motherfucker" or some other disparaging noun. "Joker" can also be used in the same way, but that sounds even more dated.

If you don't believe me, after you read this brief but informative blog, try inserting "Jack", "Joker" and definitely "happy jack behind" into your lexicon (especially if you aren't black) and watch the reaction you get from your peers. The beauty of all three expressions is that you can use them at work, at home, around children, and feel not one iota of guilt. Try it! Make it your own!


See I like to get down Jack!

My father lives in Phoenix, Arizona now which means the time we have together is significantly less than it was when he lived 30 minutes away from me in Columbia, Maryland. I have been saying I was going to get out to visit him but something always comes up. In fact, the last two times I saw him he was here in the DC area on business for a few days, and we would have time to spend only a few hours together. It was better than not seeing him at all, but it fell far short of the type of substantive visits I am used to experiencing with my dad.

A couple weeks ago, I received an email from the University of Pennsylvania regarding their annual Penn Relays track meet. I initially forwarded the email to my brother and my father, in hopes that all three (four when you throw in my nephew) could go on a road trip. Sadly, my brother and nephew were unable to attend, which meant my dad and I would be going alone.

The first thing I did when I realized my dad and I would be road tripping was make a playlist based on the songs he said he liked (I blogged about some of his list here) The Thursday before the trip I enjoyed a few glasses wine, I rolled up my sleeves and I got knee deep in Tidal (which I only joined because they had all the Prince songs that Spotify lacked) and I made an 140-song playlist of songs my dad loves. It was an arduous task, but the wine helped as did me anticipating my dad's reaction to hearing some of these songs. I included all of the songs he initially sent to me, then I added some songs I knew he had omitted. The plan was to talk to my dad while being serenaded by all of these lovely songs.

I went to pick him up from his hotel at 8am, and then we took that two-hour drive to Philadelphia from Washington D.C. We discussed family, sports and music, music, music. There were songs from Quincy Jones, Dianne Reeves, Lalah Hathaway, The Temptations, Sly and the Family Stone, James Brown and even Beyonce--my dad loves Beyonce's song "Love on Top", because he says it reminds him of songs female artists sang in the 70s. He gets a pass for that, because every time one of the other songs came on, my dad would have some type of accompanying story or memory with the song, which is why I wanted to put this list together in the first place. I wanted to learn, I wanted to talk, and mainly I wanted to be a son around my father. It sounds simple and borderline corny, but most of my life is about me being a manager at work, a father to my sons and a husband to my wife. Occasionally a brother needs a a change of pace and that time with my dad provided that.

Once we arrived at the Relays we turned into two track and field fans. We had our stopwatches out, we analyzed all of the relays, we talked to some of the folks around us, and of course we marveled at the thousands of Jamaicans in attendance--they come in droves every year and this year was no except, even without Usain Bolt in attendance. We saw Sanya Richards Ross, Justin Gatlin, Jeremy Wariner but sadly no Allyson Felix who my dad has a huge crush on. I realize most people aren't track fans, so hopefully one or all of those names look familiar, but if not I wouldn't be surprised. It was fun, and we sat in 60 degree weather for nearly four hours watching race after race.

On the way home, we talked a little about track and field, a little about Prince, but most of the ride was us talking about his favorite memories of his parents and the circumstances surrounding his divorce of my mother. It was deep and a little emotional at times, but it was exactly what I wanted out of a day trip. I love my dad and I still consider him to be my hero. And on a slightly less corny note, I highly suggest that everyone go on a road trip with one or both of their parents. It is truly a beautiful experience..

And now a selection from my dad's playlist:

When Prince died I posted a video of him playing a guitar solo during "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" at the 2004 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony. Here is a brief article by some of the folks involved in making that happen.

Young Carlton, my oldest so who is currently in the Marines and stationed in beautiful San Diego, California is all over the damn map. He informed me this past weekend that he wants to marry his girlfriend when he comes home, which will be in three to four months. My son will be 19 in August and his girlfriend is 17 and still in high school.

