After 14.5 years, I'm finally shutting this blog down..for two reasons 1) I'm in the midst of working on a book that will weave some of these entries into it 2) I'm done writing for free So if you need to reach me, email me at rashad20@gmail.com or visit my instagram page (https://www.instagram.com/rashad2075/?hl=en). It is a private page, but I'll let you in.. I promise The last part of this entry sounds a bit on the pompous side, so my apologies. But most of all, thank you for reading and humoring me. When this blog started I was a single 31 year old who was immature as hell but had a lot to say. Now i'm 45, and immaturity has only slightly subsided, but I'm married with a family. But the journey must continue in a different form and it will... And if I don't meet you no more in this world Then I'll, I'll meet you in the next one And don't be late, don't be late ---Jimi Hendrix

About a month and a half ago I was sitting on my balcony, when I noticed an older gentleman returning from the grocery store. His cane was in the cart along with four or five bags of groceries and he was walking at a pace that even a snail would think was slow. In non-COVID 19 times, I would have helped him get home and get those groceries put away. In fact, I was two seconds away from throwing caution to the wind and doing just that. But he looked to be at least 70 years old, which placed him squarely in the at-risk category, and it just would not have been smart for anyone.

Instead, I called the rental office, described the man and the building he lives in, and asked for his phone number. I explained to the rental office, that my intentions were simply to call the man, ask him what groceries he needed and set up and delivery so all he had to do was open his door and carry his groceries to the kitchen. The rental office obliged and I proceeded to call Buddy (his real name).

I called Buddy three times that day and it kept going to voicemail so I left a message. The next day he called me back but when I said "hello" I heard nothing on the end of the phone, so I called him back and again, it went to voicemail. We played this cat and mouse game for about a week, and I started getting frustrated so I just asked the rental office to slip him a note for me, but that didn't work. I called again for another week, and I stopped. I should have been more persistent and creative about it, but I dropped the ball. To make things worse, I didn't see Buddy for a long time.

A week ago I saw the ambulance in front of Buddy's building and immediately my mind went to a dark place. Something must have happened with his health, but it wasn't fatal, because after awhile, the ambulance left and I asked the lady from the rental office if he was ok, and she just yes, it was just a scare.

Yesterday, while I was again sitting on my balcony, I saw Buddy headed to the grocery store. He had one empty bag draped over his shoulder and he was again using his cane, and he chugging along at that slow pace. I felt like crying and I felt like risking my health and his once again to help him out, but I did nothing, and calling out to him didn't help. I planned on waiting for him to come back so I could have a responsible socially-distanced conversation with him, but my phone rang and once again, I forgot.

This morning I made up my mind that I was going to a) write about this situation and b) do whatever it takes to fix it. I can't help everyone during this pandemic, but I should be able to help an older gentleman in my neighborhood right?

Yesterday I was on a website putting in my vital information (name, address, phone number, etc), when I got to my date of birth. It wasn't one of those sites that simply let you type in that information, instead, they gave me the scroll option which I'm perfectly fine with using---or so I thought. As a point of reference, my birthday is January 20th, 1975.

I didn't even have to scroll for the month of January, because as you might of heard, that is the first month of the year. I had to scroll down a couple of times to get to 20, but again, I did so with relative ease and an abundance of confidence. Two down one to go.

I channeled that same scrolling ease and confidence while I attempted to get to 1975, but it didn't quite come as easy (that's what she said). Then I started scrolling with a bit more angst and a sense of urgency, and I STILL was in the early 90s. After awhile, I swallowed my pride along with a healthy dose of reality, and I scrolled down properly--aka like I was on "The Price is Right"

Finally, 1975 came into my field of vision and I sheepishly selected it, completed my registration and got the hell off the site. But the damage was already done and my ego, which is already fragile because my body is sore from doing seemingly simple workouts, has been crushed even more.

I'm not dumb enough to audibly say that I'm old because 45 is still a youthful age, and the official "I'm old(er)" milestone is still five years away. But it seems like it was just yesterday my date of birth was just three shallow scrolls away on any given website. Now I'm relegated to two short scrolls and some heavy lifting. It is LITERALLY downhill from here.

