a patty blog

(at least) 40 Things I've Learned in Forty Years

2010-03-08T17:29:00.004-06:00

So.... I hit the the 4-0 this past weekend. Quite an accomplishment considering the wild and crazy lifestyle I lead. Over the years, I've learned many things about life, people and especially myself---yet sadly very little about those voices in my head. Minutes before midnight on 3/5, I grabbed my trusty MacBook Pro, Apollonia, and typed a list of things I've learned. To keep from contemplating into the wee hours of the morning, I allowed myself only 2 minutes.

Without further ado, here is what 40 years have done:

Never mess with animals in the wild. The wild will kick your ass. The wild lives in the wild for a reason. Leave the wild alone.

Don't be thankful just on Thanksgiving.

Kids can get out of boxes.

Anytime you think you're having a bad day, someone else is really having a bad day.

Stop trying the figure out how a movie will end. Relax and enjoy the ride. Same goes for outside the theater.

Don't sweat the big things; but really, really savor the little ones.

If there is a family reunion with black people, the food will be off the hook and you will probably get a shirt.

That 8th grade English teacher wasn't as mean and horrible as you initially thought. To this day, she still remembers the Cap'N Crunch cereal and Culture Club cassette you gave her on the last day of school.

When watching funny video shows, the likelihood of seeing a father get hit in the balls by a child swinging a bat is extremely high.

Regardless of political beliefs, religion, sex, occupation, status, the only important thing is not being an asshole and raising your kids not to be assholes either.

Listening to General Public "Tenderness" is like drinking a magic elixir of magic Kool-Aid and Skittles.

A great business venture would be the picket sign business. No matter what, there will always be a group of people bitching about something.

Michael Jordan is the greatest basketball player ever. Period.

Never do anything that will make your mommy cry unless those are tears of joy.

Don't let out all your secrets. Keep some for yourself. An air of mystery is a great attribute to possess.

Everyone has 3 special things they can do better than anyone else. Mine are (1) bringing people together; (2) making grilled cheese sandwiches; and (3) faking fatigue anytime a supervisor asks "Busy day?"

Running through water sprinklers late at night never gets old.

Challenge yourself to make someone smile or feel good every day.

Don't rely on spinach to help kick someone's ass.

If you think you are better than someone else, you're really not.

Don't get cute with putting away the remote control or keys. Keep 'em in the same place dammit.

I still don't know how anyone can watch Leno.

If you make someone wet their pants from laughing, next try making them spit up their food.

Anytime you go to Chick-fil-a expect to wait in line - but it's worth it. There is crack in their food. Who cares? Not me.

Watching your favorite childhood or high school movie will slow the aging process by a 7 days.

Never impersonate a cop during Spring Break even if you have a badge and siren.

Answer the phone if your sibling calls. If you don't get along with them, suck it up. Family is family.

Apple products will change your life more than you will ever believe.

Go to Disneyland. Also, wear Mickey ears.

Mixtapes and hugs are two of the greatest things ever. Never underestimate the power of either. Same goes for Flintstone vitamins.

On years there is no 29th day of February, all black people are given a special bonus day to use anytime during the year.

Any meeting with your supervisor, assume it is to be terminated. Anything else is easy.

Get off your high and mighty throne and watch a cheesy horror movie on a late Saturday night at the theater. You will have more fun than you ever imagined.

Amazing, wonderful people will exit your life. Make sure they know how amazing and wonderful you think they are as much as possible.

Don't worry if someone sees you dancing in your car.

Make as many friends as possible in life. Some of your best friends will be people from high school, but you may not realize it until 20 years later. Make as many friends as possible in life. Someday you will regret not getting to know that weird guy from 8th grade Science class. Make as many friend as possible in life. You'll never know when you need a place to crash in Seattle or Boston.

If someone leaving a restroom jokes not to go inside, that person ain't joking. Don't go inside.

Watch cartoons anytime you can.

Some people apparently do not care what color car they drive.

Don't live because you have to; live because you want to.

Hopefully, I'll be around another 40. If not, it may be a result of not remembering #1.

Cheers!

Scorpio Holiday NYC 2009

2009-12-26T17:39:00.004-06:00

I tried posting this last month, but it wouldn't.

So...we revisited NYC last month. It was nice getting back during the holiday season. I hadn't seen NYC during the holidays since living there when younger. We met friends and had a great time. This video contains images from our visit as we celebrated Scorpio Holiday.

Video contains only photos, over 1,000---no video clips.

Music by Telepopmusik "Breathe"

Start saving your pennies - Scorpio Holiday NYC 2010 goes down next November.

I love NY!

No recent blogs, yo

2009-12-26T17:28:00.002-06:00

My apologies for the lack of blog entertainment over the past months. Life is crazy. How anyone can make it with three or more children is beyond my comprehension. Kudos to those bastards. However, I may have reached a milestone. I may have figured out this parenthood thing. I may have regained hours of life. With that said, I hope to blog more in the new year. Meanwhile, Harper and Miles are learning to cook their own meals and do laundry.

That's hows I roll.

Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas EVERYONE!!

2009-12-26T16:53:00.004-06:00

His name is Johnny.

2009-10-07T00:53:00.003-05:00

So... Being an older brother of two sisters, aside from babysitting, one of my main tasks in life was tormenting. Well, let's not say 'tormenting'; instead, we shall call it 'firmly establishing fear within younger siblings when the parental units were not present'.

We would often play games, like school which one of my younger sisters would pretend to be the teacher figure, the other would play the role as a smart student and I would often be the new kid at school. Of course, my role was never that easy. Seriously, that's too easy. With my performance abilities and imagination, the role required something of Oscar quality. Therefore, my new student character would always have some mysterious background, initially appearing soft-spoken and pleasant until some small incident, like a broken pencil for instance, would push him mentally over the edge thus spiraling into a world of psychotic melodrama. Minutes later, my sisters would usually run into the bathroom, locking the door behind them, with the "new student" chasing behind a la Jack Nicholson in "The Shining". Yes, often frantically wielding an ax, knife or any other object seen in your everyday slasher-type movie. Needless to say, growing up with me was quite an adventure - but, really, would you expect anything less? I think not.