He informed me of this minor miracle via text message and I immediately asked him to call me. I had to be very delicate with the situation because I did not want to alienate him simply because I vehemently disagree with this premature decision. But at the same time, I was not going to talk to him like everything was rosy either. He called me, I asked him if she was pregnant and he said no, then I asked him why he wanted to marry her now and his response after a long pause was, "She's stuck with me through all of this." In case you're wondering what "all of this" is, it is her ability to "endure" the 6-7 months Carlton has been at bootcamp and two assignments and in the Marines--that is hardly a feat of strength.

I didn't discourage him, but I did tell him that he needed to make and spend his own money, develop some personal preferences and do a bit of self-exploration before marriage (aka see how many women he could safely have sex with while donning that Marine uniform). He's basically gone from high school to the military (after turning down college) which means he has been insulated from the evils (and pleasures) of the real world. And now he wants to marry someone more sheltered and naive than he is? Not good. He said he felt strongly about the marriage, and I said I would support him, but I think he's making a huge mistake. We agreed to disagree but I suspect some time between today and when he comes home this whole marriage thing will lose steam because....

Yesterday Carlton texted (didn't call) and told me that he didn't know about "this". I once again asked him to call me and I found out "this" was the Marines. He is bored with his current assignment which involves lots of menial tasks and waiting--none of the excitement he thought he was going to immediately get into. I explained to him that he was more than welcome to quit the Marines, but he needed a plan, considering he'd have no money, no job, nowhere to live unless his grandparents (and not on my side) took him, and all he would have is a girlfriend, who would eventually leave his ass. Then I explained to him that every job has slow periods in the beginning and the military is no different. He's getting paid, he has free room and board, he's going to start working towards his degree soon, and surely he can endure a little inconvenience. He kept complaining, and I just kept explaining the consequences and the realities of quitting. We got off the phone and I still don't know what he's going to do, but I'm going to be mildly relentless with him.

I begged him not to go the military last Spring and I strongly urged him to attend Virginia Commonwealth University where he got accepted. He calmly told me that the military is what he wanted to do, and before the VCU registration/housing deadline I asked him was he sure and he said "hell yes". From that moment on I shut up about college, and I made sure he talked to people, family members and friends who were either in the military or recently retired. He was buoyed by those conversations and he basically doubled down on wanting to go. So now, about 8 months later, when I hear this quitting b.s., I shut it down. I won't disown him if he quits, but I won't give him a dime of money--only support and pep talks. It will hurt me to do that, and it feels a touch unfair, but if those lessons aren't learned early, adulthood will be a bitch.

That being said if he quits and has a plan to get back on his feet, I will support it 100%--if he stays single. My father supported me financially in college, until my girlfiend--who I made the ill-advised decision to live with--left me abruptly. My dad said, "I told you not to do that", and he said I had to figure my own way out of it. I was student-teaching, working and barely making ends meet for 3 months but I did it and I graduated. I never asked my dad for money again, and I'm glad he taught me that lesson, but that's me talking 20 years later. While I was going through, it was an everyday struggle to a)make ends meet b) stay sane c) focus on school work and d) get laid. All four things were important to 21 year old me. Carlton may have to learn similar lessons...but again, I hope to God he powers through and sticks this out.

I'm not writing anything about Prince's death. It feels way too surreal and frankly, everybody on god's green Earth has written something on him--most of it was pretty bad. However there are three stellar Prince-is-dead articles that I suggest you read:

1) Alan Leeds - Prince's longtime manager

2) Questlove - A longtime Prince admirer

3) Bomani Jones - longtime Prince admirer

Also, Questlove (via Twitter) brought up a creepy point yesterday about how the words to "Let's Go Crazy" seem to serve as a bit of foreshadowing to how Prince died--especially when you factor in the alleged use of painkillers. Enough of that though.


So this past weekend my wife and some of her Morgan State buddies hung out and relived their college glory. Young Nyles and I hung out and did fun stuff like go to the movies (to see Zootopia) play baseball, a little soccer and we also watched the Smithsonian channel. Sadly, he caught a little bit of a cold, so our plans to hang out all Saturday were slightly derailed, but we had fun nonetheless.