For the most part, the sports that I enjoy watching are on ice right now, and probably for the foreseeable future. Yes it was nice (ok it was beyond nice, it was amazing) to watch Michael Jordan's 10-part documentary on his life and the Bulls, but that shit is over now. And yes this weekend I watched a golf exhibition and I also watched some German soccer, but it isn't the same as watching live basketball playoffs and baseball. I understand why they aren't playing but I'm selfish and I want to be entertained, but again, it ain't happening.

I have attempted to fill my evenings with writing, reading and catching up on shows, but at some point during the evening, I find myself barreling down a YouTube rabbit hole. Sometimes I'm watching old interviews or old sporting events and sometimes--like last night--I get stuck on watching old live performances. And last night I stumbled on this one:


I'm already mesmerized by Sade's music (and her looks), but this performance just blew me away completely. She sounds as clear as she does on the actual record, she threw in a little choreography, and her background singer (Leroy Osborne) was also on point. I watched this performance about 5 times, and then I went on a hunt for other live Sade performances, and they were equally satisfying.

Then I got a bit sad because I've never seen Sade in concert and this rate, given that she's 61 and the concept of even organizing a concert let alone asking thousands of fans to attend is highly unlikely anytime soon, I probably won't ever. I will most likely be relegated to YouTube rabbit holes and her glorious catalog which I'm about to lose myself in this morning while I work.

I finally did it.

As I alluded to in my previous blog entry, my main man Sabin asked me to write the foreword to his upcoming book, and I mentioned that I was nervous, but in hindsight, that word was insufficient. I was terrified.

You see Sabin isn't just my main man, he was the first person I met when I went Hampton back in '92. We've had our ups and downs, we've had jokes galore, but at the end of the day, I love and respect him and the feeling is surely mutual. We are in our mid-40s, we're husbands, we're parents, we have careers and we endure the up and down aspects of life. But the respect remains.

Sabin has been reading this blog along with my other sports articles for a good 15 years now, and he's always encouraged me. In fact at this current moment he (along with my wife and closest friends) are imploring me to finish this book that I've bullshitting about. He likes the way I write, he knows that we share an affinity for music, but when he asked me this foreword to his book, I just felt an unbelievable amount of pressure to not only perform, but to do an unbelievable job. You'd think a concept like that would be a given but it absolutely is not.

When I blog, I don't care who reads, I don't care who judges, and it tends to be a free-flowing, stream of consciousness type of situation. I'm normally giving words to something that has happened or communicating some type of emotion like I'm doing right now. The structure isn't important, I do my best to nail all the punctuation and spelling, but if I don't, I don't lose any sleep over it. It isn't that I'm flippant about it, I just don't feel any pressure.

When I write about basketball, I'm in my sweet spot. I get to watch, analyze and then write about a sport that I have been watching and loving for 40 years. I feel pressure to write intelligently, but at some point, my ego kicks in and I make sure that the final product is thorough, accurate and well-written. That's actually my favorite type of writing right now.

But writing for Sabin combines all of the writing experiences I've done thus far. I've listened to music all my life and I'm knowledgeable about hip-hop. Plus I'm not being asked to write a book (not yet anyway), I'm just being asked to right a foreword, so in some respects, the words and thoughts should be as free-flowing as they are in this blog, and at times they were. But having to stick the landing on a bit of prose--whether it be long or short--for someone you love and respect, was just terrifying man. What if he read it and was like, "damn this sucks!" or "he mailed it in" or "Couldn't he have given me more?"

Luckily for me, after nearly two weeks of writing it in my head and stressing over this, I wrote it, sent it to Sabin, and he loved. When the book comes out, I expect all of my blog followers (all three of y'all) to buy it.

I find myself becoming wildly nostalgic about the way life was before the quarantine, and today's thought focused on my eight-year old son Nyles. Back when he could actually attend school, he would wake up and make his bed at 7am--a full hour before we had to leave. He would leave his room without getting dressed, place his homework and his lunch in his backpack, put the backpack on, and then come in my bedroom where my wife and I were sleeping. He would go to each side of the bed, give us both a hug and say good morning to both of us. He was just so unabashedly excited about going to school, and getting his backpack ready.

After that, Nyles would eat breakfast, watch his morning program of choice (Ninjago, Captain Underpants, etc), and he would just discuss what was coming up at school, and again, he was just dripping with enthusiasm and whimsy. I would often joke that I wished I had that level of joy about anything. I enjoy my job don't get me wrong, but I'm not walking around my house with my laptop bag and pajamas. Not even close.