Weeks ago, my youngest sister, Tonya, came to visit. I had some idea, but up until this visit, I suppose, I never truly understood the haunting, lingering effects my actions left upon my siblings. In addition to the "New Kid in School" game, we played with another childhood fun toy: A ventriloquist doll I simply named Johnny. I cannot remember exactly why our mother brought this little doll home. Once he and I met, however, it became quite clear the two of us would have years and years of scary fun ahead. Mom picked up the doll at a garage sale one Saturday morning. He is the typical Charlie McCarthy ventriloquist doll, except, as the case with most items found at a garage sale, a bit "used" and in need of help. His clothes were damaged, probably not the authentic pieces; many of the original accessories were long gone; and, very eerily, he had a blackened, smoke damaged face, which made his follow-you-everywhere eyes highly unpleasing and terrifying to my sisters. Even more after the incident.

Perhaps it was the fire damage, or an after school special, which prompted this, but my sisters and cousin Marcia decided our ventriloquist doll had a smoking problem. Since playing make believe games with me led to crying, screaming and basically running for their lives, poor Johnny became the male character in their one act performances. In one particular game, Johnny was a kid who had a smoking problem. Honestly, I do not recall all the events, only the ending which forever changed the lives of Tonya, Stephanie and Marcia, so let's fast forward to the good part:

Due to Johnny's desire to smoke, he died. Not my idea, believe me; this was all the imagination of my sisters. To honor his life, they set up a funeral. Yes, they actually chose to play "Funeral". A very morbid game for little girls, but, hey, what else did they have going on in Big Spring. Looking back, due to the macabre nature of the game, I have no regrets. Honestly, they asked for it. While they changed into their funeral clothes and readied themselves for their little fun "Funeral" game, I sneaked onto the "set" and, let's say, enhanced the entertainment element of their little game.

Huddled in a sobering trio of tissues and flowers, the three of them slowed entered the funeral to say their last respects to Johnny, who again died of smoking. Together, they stood next to Johnny's coffin holding one another pretending to cry while recounting fond moments and memories. All reminiscing came to an abrupt end when their eyes popped out of their sockets upon suddenly noticing a paper cigarette in Johnny's mouth in the coffin. And then, it happened - the incident. Hiding behind furniture mere feet away, I had tied kite string to Johnny, underneath his clothing. With one tug, I instantly set in motion years of post traumatic stress, anguish and distress. The single tug of the kite string, attached to dead Johnny with his burnt face while holding a cigarette in his mouth made him spring to life, rolling out of his coffin towards my sisters who immediately (a) wet their panties before (b) sprinting into the bathroom locking the door behind their nightmarish cries. Since that day of the horrific resurrection, my sisters will not have anything to do with poor Johnny.

Over the years, Johnny has become a great friend. Obviously, when I left for college, Johnny was ordered to leave the house. Together, Johnny and I went through life, experiencing our own adventures, and meeting new people. Johnny even played a key role in a short horror film I submitted into a film competition years ago. Now, I cannot say life has been roses for Johnny. Unfortunately, there are still people who fear him as do my sisters. My dear friend who watches our house, Amber, for instance, once spotted Johnny in a closet, and later admitted frequently checking the area to make sure Johnny is still in his spot throughout her visit; my good friend, Mike, who quite frankly is a wuss, has called Johnny 'creepy' and 'eery' on several unnecessary occasions; and now my daughter, Harper, after seeing the reaction of her aunt Tonya this week will not go near Johnny. Sad. Sad.

We live in a world with people are different. In fact the differences are what make each and every one of us special and unique in our own way. I wish some people would set aside their ignorance, look into his follow-you-everywhere eyes and realize Johnny is special.

Johnny, I love you. Let's make this the best Halloween ever.

REDRUM.

ducktheflu.com

2009-09-16T22:08:00.005-05:00

So... It's been awhile since my last post. Sorry. Life is a little crazy. I promise to get back into the blog swing very soon.

In the meantime, I wanted to post something special: Harper's first commercial. This is a PSA which will begin airing locally this week. It was shot a few days ago. Kudos to the crew for the super fast turnaround. I've mentioned that my Harper tends to be a DIVA. The idea of making her actually "behave" on camera worried me---incidentally, the same problem Paris Hilton's parents deal with, but on a completely different level. With a DIVA, you never know what to expect. We were delightfully surprised. She was wonderful. It took an hour to get comfortable around the lights, strange people and such, but we escaped without injury. She even got the biggest line. The director could not find a child who could say 'hand sanitizer' without babbling the words together until we all overheard Harper muttering the line while combing a Barbie doll's hair in the background. The line was passed down from a 6 year old to our little Harper. I must admit, it's all little bittersweet. I mean, I've done commercials for years and have yet to utter a line. Not even four, and she's already eclipsed my performances. Meanwhile, the other child remains unemployed.

Enjoy---and don't forget to duck the flu these upcoming months :)

Meanwhile, the other child remains unemployed.

I'm here.....

2009-09-03T11:32:00.002-05:00

New blog post coming later............. I've been slacking. Darn, kids and family matters :)

Ads, Ads and More Ads

2009-08-25T18:44:00.002-05:00

Dear GQ Magazine:

On the cover of your fine magazine, could you please include the page number for the table of contents? After perusing 30 pages of advertisements, I grow weary.

Sincerely,

Patrick

Inglourious BRILLIANCE!

