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

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

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

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

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

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

Nyles in the stroller..

Some pictures need no introduction

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

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

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

My latest article

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of Nyles..

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



And here's my favorite one from 2008

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Er'body ready?

Alright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Man, didn't nobody say sh**.

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


And you should too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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