My wife and I try to maintain some semblance of Nyles's routine in hopes that he will remain excited, but we've had mixed results. He still makes his lunch the night before "school", and we still start the school day at 9am sharp. When school starts via Zoom, he loves to hear the voices of his teachers and colleagues, but that only comes in 20-30 minute bursts (that's what she said). And trying to convince him to do 6 hours of work in the same building where he sleeps, showers, and watches television, is the toughest of tough sells. But we press on...

Thank you for humoring me, I'm just simultaneously rambling and reminiscing...

Yesterday around 11am, my wife took a break from her busy work schedule to make herself some coffee, and while she was in the kitchen she discovered that our garbage disposal was no longer working. I was at a point in my work day where I could not take a break and properly address the situation, so I reflexively said that we should call maintenance to come fix it. At that point, I looked up and my wife looked at me, and we realized we had a bit of a quandary on our hands.

No one but my son, my wife and me have set foot in this apartment since mid-February, and if we allowed the maintenance man to stroll in here, we could possibly be at risk for infection, and it would nullify all this good quarantine behavior we've been practicing. In fact, just two weeks ago when my internet and cable went out, and the over-the-phone troubleshooting was crashing and burning, we faced this same challenge, and I already decided that I was going to have to let Comcast in here because a)We need internet service in order to work from home and b) As sad as this is to admit, ain't no way in the world, we'd be able to remain sane with no television/streaming options. Luckily for me, the cable magically starting working just one hour before the technician was scheduled to arrive---crisis averted.

A broken garbage disposal is not nearly as urgent as no cable/internet, but it still has the potential to make things uncomfortable and malodorous in the apartment, so clearly something had to be done. My wife decided to email the apartment complex to see if one of the maintenance men could possibly walk us through some troubleshooting tips over the phone. After that, we both resumed our respective work days.

Fast forward a couple of hours, and I was on the couch sipping wine and watching my son eat dinner, and I heard my wife fiddling around in the kitchen. I had already forgotten about the damn disposal, but my wife had not. In fact, she had already YouTubed some garbage disposal troubleshooting tips, and was walking herself through solutions. I got up, walked in the kitchen, and saw her churning a wooden spoon in the disposal trying to loosen the blades, and about 30 seconds later, I turned on the disposal and it worked. Yet another crisis averted.

Now if I were to allow myself to fall victim to the antiquated, traditional gender roles we allegedly have in this country (and beyond), I would emasculated by my wife's initiative--especially since I was chillin' and drinking wine when this all went down. But that's not at all the case. We are a team, and we are ensconced in a pandemic that has forced each of us in situations we normally would avoid or just not be in altogether. So I'm glad she bailed us out....I owe her one and I'm proud of her.

Thanks to this virus, millions of people--who aren't essential personnel--have been forced to figure out how to conduct their jobs from their homes/apartments/trailers. However, I have been working from home since October of last year. Space for contractors is limited at my job and the solution was to make us work from home four out of five days a week (my one day to go in used to Wednesday).

Initially doing all that work from home felt a bit odd. I didn't know whether I should continue exercising early in the morning, or just work it into my lunch break. When i was away from my computer I was eternally paranoid that the little green light that indicated I was "on" at work would be yellow for too long and my bosses would think I was slacking. I did enjoy the ability to cook while working, wash clothes while being in meetings, and chill outside on my balcony while trying to write manuals/SOPs. I still enjoy those things even though my wife and son have now joined me.

But the biggest thing I enjoyed about working from home was how quiet it would be around 7am. My wife and son would be sleep, there would be some light commotion outside which signified the embryonic stages of daily rush hour, but for the most part it was quiet save for birds chirping or a mentally ill homeless person working out their demons audibly. Well ladies and gentlemen, I am here to tell you that those quiet moments have been violently ripped away from me.

The past month or so, I have noticed that a series of crows--big, black ass crows to be specific--have taken over my quiet morning time. I don't know whether they are picking up on dearth of foot traffic, or they are just doing a temporary internship/residency here in downtown DC, but every morning they "serenade" me with a cacophony of angry chirps. Plus, the few times I was bold enough to stand out on my balcony for some early morning fresh air, they flew quite close to me, and they had ZERO fear like some of their smaller bird friends have had towards me in the past. It was terrifying. Even as I type this blog, three crows have perched their entitled feet on my balcony and looked directly into my apartment as if to say, "Yeah, we know you're talking about us!".