2009-08-21T03:34:00.003-05:00

So... It's been awhile since my last blog. Doubling the kid census has forced me to hit the sack earlier than usual. At least a few days a week. Only a few. I mean, I cannot let them win, right? True, sleep is for my survival in this new world, but still...I cannot let that change ME. The essence of patty would be gone. Nope. Not gonna have it. Tonight was not one of those early to bed nights. Instead I caught a midnight showing of the new Quentin Tarantino flick, "Inglourious Basterds". First, I love Quentin. Love him. Great storytelling, great style, great music, great, great, great... "Pulp Fiction" in my opinion will always be one of the greatest films ever made. The way he presented that story was sheer genius. Brilliance. "Kill Bill Volume 1", I can watch every day. Again, pure genius. I can go on and on---"True Romance", "Jackie Brown", "Death Proof"---but I will stop only to highly recommend his new flick. Wow.... Wow. With that said, I am making a movie. What the hell am I waiting for?

Word.

Priceless

2009-08-12T01:57:00.011-05:00

Tuxedo Rental: $125

Roundtrip flight to Houston: $300

Pregnancy contractions causing trip cancellation: $425

Reservation reimbursement claim denied: PRICELESS

So.... Here's the deal. Last Fourth of July, my good friend Derryck proposed to his girlfriend, Kristin. YAY!! Obviously, I was thrilled for them both. (Honestly, Derryck needed to settle down; he's not getting any younger.) Along with the news, I was both flattered and honored to be asked to stand alongside Derryck on his special day in June 2009. Of course, I said yes. Definitely yes. That's what friends are for. Incidentally, I believe guys who stand in for their boys at weddings are the same guys who carry that friend's casket. Ironic, huh? (On the other hand, they are also the same people the wife ignores when pleaded to sprinkle ashes over some football or baseball field.)

Shortly after their engagement news, I had news: We were pregnant with child numero two, expected early July. The wedding was scheduled for mid-June, so my plans to participate went unchanged.

Fast forward to June 2009. The wedding was scheduled Saturday, June 20th. Since, our delivery date had been pushed up to induce on June 29th. Yikes. Close but still good. Going about the routine, I made all the necessary arrangements---tuxedo, hotel reservations, gifts, and of course roundtrip plane tickets to Houston. Now, the latter truly concerned me. A couple years ago, I got really burned by flight tickets my dad purchased for a family reunion trip to Ohio. Something came up at work not allowing my departure. The tickets were bought through either Travelocity or Expedia. After learning the trip would not be in my future, I called the one of the companies. They explained all would be fine, that I'd receive a credit for the cost to use for another flight in the future. Ok, cool. What they failed to mention were all the small print rules and tricky tomfoolery involved, like no flights on days that end with 'Y', no flying to reach a destination, must fly before sand runs out of mysterious sand hourglass hidden deep within a cave of the Island of Misfit Toys, etc. Ughhhh, the fine print. Always a stipulation missed. To make a long story short, I ended up kissing $650 down the drain. Poof. Gone. Buh-bye.

Hoping not to do the same with my wedding flight, knowing full well with an incoming bundle of joy anything could happen especially with my luck, I opted for the Access America travel insurance which would reimburse my cost 100% should I not make my trip. Feeling leery about the deal, I even called a representative of Access America to explain my situation in order to determine if this insurance was what I believed it to be. The person on the other end of the phone was extremely polite. She went over every point of the insurance policy and assured I would be taken care of.

The Wednesday before the wedding, baby contractions turned that mutha out. Ouch. Seriously, I am so glad I am a boy. Really, if reversed, could men endure the pains involved with having a child? I absolutely, unequivocally say NO. Are you kidding me? Especially if babies still came out of...that area. Oh my.... Continuing... Not wanting to be away for a long period of time, my flight was scheduled for Friday morning @ 6A with a quick turn around Sunday morning @ 8A. In and out. Boom. By Thursday afternoon, I realized going to Houston would be a poor mistake. If something had happened while I was in Houston, it would have been hellish dropping everything and making arrangements back home. Plus, the possibility of missing the birth of Harper's sibling would forever sting my heart. With those thoughts---not to mention, the woman moaning with a bowling ball between her legs---confirmed my decision to skip the wedding and wait patiently for that hurried drive to the hospital sometime that weekend. If you're wondering, nothing happened that weekend and I could have gone to the wedding---and I still feel absolutely terrible about not being there for my friends, Derryck and Kristin. Sorry :(

Shortly after the arrival of Miles Robinson, I submitted my claim to Access America for my full refund of my Continental Airlines tickets. At first there was some drama as they required I have our OB/GYN fill out information. Such a hassle, I thought, but if it hurries reimbursing my banking account, oh well... With all the necessary paperwork completed, I faxed my packet of information. Like a Nike executive at a sweatshop, I then propped my feet up on my desk waiting for the sound of a cash register. KA-CHING! Now, I had already lost the tuxedo money. Well, I could have not taken it from Men's Wearhouse and been refunded a fat twenty bucks. Instead, being a filmmaker and overall silly guy I could not allow the missed opportunity to goof off in a perfectly fine tuxedo. Especially when I'd opted for the insurance. (Video silliness may soon follow.)

Yesterday, I received a letter in the mail from Access America:

"Thank you for submitting your claim with Access America. We have completed our review and unfortunately we are unable to provide benefits under the coverage purchased for the following reasons - blah blah blah blah blah blah, a normal pregnancy is a general exclusion and is not included..."

WTF?! Are you serious? What about the kind words of advice from the representative who again was told details and ensured satisfaction before purchasing the agreement? WTF?! Are you serious, dude?

Just like that, POOF, the airlines kick me squarely in the baby maker. Added to my list of organizations I will actively plot against and ultimately have my revenge - Access America.

Oh no, we're not done, Access America. Watch your back.

Orphan

2009-08-04T23:32:00.006-05:00

So... I've decided to see "Orphan", one of the latest horror/suspense flicks in theaters. As the name suggests, it is basically the story of people who adopt an orphan girl...things start happening...yada yada yada...the kid is not what they expected with all hell breaking lose. Now, we all know I dig the horror movie scene, but I'm not much into those featuring so-called scary children with the exception of "The Omen" and "The Village of the Damned" did spook me when I was little---albeit mainly because the kids looked like every blond haired kid in my music class. I often dreamed the class turning on me during "Row, row, row your boat". Eerie. Movies with scary children, I believe, can be easily remedied with two things: A leather belt and no witnesses. By no means do I condone abusing children, but, let's face it, sometimes a good whuppin' is the answer. One of those spankings where even the parent thinks about calling CPS afterwards. Frankly, this is how my parental units rolled. They understood how to raise children without the interference of a child abuse hotline.

