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

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

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

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

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

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

My latest article

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

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

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

Nyles F Baby

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

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

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



Here's what happened:

Hotel guy: Can I help you?

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

HG: Can I help you?

Me: Help me with what?

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

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

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

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

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

HG: Oh ok

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

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



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

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

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

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

And now, more Nyles:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her: F**k you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bribe Attempt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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