My wife returned home with one of her friends, and this friend (who lives in NY) had a special request for my wife and me via her sister (who also lives in NY). That request was for us to buy her 3 bottles of Mad Dog 20/20 to bring back to NY. If you're unfamiliar with Mad Dog 20/20, it is a glorified wine cooler, malt-flavored beverage, that you basically have to be over 50 to drink--although my wife's friend and her sister are in their early to mid 40s. I've never touched the stuff, but I have male friends of mine who have, and I'm pretty sure they were dangerously close to becoming sterile as a result. It isn't a drink you should indulge in every day, but I suppose on special occasions you can really dig in and go crazy. I bet it goes good with a bucket of chicken too.

Anyway, I was asked to go to the liquor store and purchase this fabulous malt beverage and it gave me pause. The normal liquor stores I frequent wouldn't dare carry Mad Dog 20/20--partly because it isn't considered classy, partly because of the clientele they could attract, and mainly because the demand for it is hella low. I normally buy wine in semi to fancy stores except during football season when I may venture over to the beer section. Malt-flavored, Bartles and James type beverages aren't really in my wheelhouse, which meant I had to venture over to the "package sto'". The package sto'(as it is called in the South) is a place where you can get rudimentary groceries, play the numbers and by cheap wine, beer, liquor, cigarettes, cigars and phone cards to call overseas. I only go to that store when a) it is time to play the Lottery and b)when all the other stores are closed. They don't have good wine there, and sometimes kids (ages 10-21) tend to hang around there and clog up the store buying insane amounts of candy. I don't need that headache, I just want my f**king wine and I want to go home.

Due to my wine/liquor snobbery I was hesitant to fulfill my wife's friend's request to purchase Mad Dog at the package sto'. I was worried about the looks I'd get from folks when I plopped those bottles on the counter, but I ended up going anyway. The first trip I made to the package sto, I headed to the back of the store, procured a bottle of Mad Dog and placed on the counter. As soon as I did that, this older black man and another black woman--both of whom were playing the lottery--looked at the drinks, then looked me and gave me this look that basically said, "Word?". I looked at them and said (in my head), "Word!!". The guys behind the counter took my money, slightly smirked at me, and then I got the hell out of there.

I walked back in the house with my one bottle of cherry-flavored of Mad Dog with a tremendous sense of accomplishemt. I had stepped out of my comfort zone and brought home a drink I would never drink in a million years. Then my wife told me that I was to buy 3 bottles, not one, and I had to go back to the goddamn store. I walked back in there, got two more bottles which looked like lime Kool-Aid and placed them on the counter. This time, there were two women in line playing the numbers and one dude waiting for cigars, and they all gave me the same incredulous look. I didn't even bother trying to explain myself (via my facial expressions), I just paid, ignored the smirks from the guys behind the counter, and rolled the f**k out.

I realize I sound real bourgie right now but I don't give a damn. I suggest you go out and buy, then taste some Mad Dog and get back to me.


Prince - Breakfast Can Wait (Official Video) by Prince-Official

No words right now, because it is still too raw. But here a badass performance of Prince's from the 2004 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony for George Harrison. Prince murdered this solo to Harrison's, "While My Guitar Gently Weeps":

This video never gets old...and it is still true in 2016. Black folks don't appreciate jazz(an art form we created), but would rather listen to watered-down smooth jazz which is perfectly respectable if you're an individual who never heard real, intricate jazz played live or recorded. Conversely, white folks like smooth jazz but they LOVE real, authentic jazz. Of course there are exceptions to this rule but the next time you go to a jazz show, do a mental count in your head and get back to me. And yes I'm biased, because I absolutely love jazz music and I don't get how everyone doesn't but I especially don't get how the watered down smooth jazz is more appealing folks. It is like drinking Riesling over a fine, 2011 Coppola Merlot. Anyway, back to the video:

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