Several, several years removed, I still remember the first, and only, time I pulled the "falling out in the store because my mom wouldn't buy something" trick. We all know what I'm talking about. This favorite kid move is seen across the world in every Toys-R-Us. Scene plays as follows: Kid wants toy, mom says no, kid throws a tantrum which includes kicking, screaming, and tears before losing control of legs and entire body dropping onto the floor. Amateur parents usually cave and appease the child's demands; others immediately collect their melodramatic kid before hurriedly exiting the store, vowing never to take the kid toy shopping again. My parents, mom especially, had her own way of dealing:

It was in a grocery store, I recall. Aisle 16B, breakfast cereals and crappy grocery store toys. Not crappy gadgets to a kid though. These toys were the coolest playthings on the face of the planet. To any kid, those crappy toy sections could have been mini-FAO Schawrz stores. Yo-yo's, Slinkies, army men, generic Barbie dolls... Seriously, who could ask for more? That day, I cannot remember what item flipped my demon switch. Whatever it was, I wanted it, and I WANTED IT BAD. Mom said no. I said yes. Again, she said no. I said I want it, so buy it. No. Yes. Let's go, son. BUY IT NOW. I had the last words of the rebuttal, ending with my head spinning while spitting green goo. Then, the patented kid's move was launched. Boom, onto the floor I went continuing full-fledged tantrum. Imaging it now, I was probably on my side, moving my legs, running/spinning in complete circles while screaming and yelling. No doubt I'd seen it performed by a fellow kid. Perhaps fellow kid got whatever he wanted. My act, however, included a very different variable - my mom. By no means am I old, but back then things were a little different. Back in those days, people weren't scared to spank their kids in public. There was no fear of someone calling the child abuse hotline or directing store security towards the belligerent parent with the broom handle. Oh, the broom handle. Although I never felt the broom handle, it was definitely an instrument of control I feared. In fact, the house was filled with parental weapons. The backscratcher, the flyswatter, the belt, rolled newspaper (the Sunday edition was frightening), shoes - all these tools could be utilized and were readily available anytime a kid forgot his standing in the home. Outside was no better. Switches pulled from trees were highly effective. Being asked to go outside and get a switch was like loading a gun with bullets. Back in those days, if a kid got in trouble at school, the teacher spanked him and anyone he encountered between school and home was allowed to get a lick in. Ouch. Back in those days, things were just different. I mean, back in those days, kids got spankings at school, spankings from grand parents, spankings at church, spankings at a friend's house. It amazes me those days did not bring forth the invention of a spanking machine. Or, maybe it did, but not that kind we're discussing here.

Anyways....

I fell out in the store demanding mom BUY IT NOW. Very calmly she smiled and shook her head towards onlookers, giving that "oh, silly boy" look. Certainly there were several returned nods accepting her unspoken apology for my behavior---not to mention an approving go ahead for any actions that may follow. My tantrum did not last very long. Mom made certain of it. With no homefield advantage, no parental weapons conveniently located, she made do with the most readily available item. Skillfully maneuvering our basket of grocery goodies around the Cheerios display, she reminded me how painful a grocery filled cart felt when mercilessly running over an idiot kid laying on the floor thus really giving me something to cry about. Remember those words: "Don't make me give you something to really cry about"? Those words...yikes. Thinking back, not once do I recall the guardian figure(s) on any scary child movies ever raise their voice or go nuts after the kid pulled some demonic crap the first time around. Maybe later in the movie when the dog was dead and the wife tossed down a flight of stairs. They must get to those demon kids early on. The first sign of diabolical tomfoolery: "DAMMIT, DAMIEN! GET OVER HERE. GET. OVER. HERE. NOW. PUT THAT KNIFE DOWN AND BRING YOUR ASS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW, OR BY GOLLY I WILL BEAT THE DEVIL OUTTA YOU, MY HAND ON A STACK OF BIBLES! DON'T MAKE ME GIVE YOU A REASON TO WANNA KILL SOMEBODY! GET OVER HERE!!" Those words followed by a good whuppin' may have made a difference.

Back to my story... After feeling the wheels of a loaded grocery cart, I learned a valuable lesson about falling out. Never did I allow such foolishness to happen again. For years, seeing other kids pull that trick baffled me. I was wondered how their parents would react. Sometimes, I'd just shake my head and move on.

I'll see "Orphan" this weekend. Friends, knowing how snobbish I am about horror film, highly recommend it so it'll be pretty good suspense thriller, and I am sure I will enjoy it. Still, in the back of my mind whenever the orphan girl acts foolishly, kicking things around and yelling at her new parents and siblings, I will know the solution---and silently thank my mom and dad for raising me not to be a little shit.

Just add zombie

2009-08-03T04:36:00.001-05:00

So... This weekend was the first time my Playstation 3 had been powered on in about four months. Sad, but true. Having kids eliminates daddy's playtime. Several months ago, all of us old high school pals and a few new friends would spend every Friday night playing games. Modern technology has come a long way. Sadly, we still do not have any of the cool stuff as seen on "The Jetsons" or a Buck Roger comic book, but, by golly, a bunch of boys can turn on their Playstation 3 systems, connect online and then play one another no matter the locations. After a long week of work, these evenings were always a nice getaway, even if we cursed the young kids who showed no mercy by beating us relentlessly. Sadly, we haven't played in some time---four months for me apparently. Saturday night, I fired up my system, and following a few updates, "Call of Duty: World at War" began playing on the HDTV. Kids today, they have it so much better than previous generations. Not once, in all my Atari playing days, was a game updated whereby enhancing its content and gameplay. Amazing. Ok, ok, this blog is getting boring with all this talk about video games, but I do have a point. Again, my mind works in very mysterious ways. My "Call of Duty" was updated, and I was happy to see new games available. New games featuring, what, oh yeah, NAZI ZOMBIES. Are you kidding me?? Sweet action. Not only can I continue playing simulated WWII battles against the Nazis, but now I can kill Nazi zombies too. Now the point of my blog tonight: This proves a theory of mine I've argued for some time - things only get better when adding zombies.

