My father doesn't read the paper every morning like he did when I was younger. With the exception of the Sunday New York Times which he still reads faithfully, he just doesn't see the value in reading the paper anymore because a)He lives in Phoenix, Arizona where the daily paper is nowhere near the caliber of the Washington Post and b) the day-to-day quality of newspapers overall has subsided a great deal. People reads the paper less, so circulation and advertising is drying up, which means that money for salaries is dwindling as well. It is quite sad for both my father and me because we used to read the paper front to back, and we both felt smarter as a result. Not so much anymore.

So now when my father wakes up in the morning, he opens up his laptop and goes to three main sources for news: NPR, BBC and Cleveland.com (one of those doesn't belong I know). He goes to NPR for the stories, the music and the interviews, he goes to BBC because they cover stories that the US ignores and sometimes they provide different viewpoints for stories this country has covered to death. And finally, my dad goes to Cleveland.com because that's where he grew up, and he likes to connect with home sometimes. His mother, his father, and most of his friends have passed on, but reading about Cleveland fills that void..kind of. Im noticing that getting older leaves a lot of voids in one's life..but I digress.

Yesterday morning after logging on to Cleveland.com, my father stumbed on an article about the Hough riots of 1966. Hough was a rough part of East Cleveland, and my father lived there the first 10 years of his life. As with most major cities in the 60s and early 70s, there was racial tension in that part of Cleveland, which triggered destructive riots. My dad sent the article to my brother and me, because he wanted us to step into the virtual time machine and see the issues that he had to deal with back then. He sends my brother and me at least 10 articles a day, and if I'm being honest, I only read 2 to 3 of them, but I took time out to read this article, because I could tell it was important to him.

After I read the article, we started an email exchange where I was asking him about Hough, his feelings on it years later, and whether he felt like it was the hood, or if it felt like a close-knit commmunity with some extraneous issues. He told me that he visited Hough back in 1996, and he also shared his feelings about how drastically different the neigborhood looked and how sad it made him. I am going to step aside, and let you read what he wrote:

I felt some sadness that a part of the first ten years of my life was gone, including the apartment buildings where we lived, my first two schools, the junior high school field where we played ball, League Park where the [Cleveland] Indians played in the early part of the 20th century and where the Browns practiced when I lived in the area, the movie theater the kids in the neighborhood attended after church, and this little store that sold the best french fries (in a greasy brown paper bag) known to human kind! The new houses felt soulless. I guess there was no way anything new could match my childhood memories. We didn't call it the "hood" back then, they were slums. Based on where friends of my family lived, I knew our neighborhood was not as nice as theirs. That said, I didn't dwell on the differences. It was a relatively safe and nurturing environment. The worst substance abusers I was aware of were the local winos, who seemed harmless to all but themselves. We also did not have serious gang violence. While I never had a lot of stuff, we always ate well and lived under a roof. I hate to sound so basic, but I was raised to understand that money beyond the basics was not the norm for our family. Only in retrospect did I label my old neighborhood as a ghetto, but even then, that was merely a physical description. Unlike some inner city neighborhoods of today, it seemed the inhabitants of my old neighborhood had a great spirit and sense of optimism

Then I asked him how he felt when we moved the affluent city of Potomac (Maryland) and how he juxtaposed those feelings of finally "making it" with where he had come from in the Hough section of East Cleveland:

I could not have dreamed of a house like the one we had in Potomac. When growing up, I never even saw such neighborhoods. It was a consequence of segregation, both other and self imposed. I didn't think we had made it, but we were doing OK. We made a good living, but had yet to accumulate wealth, so I was not overwhelmed with our status at that time. Beginning in my freshman year in college (at Columbia University), I have had numerous moments of reflection about my past and how far I had come/was going. I still have them. It keeps me grounded and motivated. Before I left for college, I ran into some friends on Kinsman near Mount Pleasant BarBQ. They were standing around a mailbox and said they were saving a place for me whenever I failed at something. Obviously, I still remember that incident nearly 50 years later, and it still has the same impact on me: fear and motivation.

One should not overly dwell on the past, but put the memories into their proper context. The past is your foundation and can provide excellent lessons for your current and future existence. One thing I have learned is that there is a huge difference between looking at something as an adult versus as a child/youth. The first time I returned to my junior high school, I was amazed at how small everything seemed. Context, indeed

That is all. Kareem, Dwight Gooden and James Worthy (in that order) are my athletic heroes, but my dad is and will always be my "real" hero.

**Sidebar** It is also worth mentioning that my father grew up and played high school football with ESPN's Tom Jackson, who appears looks like he is on the verge of retirement.

And now, a song from the "Do The Right Thing" Soundtrack back in 1989 which seems to fit perfectly in 2016:

I know I am supposed to be watching the Democratic National Convention right now, but frankly I do not give a damn--I didn't watch the Republican National Convention either. In past years there have been dramatic speeches--Barack Obama in 2004 and Clint Eastwood with the chair in 2012--but even with those I didn't watch them live, I just watched the noteworthy highlights on youtube, Twitter, etc.

Both conventions seem like one big ass pep rally meant to rally the troops and convince the people in that party--who are already three knees deep i their conviction anyway--that world and party domination is nigh. No sentences are spoken without being interrupted by applause, no incorrect facts are truly checked, and it does nothing to unify the country. I get that it is still necessary, but I will sit this one out...except for Thursday when Kareem Abdul-Jabbar speaks. There's no way in the world I'm missing my hero talk.