I've read that the air quality all around the world has improved as a result of these mass quarantines, but I've yet to read anything about the altered behavior of animals...specifically birds....more specifically angry ass black ass crows. Perhaps I should do some research...

A good interview between two individuals who clearly respect one another:

I'm starting to feel increasingly paranoid about going outside even with stellar social distancing techniques, a mask and a pair of gloves. That paranoia is keeping me from doing my five-mile run every other day, and that---combined with me being unable to swim--has left me pretty depressed and unmotivated in the workout department. I've adjusted my diet and the portions of food I consume on a daily basis, but sadly, the amount of wine I've consumed over the past several weeks has me breaking even in the weight loss department. But I think I have found a solution.

The lack of sports on the television right now, has forced me to become considerably more resourceful when it comes to fulfilling that sports fix. As a result, I have taking a shine to YouTubing old Floyd Mayweather boxing matches. I get that Floyd has had (and maybe still does) serious problems in the domestic violence department, and I think it goes without saying that I don't at all condone that type of bullshit behavior. Having said that, Floyd is a genius in the boxing ring, and in these sports-less times it gives me great pleasure to re-watch and dissect his old fights. So what does this have to do with me working out? Allow me to share...

My quarantine workouts now consists me of me jumping rope while watching Floyd's fights---most of which are 12 rounds (3 minutes for each round). I jump rope for three minutes straight, and then when the fighters take a one-minute break between rounds for water, I do the same. At first, I had serious concerns about whether or not that workout would be a sufficient replacement for my usual running/swimming combination, and if I'm being realistic, it really isn't. But considering how sore my arms, shoulders, neck and core muscles are, I'd say that this workout is no slouch---especially if it also assuages my paranoia about lingering outside too long. If I were a bit more of an exhibitionist, I'd go on Facebook/IG live while I did this workout...but I'm not quite that confident yet. But after another month or two quarantine? Who knows...

For years I have had a love-hate relationship with my college (Hampton University) homecoming. Leading up to the homecoming, I always get excited about the flyers, the banter, the prospect of seeing old friends and professors, the parties, and most importantly, walking around campus with my son, showing him all the places where I'd hang out and be anti-social.

And then a couple of days before this bless-ed homecoming event began, I would chicken out and ultimately decide to stay my ass at home. I think if I possessed the ability to overcome my social anxiety via meditation (and alcohol), I'd actually have a pleasant time. But ultimately, I think I'd be annoyed at having to answer questions like "So what's been up?", "Where are you living now?", "Do you still talk to [insert name]?". I'd much prefer to stay at home, look at the vast number of Facebook pages dedicated to post-homecoming pictures, and repeat the whole cycle next year.

However, about 3 hours ago, I found a happy medium.

No it isn't homecoming season and even if it was the C-word has everyone stuck in the house looking, feeling and smelling crazy. But at noon today, my main man DJ Precise, who lived across the hall from my freshman year, did an Instagram DJ set for Hampton University folks. Initially I was going to pass on watching/attending, because I've grown a bit weary of all these DJs throwing 2-3 hours Instagram parties--I don't party that much when I'm "free", and I'm not about to start now. But I shaved my head for the first time this morning, and I was feeling good and rebellious so I decided to listen in on DJ Precise's set. And it was delightful.

He started off with Run DMC's "Here We Go" and from there he took me on a nostalgic musical trip on music made between 1991 and 1996. I laughed, I smiled, I made my son and wife listen at moments, and for a an hour or two I totally forgot about the direct and indirect consequences of the C-word.

But the most important takeaway from that DJ set is that I "interacted" with my fellow Hamptonians. Sometimes we both reminisced and recited lyrics to a good ass song, or maybe that person just said "What's up @rashad2075?" and I'd return the favor by saying hello. I felt connected to everyone and it was good to do some light interaction without having to answer dumb questions or feel trapped in a conversation that was on the road to nowhere. I received all the fulfillment of being social without doing the heavy lifting, and given all that bad news that's been thrown in my face as of late, I'm counting this newfound revelation as a big "W".