Examples:

Movies. Who didn't see "Titanic"? It was a huge blockbuster. Huge. One thing always bothered me though: Why couldn't Rose share the piece of driftwood with poor ol' Jack? Really. Kind of selfish if you ask me. After all the entanglements he escaped, both on the ship and in his hard knock life, his end comes by freezing to death while holding on to a piece of wood. Pathetic. Now, what if James Cameron had thrown some zombies in the mix? If anyone steals this idea, you are all my witnesses: So, the survivors drift to a distant island and wait for rescue. Days later, parts of the Titanic float to shore. And then it happens, bodies begin drifting to the shore, but once on land, they become ZOMBIE-FIED!! Seriously, this would be the greatest movie of all time.

Books. "To Kill a Mockingbird" will always be my favorite book ever. Ever. Bonus - it's one of the few books with a movie just as wonderful, starring the late, great Gregory Peck. Again, it's already greatness in my opinion, but what if---go with me here---what if Tom Robinson returns as a zombie extracting revenge on Bob Ewell and the courthouse mob. Before you know it, most of Maycomb, Alabama, has been transformed into zombies. Only Atticus, Jem, Scout, Calpurnia and few others remain un-zombie-fied. How can this madness be stopped? In steps, Boo Radley, a brilliant young man who has concocted an antidote that will end the zombie transformation process. Dude, talk about ZOMBIE-RIFIC! You're feeling it, right?

TV. "Full House" + zombies....'nuff said. Well, poor example. Very little can help that show. Really, what were we thinking?

Music. If someone can make money from dogs barking "Jingle Bells" while another profits by the lyrical masterpiece describing a Grandma getting run over by a reindeer, a zombie Christmas record would be holiday happiness. Maybe even add them to one a Christmas cartoon. Rudolph and zombies, maybe?? Merry Christmas.

Now to review:

1 - Adding zombies to anything makes it better;

2 - Buy your husbands/boyfriends a Playstation 3 this holiday season.

Shawshank with a Discount

2009-07-29T00:07:00.007-05:00

This is an actual conversation I overheard at a local WalMart this afternoon between a father and his 9 yr old son:

son

Oh cool, GI Joe!!

[browsing and grabbing new action figures]

father

Ain't no fuckin' GI Joe I know about.

Come on.

Ahhhh, WalMart.

Next time you venture into a store, pay close attention to the conversations around you. Listen in, but keep a safe distance. Having spent zero time in a confinement, I am willing to bet most of the conversations overheard in WalMart stores are the same often taking place on penitentiary grounds right after dinner and between the 8PM shanking of the newbies.

Do Not Go Gently into that Good Night

2009-07-28T05:53:00.006-05:00

So... It's 5AM. Another night I cannot sleep. My mind is racing. Buzzing with thoughts and ideas in all directions. It's like a major traffic jam. I knew it would happen tonight. It all started with a few Twitter updates, which BTW I find completely & totally ridiculous, but I do so only to appease and aggrevate friends who demand I tweet, but I will address this topic with another blog.

Continuing.... Then, I bought new Sharpie pens. The advertisement says they are like pens and won't bleed. Perfect for my journal. I miss writing in my journal. I recently purchased a new one, but have yet to add a single word. There is something retro cool about a journal. Plus, it's always right there. Believe it or not, some of my brilliant ideas aren't always while sitting in front of the computer. Oh, the goodies which have died between the car, for instance, and grabbing my Mac Book Pro. Sad.

Continuing... Then, I watched a highly entertaining and intelligent documentary on HBO. Very well done and made me realize the screenplay/writings/stories I wrote and sold to Hollywood last year still sits on some shelf collecting dust. I often joke it sits between "Gremlins 3" and an unnamed documentary about socks. My joke is probably closer to the truth than I may realize. Still, I should not let it dampen my creative spirits. I have always wanted to make a documentary. Of course, it would be a documentary from my warped sense of humor. Years ago, a news story really hit me. It was Thanksgiving weekend, probably, 3 years ago. I was sitting at my parents no doubt eating a turkey sandwich waiting for ESPN SportsCenter highlights. On the news was a segment about the day's annual Black Friday events. Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving event when stores all over the nation open their doors super early and offer huge storewide markdowns on various items. Wal-Mart, a store I've learned to hate over the years, is notorious for its Black Friday shenanigans. Incidentally this news story prominently featured Wal-Mart. That Black Friday morning at one of its stores in Detroit, people were dropped to the ground and run over by others hurriedly entering the store for discounted DVD players and flat screen televisions. There were several serious injuries. One thing that struck me was a 30-something lady who was trampled by the crowd. Her misfortune was captured on Wal-Mart security video and replayed over and over on that news story. I felt sympathy for this woman. She touched me. A single instant when she believed she would be the first to obtain price reduced electronics came to a crashing, humiliating end when her feet tangled causing her to lose balance and crash to the ground thus igniting an onslaught of confused persons in her wake to do the same. The moment she grabbed her wig, placed it back on her head and then exited the scrummage was the single moment I realized I must meet this woman and do a documentary on the events that led her to this Black Friday event, the fall, the pain and of course the aftermath. The fact that she had the comeuppance to put her wig back on albeit soiled in foot prints AND return to her feet for sales goodies makes me want to know more about this woman. These thoughts have been on my mind for over three years. I found her name a year ago and almost began calling various homes hoping to find her, but I didn't. Maybe this will be the year. Maybe I can conduct a phone interview. Maybe she wants to discuss the black and blue events of that Black Friday. Maybe. One day, I'll find her and shot this documentary. One day. I wonder if she returned to Black Friday the next year? You do too. Therein lies the reason for this much needed documentary.