I wish that both parties had used their platforms to constructively discuss the issues (police brutality, violence against police, international terror, Flint, MI and the possibility that other cities are dealing with water contamination, etc. But that won't happen this or any other year. Just wishful thinking on my part.

In other news, New York Times Columnist Bill Rhoden, who is one of my favorite sportswriters (and the author of $40 Million Slaves), retired over the weekend, and I dig the classy way he did it. Thanks to my main man Sabin for bringing it to my attention. Read it here.

Yesterday while I was on my way into work, I read about the online harassment actress Leslie Jones was receiving because of her role in the movie Ghostbusters. THe movie, which I have no interest in seeing because I saw the original and barely liked it, has been the target of both justified and unjustified criticism. Some folks don't like the all-female cast, some folks don't think an additional Ghostbusters movie should have been made, and other people just flat out don't care for the movie.

But for some reason Leslie, who is tall, dark-skinned, black, and has strong features, has been the primary target for those "haters"--specifically those wonderful Twitter haters who sit at their desk and type mean things knowing they can walk away unscathed. As you can imagine, Leslie's feelings were deeply hurt and she temporarily separated herself from Twitter. I was a bit surprised because she's a comedian, and usually they have quips and comebacks for days, but she is still a human being who is relatively new to the limelight, and even if she wasn't, no one deserves to be on the receiving end of that type of racist, sexist language.

Later that same day, I noticed that Melania Trump--wife of Donald--was also being harassed online for her speech on the opening night of the Republican Convention in Cleveland. I didn't watch (I don't plan to watch either Convention because they are just self-indulgent shit shows for the most part), but apparently Mrs. Trump decided to "borrow" lines from Michelle Obama's 2008 Democratic National Convention speech. Considering her husband has done nothing but antagonize Barack and his birth certificate from day one, it was a bit odd to see his wife spitting lines that had been not-so-ghostwritten for her, but she did it and it backfired.

All day yesterday, regular people and celebrities were making fun of Mrs. Trump, and it was ruthless. They made fun of her background, her lack of intellgience, the ill-fated speech, and after awhile it was just cringe-worthy. I'm not a fan of her husband's politics and rhetoric, but I have nothing against Mrs. Trump, and it was painful to watch her being dragged through the mud due to her performance on a stage that she clearly is not used to. Soledad O'Brien was a voice of reason in all this madness when she said that Mrs. Trump's content was garbage, but her deliver was excellent. Then Soledad was harassed on Twitter, but unlike Leslie Jones and Melania, she had no problem fighting back.

I think both examples of harassment are cowardly and wrong. I'm not exactly a nice person and lord knows that I've been mean in my day, but usually it is a) justified and b) face-to-face. Twitter,
Facebook, InstaGram and the comments section of online articles, have given idiots (and smart people too) a platform to say and type the first bit of mindless drivel that comes to their minds or fingers, sans any type of real consequences. Back in the day, if you truly had hate or opposition in your heart, you had to sit down and pen a letter to the editor. You had to actually make a commitment to write something sanguine and well thought out, and then you had to hope that the newspaper or magazine was impressed enough with your offering to print it for all to see and read. That doesn't mean that there wasn't opposition, it was just smarter and easier to swallow than a 140-character, abbreviated rant that ends with the person hitting "Enter" or "send". This isn't the only area of life that has been dumbed down in recent years, but this seems to be the one rearing its ugly head the most often--especially during this Presidential election.

Last Friday my electricity went out from 5pm on Friday afternoon to 4:45 early Saturday morning. It was just Nyles and me at home, and all we had was a laptop, a USB with kiddies movies on it, 3 candles, 80 degree heat with no AC, my phone that was 47% charged and each other. No internet, no television, no iPad, limited light, just each other's company. It forced us to talk, joke around and laugh, and then once he went to bed I read this book, and I took my ass to bed as well. I remember how much smarter (tired and hot) I felt in the morning after my unintentional electronics detox. Perhaps that's the cure for online idiots running rampant...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

No real blog entry today just two morning observations:

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

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

Me: You said what now?

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

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

Her: Well it is wet

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

Her: Good idea


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: And good morning to you too

Her: Oh my God, that was so scary

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

And now, the song:

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

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



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

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

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




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

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

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

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


Cutting in line

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

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

Did I mention I hate crowds?

Selfie sticks and camera phones

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

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

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


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

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




Steely Dan - Peg

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



Chaka Khan/Rufus - Tell Me Something Good

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



Stanley Jordan - The Lady in my Life

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



On Green Dolphin Street - Jimmy McGriff

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



Get on the Floor - Michael Jackson

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


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

Here's the real song


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**She looks down at her phone***

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

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

Her: Whatever asshole

Me: Have a good day sweetie


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

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

Happy Birthday Stevie...

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

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

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

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

So what the the hell does this mean?

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

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

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

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


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

Nyles: I'm doing what Cookie Monster is doing

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

Nyles: But Daddy Cookie Monster isn't doing that

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


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




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

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

Here are the lyrics:

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

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

So many lives I spend here all alone

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

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

And here's the song:

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

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

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

Nyles: Daddy, what's that?

Me: That's a dead bird Nyles

Nyles: Well who killed the bird?

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

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

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

Nyles: Well why did the bird do that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


See I like to get down Jack!