It was increasingly looking like 2020 would be the year that this 14-year blog finally came to an inauspicious end. I figured no one wanted to hear about my parent/marriage/job woes and I wasn't even writing about the Washington Wizards anymore, so I was fairly certain I was all tapped out. My life was still exciting and fulfilling, I just felt it was no longer blogworthy.

Even three weeks into this coronavirus pandemic (it doesn't deserve to be capitalized right now, despite its ample power), I had little desire to put a series of subjects and predicates together for public or private viewing. My nights have been spent watching old boxing matches on YouTube, some shows on Netflix, drinking and doing lesson plans for my son's second grade class. My days are spent working, listening to my wife work, listening to my son's class via Zoom and trying to intermittently teach him some convoluted lesson. I have not had made time to think about writing let alone try to put some words on paper (or the screen as it were). I'm too busy trying to determine whether a sniffle here, a sneeze there and the onset of allergies is going to lead me down a c-word (not the one with four letters)path.

But today, while the wife naps and my son watches the 564th episode of Ninjago, I decided to say a few words. I have personal projects that involve writing that I really need to get a move on, and usually when I am writing in this blog early and often, it bodes well for my other writing projects.

We'll see how this goes, but it feels good to be back.

My main man Sabin was in town for a conference this week, and last night we finally got a chance to hang out. Life hasn't been no crystal stair for either one of us over the past couple of years. He was dealt a heavy dose of reality when he lost both of this parents over a span of several weeks, and I had to deal with the much lesser inconvenience of being unemployed for nearly a year. While one is obviously more serious than the other, both things change your perspective on life, death, and how to move going forward in this thing we call life.

So with that as a backdrop, we hung out last night. First we had dinner at a restaurant which was weird for me because a) we didn't sit at the bar and b) there was no tv. I honestly cannot a remember a time when I hung out with a dude (my father, my uncle, my boys, my son) where a bar and sports on multiple big screen televisions was not in play. Sometimes those televisions serve as a distraction, sometimes I genuinely want to watch something, and other times you just need those TVs to offset that inevitable dead-air space between conversation topics.

But there was none of that last night. No TVs, no sitting at the bar, just conversation about life past and present and just navigating life as men in our mid-40s. We've known each other since August of 1992, and although we haven't always been super tight all the time, when we get together it feels like we're back at Hampton in the dorm. Good times.

We kept the good times rolling after dinner by going to see the Miles Davis documentary The Birth of Cool, and man was it good. Obviously Miles is a polarizing figure. He was an innovator, a genius, a brilliant horn player and he showed the remarkable ability to adapt his style to the changing musical times. But he was also a drug addict, he beat up all of his women, and some would argue that he abandoned "real" jazz after his six-year hiatus in the late 70s/early 80s. The documentary did a stellar job of capturing all sides of Miles, while mixing in some humor, some sadness and lots of the beautiful music Miles made. In fact, as I'm typing this blog entry, I'm jamming to the live version of "So What"

I woke up this morning feeling inspired to blog, to write a sports article and to resume writing this magical book I've been discussing the past three years. Part of that inspiration came from Miles and a much bigger chunk came from hanging with my main man Sabin. Sometimes you don't even realize how much you miss someone and need that kick in the ass that only they can provide...

Please go read the first article I've written in five long months. It is called, "My Hiatus and the Magical Words of Ted Leonsis"

Even at the age of 44, I still grapple with the concept of feeling comfortable with public interaction. It isn't so much that I am shy, bashful or afraid to speak to people in public, its just that I am mildly selfish and I really don't think I can be as honest as I'd like to be when these public interactions invariably go south.

For example, if I see a friend of mine in public while I'm walking down the street with headphones, I'd rather we just wave or head nod, and follow it up with a text, email or phone call later. That way we aren't totally ignoring each other and killing our respective vibes. But if I have to speak to you, remove an earbud or two, say "What's been up?" 20 times, and then listen to you blabber about some inane topic, it tends to be burdensome. Which brings me to yesterday at work...

I am friendly and affable at work, but I tend not to reveal too much about my life because that leads to nosy behavior, small talk and other things that feel slightly invasive to me. It is quite the delicate line to straddle, but I've done so with great aplomb in my 3 months of employment here. No one knows too much, I haven't been inconvenienced, and no one has been offended by my behavior. But yesterday, I decided to get fancy and compliment this woman on her hair.