Continuing... Then, I checked on a friend's daughter via Facebook asking her thoughts on a collection of horror movies I gifted her before last week's family vacation. She claims to be a huge horror movie fan. I am a huge horror movie fan, so I gave her a dozen DVDs calling it a "Horror Movie Starter Kit". I am happy to report she loved the movies. One of my goals is to write a horror movie. The perfect horror movie---at least break the mold of this current blueprint of scary flicks. I do not like the "Saw" movies or those like it. These crappy things basically try grossing out viewers with their over the top slasher blood and gore scenes. Not scary. Not spooky. Wasted effort. I do not get it. I haven't seen a good scary movie in about 10 years. That's sad. Pathetic. Why the drought? I am uncertain, but I plan to change it. If I can write one good horror flick, I'd definitely set myself up for a comfortable living. One successfully movie could easily branch off into sequels, TV series, books, etc. These movies make huge dough. Huge. People crave horror. We love it. The first time seeing "The Blair Witch Project", I was in complete awe. Today I watch, and it's still the same. Granted, not everyone found it genius as I did, but the concept, the idea, and the marketing was simply brilliant. To this day I have friends who cannot be convinced the movie wasn't actual footage of three filmmakers lost in the woods. Genius. Perhaps Kat and I will make the perfect horror movie. I think so.

Tonight, with a day of ridiculous tweets, brand new Sharpie pens, a very well-done HBO documentary and a "Horror Movie Starter Kit" dancing in my head, I lay here at 5AM. I cannot sleep. My mind is too busy.

The Darth Maul

2009-07-23T01:38:00.000-05:00

So.... Years ago, I lived with a friend named Matt. We shared a large two bedroom apartment for nearly two years. During the two year period, Matt never unpacked his belongings. He slept on my sofa in the living room while his bedroom looked like a self storage unit somewhere off the Interstate. Because our schedules were so different, the living situation actually worked out. Still, I needed an outlet for venting anytime I came home to find Matt on the sofa at 2PM. My outlet was a weekly newsletter emailed to family and friends, detailing my living situation, day-to-day adventures and stories of Matt.

Per request from a dear friend, here is a story from one installment of "The Matt Update".

---------------------------------------------------------

Monday, May 3, 1999

Actually this update begins a minute shy of Monday when the phone rang at exactly 1159PM. I checked the caller id---it is The Price, informing he is entering the city from his weekend excursion in Arlington & heading in the direction of our friendly neighborhood Toys-R-Us for the long awaited Star Wars toy kickoff. Oddly, I felt compelled to join him, mainly due to the fact that he had gone out of his way to pick up a delicious mess o' fish from my favorite roadside café inEastland, Texas, Ken's Fish and Chicken. No, that is not the reason: Let's face it – I too am a Star Wars geek who was eagerly counting down the days until the movie begins its box office dominance and any opportunity to observe a room full of Star Wars geeks is better than any reality show television network executives can ever dream up. Without haste, I hopped into my car.

Being lowly Lubbock, Texas, I predicted a maximum of maybe twenty-five people wandering the store. Many simply browsing and taking in the scenes. Driving onto Slide Road, I a, shocked to see the entire Toys-R-Us parking lot filled like the day after Thanksgiving. The parking is so overloaded in fact that I circled several times waiting for people to leave before an empty spot became available. While circling I saw the Lethal Weapon Grand Am entering the lot. The Price is in the building! I parked and, as a normal routine when doing anything with Matt, waited for him to exit his vehicle. Can anyone tell me what the hell he does in there? Combing his hair? Checking his nostrils? Brushing his teeth? It almost takes longer to wait for him to get out of the car than the time it takes to drive to the destination. Baffling. Finally, he emerged from the depths of the mighty GT, donning baggy jean shorts, goofy skateboarder shoes, socks pulled to his knees, and the patented tucked in Tommy shirt… oh, and the cellular phone dangling from his front pants pocket. My question: Were we at Toys-R-Us or Kid-n-Play's house party? Even Matt, a true student of bizarre behavior, is dumbfounded by the mass demonstration.

Upon, entering the store we immediately witnessed, literally, hundreds of people running throughout. Some are pushing baskets filled with Star Wars merchandise, while others are blindly scampering with their arms filled. Near the front of the newly revamped store (obviously remodeled simply for this occasion), there are even older men fighting through hot wheel cars in a kiddie pool. What was up with the hot wheel stuff, I do not know? Someone screamed out---"I need a Darth Maul? Anybody got a Darth Maul? Where are the Darth Mauls?" Apparently the Darth Maul was no longer available. The action figure was gone after only 15 minutes. Conformity is a bitch: Matt sprinted into the crowd amongst all the littered toys, searching for a Darth Maul figure. I stood motionless and wide-eyed.

People were everywhere! White, black, brown, tan, yellow (yes, someone dressed as C-3PO), old, young, fat, skinny, geeks, athletes, farmers, city slickers, female, male, one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, me, and Matt. From afar, I stood back watching the affair with an employee. We both shook our heads and laughed. Geeks were every where, and admittedly, due to proximity, I was one of them. Matt immediately filled his arms with items---nothing of importance, mind you, essentially grabbing objects like a maniac. Minutes later, he fought his way through the inflatable Star Wars furniture where he bumped into a couple acquaintances, Michael and his fiancé. Michael and I were similar in regards to The Price: We realized Matt was an unusual case study and for the most part often sat back, enjoying the ride. He threw out a few jabs at Matt about being a spoiled brat and a lazy goof---albeit, all true---but let's face it he has no newsletter, nor sits awake in the middle of night wondering if the snoring in the other room, the living room, will ever stop, or if a certain roommate will ever unpack his belongings after 2 years and live like a normal human being, or if…I digress. Michael, himself, was embracing eight action figures and truly engrossed in the hype. More importantly he too sought the elusive Darth Maul action figure.

