Life is a weird confluence of events is it not?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bryant Gumbel on Young Black Men and the Police:

BRYANT GUMBLE GETS IT! DO YOU?

Posted by Agyei Tyehimba on Saturday, August 15, 2015

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

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

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

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

1. Old Man River – The Temptations


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

3. My Girl – The Temptations

4. God Bless the Child – Billie Holiday

5. A Change is Gonna Come – Sam Cooke

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

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

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

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

10. The Ghetto – Donny Hathaway

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read my latest article please.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First - Read my latest article right here.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of dynamic...

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



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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good times.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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