She's about 50-55 years old, and up until this point, she opted to wear her hair pinned up or in a pony tail, which of course is well within her right. But this past weekend--maybe for Mother's Day--she went all out and it was quite evident that she was pleased with the results, because when she strolled into work yesterday, she was confident and wearing a fancy outfit. I noticed this, and I reflexively gave her a compliment about her hair. I thought she would say thank you and keep it moving, but I was mistaken.

She sat on my desk, got comfortable, and proceeded to tell me why she wears it up more than she wears it down, how long it took to get done, how it threw off her day, and how she was determined to look good and sexy when she came to work. I appreciated her candor, but her volume was way louder than I'm comfortable with and her five-minutes soliloquy lasted about four minutes too long for my liking. To make matters worse, when she saw me the rest of the day, she kept saying hi, or asking me what was for lunch, blah blah blah.

As I told my wife, this is the dirty underbelly of giving a woman a compliment. 80 percent of the time, she'll say thank you and keep it moving. But man when that 20 percent comes down...

So one of my sister-in-law's co-workers bought my son a soccer foosball game last Christmas, along with an air hockey game. The air hockey game was easier to construct, so that got put together and played early and often, while the soccer game collected dust.

But last Sunday, the weather was rainy as hell, and the wife and I had no intentions of leaving the house, so she put the soccer game together, while I watched basketball. My son, who didn't care that I was watching basketball, immediately ran up to me, and asked if I would play soccer with him. I made him wait until halftime, and then I very reluctantly made my way into his room for some games.

My brother and I had a foosball soccer game when we were younger, and although I hadn't played in years (30 years to be exact), it didn't take long for me to once again reclaim that level of mastery. My son and I played for about 90 minutes straight, and I was taxing his ass. He won one game and I was victorious in approximately 95% of the games. My son got frustrated, but I was impressed by his resilience and his willingness to take "L" after "L" in search of consistent wins against his dad.

In fact, since that rainy Sunday, we have played 20-30 games, and he was starting to win a bit more, but I was still winning 70 percent of the time. That all changed this evening...


Granted, I didn't even want to play that f**king soccer game, because my son got in trouble not, once, twice but three times for failing to be silent when the teacher asked him too. He isn't normally that recalcitrant, but that's no excuse. I took away some toys, banned the iPad, and basically told him to read and do homework drills all night before and after dinner. But when he sheepishly asked if we could play three soccer games before bed, I said yes---mainly because I wanted to tax that ass three times and somehow tie my victories into the overall lesson of being obedient at school. Pretty ambitious of me right?

Well my son defeated me not once, twice but three times in that damn soccer game, and only the last game was close (9-8). The first two he beat me 9-5 and 9-4, and he did so with glee and an innocent joy. He didn't notice how angry I was getting, and he didn't even realize that his confidence was directly related to his success. He taxed my ass, and I cannot even properly describe how angry I was getting. After he won the third game, I angrily told him to pick a book out for bedtime, and he tried to shake my hand to say good game, and reiterated that I wanted him to pick out a book for bed.

Five minutes later, I realized how small and childish I had been acting, and I shook my son's hand, and he smiled and said, "Thank you Daddy", which almost made me cry...but not really, I was and still am angry about taking 3 "L's" to my 7-year old son.....

I'll admit that I had zero intentions of ever writing an entry in this blessed blog again. I lost my desire to write when I got laid off last July, and even when I finally returned to the workforce in February, I still didn't have the desire to blog or write about sports. But I'm slowly coming around now.

First, I finally got the kind of job I've been craving for years. I'm no longer managing people, but instead of I've decided to dive knee-deep into the IT/technical writing world, which means I'll soon be studying for certifications. Second, as you can imagine, not having a job for an extended period of time, tends to break your spirit and quell your creativity. But conversely, having a job and doing something fun, tends to quickly restore all of that. Now if I could only restore my savings as quickly..

I don't have a lot to say right now, but that'll change in the near future I'm sure. For now, it is nice to be back..

So yesterday, I found myself sitting in a Starbucks waiting for my car to be serviced. They told me it would take about 2-3 hours, and I didn't feel like going back home or going anywhere else, so I decided to kill some time on my laptop while I drank some tasty, overpriced coffee.