Suddenly, an announcement filled the air like trumpets might have blared Bible days: THERE ARE MORE IN THE BACK! Boom! Like a flash, everyone began making their way to section 8C. What had I gotten myself into? What was this? I spoke to myself while standing in aisle 3B. Fanatics whizzed past, bumping into me without uttering an excuse me. That, my dear friends, is when it happened. 'It' can only be explained as a tremor in the Force, as they say. Something I hadn't felt since the tender age of 8 or 9. In the recesses of my mind, I imagined myself wandering through the Midland Park Mall on a Saturday afternoon with my weekly allowance in hand, hoping to find Han Solo's Millennium Falcon. I had been there! It was all returning! Suddenly, my friends, the force was in me! YAAAAAA---OUTTA MY WAY, YOU BASTARDS! WATCH OUT, JEDI COMING THROUGH!!!! YAAAAAAAA!!!!! WHERE'S THAT DARTH MAUL?!?!? I pushed aside both dorks and geeks, not showing discrimination to neither. I knocked regular people out of my way, kicking glasses and pocket protectors aside as I traveled. From the storage area, employees frantically threw boxes into the aisles in hopes the crowd would stay at bay, not attacking. They had no chance to properly open or distribute the merchandise themselves for the masses were grabbing them and doing what they wanted! Boxes and boxes of Star Wars action figures were scattered everywhere. WHERE IS DARTH MAUL?!?!? OUTTA ME WAY!!!! I heard Matt's voice crying out in another aisle---"Where are the new Star Wars micro-machines?" Micro-machines? What the hell was he thinking? Nobody was punching their way through lines for damn micro-machines! His head obviously was not into the game, the lousy bastard. Why was he not searching for a Darth Maul? Instead, he was in the micro-machines section alone with absolutely zero interference as if enjoying a quiet day on the beach watching the waves. Complete serenity. What was the boy thinking? Who the hell wanted micro-machines? Even the littlest kids were dissin' the micro-machines for the action figures! I pushed him out of my mind. To hell with the weak & the ignorant, I thought. This is was and I am engaged in battle.

Forty-year old virgins, holding Spiderman issue #342 comics, and I shuffled through boxes of action figures. There were Obi-Wan, Anakin, Qui-Gon Jinn, Jar Jar, an Ewok, and then finally the mother load, the golden ticket, Darth Maul himself. Finally, in like the 17th box I went though, a Darth Maul. Then another it hit me; this 'it' being sanity and common sense. I had not planned to buy anything. I simply came to see the happenings; to see the dorks on parade; to see the reactions upon faces when the first box was opened; to see the smirks of the employees who had the misfortune of working that night's shift; and most importantly, to usher in the Star Wars season. Again, that feeling overcame my mind, body, and soul---The Force---and I grabbed another Darth Maul. AH-HA, YOU BASTARDS, I'VE GOT TWO NOW! "The Force is strong in that one", I overheard a voice exclaim, as I stormed down 8C with my prize possessions. Meanwhile Matt was still in the damn micro-machine section! What was he doing? Micro-machines? War takes its toll on people. Enraged I approached Matt to deliver a salty smack across the face, and then to slap those kiddie Micro-machines from his hand. Before reaching him, however, a 9 year old boy toppled Matt while putting away his sister's micro-machine. The fall jolted life back into him, and he dropped his booty and joined the battle for Darth Maul.

Worn and ragged, I retreated to the front of the store gasping for air. As I sat collecting my composure, I saw The Price, hair frazzled and red faced, willing his battered body and a shopping cart towards the back of the store. Damn, that basket can hold a lot of micro-machines, I thought. Ten minutes later he surfaced with his valuables: 18 action figures, books, posters, puzzles, electronic gadgets, and even micro-machines. Without question, he too had felt it---that almighty tremor called the Force.

Two hours after our arrival we both emerged from the melee of battered bodies and busted eyeglass wear, making our way to the checkout. Sadly, Michael and his fiancé had been lost in the crowd and left for dead. War is hell. My battle cost approximately twenty dollars---not to mention time and respect; while Matt shelled over a cool seventy bucks. (The total fee would have been a little more, but some kids stole several Micro-machines off the cart.) After paying, Matt and I say our goodbyes. He departed for parts unknown; and my bed was calling. On the other side, we would see each other…

The next day we talked about our adventure. Mine ended hours before Matt's: After Toys-R-Us, he continued to wield his credit card at both Wal-Mart, and then K-Mart, where he spent the remainder of his evening watching "Return of the Jedi" with the overstaffed night employees.

The Price's total damage on this first day of the Star Wars holiday season:

19 action figures
1 beach towel
2 books
3 posters
8 micro-machines
1 mug
1 toothbrush
1 sports bottle
3 shirts
assorted pairs Darth Maul boxers
1 David Robinson action figure (?)
1 novelty R2-D2 soap on a rope
a bottle of Yoda hand lotion
1 Stormtropper Pez dispenser
and much, much more

When Matt left my room that morning, I felt a special bond with my old roommate. Visions of Star Wars action figures, pencil-packing geeks, and Chewbacca shampoo bottles danced in my head as I sat staring across the room at my new Darth Maul with Double-Bladed Lightsaber. Thoughts of Matt and me braving the aisles of Toys-R-Us made me chuckle aloud. Like a classic episode of "The Wonder Years," I could softly hear the sounds of Simon and Garfunkel bringing my adventure to a pleasant end, as my adult voice, like Kevin Arnold's, spoke poignantly, reflecting on the special moment in time I had shared with my very special Paul Phieffer-like roommate. Together we had experienced a once in a lifetime thrill---a moment the world had eagerly anticipated for over a decade, and like millions across the nation we had become, in some small way, a special part of our American culture's history. Stumbling out of bed, I collected my new toy and opened my bedroom door. Alas, a sight I've come to know all too well: Hibernating on my sofa in all its hideous glory. Matt was fast asleep and as usual fully clothed with one hand resting beneath his pillow, and the other in his pants. The vision, for most, a Hellish nightmare; for me, the perfect ending to the perfect day.