When I set foot in there, the line was at least 25 people deep, so I decided to secure an open seat by an outlet first, while I waited for the line to die down. I took out my laptop, my phone and my computer charger, and I sat down to begin my job search (yep, still unemployed).

I had been sitting down about 10 minutes, when this lady who could not have been any older than 30 years old came up to me. I could tell she was nervous and a bit tentative, but that didn't stop her from moseying her ass on over to me, so that we could have this inane conversation:

Her: Excuse me sir and good morning. Um, you cannot just sit here in Starbucks without purchasing something first

Me: (while looking at the long line): Well if you allow me to cut to the front of the line, I'd be glad to buy something, do you think you could do that for me?

Her: (laughing): No sir, I definitely cannot do that

Me: (definitely not laughing): Well can you tell me what the difference is between me waiting for that line to die down while I'm on my laptop, and me standing in that long ass line?

Her (stammering): Well no...um I don't know

Me: I didn't think you could, so would you kindly service the 25 customers waiting in line? I promise you I'll join them soon but for now, I need you to leave me alone or find a manager

She turned red, then she walked away. The manager made an appearance and I saw him talking to the woman who harassed me, and he later came over and apologized. I told him I like my apologies in the form of copius amounts of free drinks redeemable at any Starbucks location. He obliged. He also clearly must have asked the young lady to come over to me to apologize because she did so reluctantly. After she apologized, I told her it was ok because she clearly didn't know any better. She gave me a dirty look but she knew better than to provide any type of nasty retort because 1) she might have been fired and 2) I'd have gotten much more profane and personal with my insults. All parties walked away unscathed.

Now, I know I should have lost my temper a little more and maybe I should have made a bit more of a stink about this woman's behavior, but I didn't have it in me. After all, I was already pissed that my car was in the shop (at the dealer shop no less) and I was being overcharged for some simple repairs. Initially I felt like a sell out, but I'm at peace with my actions.

I was in Bethesda, Maryland which is diverse (and affluent) for the most part, but this particular was White and Asian only. I was in that Starbucks for nearly 2 hours and no one who looked like me set foot in that place at all. I grew up not to far from the neighborhood, so I know how to navigate those murky waters, but I was a bit surprised that this young woman would come at me like that.

Just goes to show you that even when you're unemployed, some good, homegrown discrimination can still find its way in your lap.

I am on day 21 of employment, and I have no problems admitting that it is starting to weigh on me just a bit. Just yesterday, I had what I thought was the perfect job lined up. They saw my resume, a Project Manager was 100% sure that my skillset as a writer was something he was looking for in a technical writer, and the salary was even more than I was making at my previous position. I was pre-screened, we had a bit of a conversation, and last Friday we made plans for me to come in and interview on Tuesday (today) at noon. The recruiter I spoke to said that he'd send me an email with details in terms of who I should report to, the time I should come, the address, etc. That was at 3pm on Friday.

Monday morning came, and I didn't think it was too alarming that I hadn't receive an email, because Mondays are usually full of bullshit office small talk, useless meetings and an abundance of emails. I haven't been unemployed that long that I cannot remember that game. But Monday morning turned into Monday afternoon, and by 4pm I still had to yet to hear from this employer--so I called.

When the dude answered the phone he apologized for not calling me sooner, then he informed me that the job I had visions on claiming, was $20-25k less than what I wanted. In the next breath, he mentioned two or three other jobs that he would consider me for (one of which I'm waiting to hear about now), and I'll admit I was optimistic that he had something else ready for me. But I was sill pissed that I was the one who had to initiate the dialogue, especially I was informed that an email was forthcoming.

So that's where I am. I went on a third interview with an employer yesterday, and it appears that an offer is forthcoming, but that job starts Nov 1st which means I'll have to sell crack and write freelance articles by October 1st (I'm kidding, but not really).

I've also discovered that the question, "So how's the job search going?" annoys the shit out of me, and makes me wildly defensive. I know people mean well and they just want to see if their assistance is needed but I feel like job updates are something I should initiate. They should not be provoked. Of course I could end all this b.s. by simply being employed once again.


I'm working it.

It has been a few days since Aretha died, but I can still post my favorite song right? I love the drum break down in this song, and I also like how effortlessly she rides his beat. She was a once-in-a-generation talent, and thank God her vast music catalog is still around for all to hear/see/digest.