And a Hellish nightmare.

These days are hot...

2009-07-13T04:13:00.004-05:00

...and I don't like it.

I hate West Texas summer days. It's hot. I don't do well in heat. Amazingly, I've lived in Texas since the age of seven, but my body functions/thinks it still lives in Maine and/or New York. Summers kill me. I do not enjoy. I would be more than happy to have 75 degree days year round. Easily. I sweat. All day. I don't like sweating all day.

I don't like the heat.

How many days until winter?

thanks

2009-07-07T21:27:00.000-05:00

Never Can Say Goodbye

2009-07-07T17:46:00.002-05:00

So... This will be my last blog about Michael Jackson for awhile. I promise. But, I couldn't let this day, the day of his memorial in LA, pass without saying a few fleeing words about the legendary Michael Jackson.

I scheduled my day brilliantly so that I would be in my office just in time for the memorial. Early this morning, I made my routine stops around various physician clinics. Skillfully, I might add. By 1130A, I was in line at Chick-fil-a to grab a salad, and then head to the office. Perfect.

The memorial was a great tribute and goodbye with several great speakers who shared personal special moments. My favorites were Magic Johnson and the beautiful Brooke Shields. Magic told a story about sharing a bucket of KFC chicken with Michael during their first encounter, which probably rose their stock considerably; while Brooke was very moved and saddened as she provided a glimpse of a Michael Jackson very few people saw. She even joked about the sequin glove. Very touching. Some of the sadder moments included a song by his brother Jermaine and another by Usher whose music career, like many others, was highly influenced by Michael Jackson. The real punch in the face was the final speaker of the day. Michael's daughter stood at the microphone and broke into tears after praising her father for being a great dad. Wow... Really, amazing tribute all-around. I'm just happy it didn't get all wacky with zoo animals and stuff. Seriously, you never know. Meanwhile back at the office, my friend Veronica and I paid our final respects by doing an impromptu moonwalk in the main lobby of our office building. No shame; it was for Michael, and it was much needed. With each thrust of my foot to heel, I felt the sadness slow dissipate. But, what about the pain and sorrow of others?

His death occurred on Thursday, June 25th, and I have yet to tell our 3 year old Harper that there will be no sequel to the Thriller video she's watched almost every day over the past 2 years. How do we tell these things to children? There is much difficulty for me discussing such matters. Very uneasy. Even watching Bambi days prior, I explained away the gunshots when Bambi's mother did not reappear in the forest as fireworks---"Um, yeah, she stayed behind to watch the fireworks. Bambi didn't want to watch. So...." On the drive home from daycare this afternoon, Thriller was playing. Immediately, Harper yelled 'Michael Jackson' with a big smile as she mimicked the zombie dance moves in her car seat. At that time I should have ever so subtly said, "Well, guess who else may be a zombie? That's right, Michael Jackson; he's dead. Ice cream?" I couldn't. My moonwalk eased the pain, but admittedly I am still too raw.

Barry Gordan called Michael the greatest entertainer of all time. I never really thought about it, but I agree. Considering I've known him and his music since the time I could walk, I too will bestow that moniker upon thee Michael Jackson---the GREATEST ENTERTAINER OF ALL-TIME. Now, don't think I am one of those psychotic fans, mind you. As I explained in an earlier blog, I never listened the popular music, but Michael's stuff was always there. I remember when I was, like, 7 or 8 years old, my mom told me about a dream she had. In it, I had this huge afro and girls fell madly in love with me. She often kept me hidden until one day girls spotted and chased me away. I was lost. I think, she said she found me hiding behind a car or something later. Never have I had a huge afro. I mean, I've had a "baby" 'fro of sorts, but never anything huge. She said I looked like Michael Jackson---but it was me (ya know how dreams get all crazy - someone looks likes someone else but you know they are who you think they are). So, some of my earliest memories of Michael Jackson are my mom's dream, and of course listening to those old 45's of the Jackson 5. Good times.

Anyways, I am babbling a bit here, but I bid you farewell, Mr. Greatest Entertainer of All-Time. The memories are forever with us, as your music, so this will not be my last blog. Darn, right? I mean, I still need to blog about how I break the news to Harper and our family Thriller dance rehearsals in years to come.

Shamone.

Chick-fil-a, you win again.

2009-07-07T12:50:00.000-05:00

You win.

2009-07-07T03:48:00.002-05:00

So... Driving around looking for a place to grab some lunch to take back to the office this afternoon. Something healthy, so the obvious choices McD's, Burger King, and Wendy's I've ruled out years and years ago. Thankfully, I've turned in a new leaf in my lifestyle back in 200-something. But, man, I do love fries....but, I digress, as I normally do here. Anyways, I drove from one of my physician clinics past Chick-fil-a. Yum! Chick-fil-a does have some of the best on-the-go salads ever! Unfortunately, it's a little past noon. Maybe a minute or two past noon. What does that mean in Chick-fil-a words: If you want a meal handed to you through the drive-thru window, make certain you have at least a half tank of fuel.

Seriously, why are there always so many people lined up at Chick-fil-a? Yes, the food is that delicious, but sweet fancy Moses! It is amazing. Our Chick-fil-a always has some poor minimum wage kid dressed in a cow costume dancing in front of the restaurant. Well, I would just like to say this to the people of Chick-fil-a: Stop with the advertising. You win. Game over. It's over.

There is truly no longer a need for the company of Chick-fil-a to advertise. No need. Save your money on developing more chicken products and more stores. You win. Advertising is unnecessary. We are all coming to you regardless of cute jingles on the radio, or a poor kid sweating his nuggets off with wearing that cow costume on a hot West Texas afternoon. Seriously, you win. Over.

Admittedly, I drove past Chick-fil-a this afternoon, but that only intensifies my desire for a Chargilled Garden Salad. More than likely, I will try again hours from now. May even get there around 1130-ish. Amazing, lunch is two meals away, and my body is already preparing. Chick-fil-a, seriously, you win.

Marked: Blue Dot Mystery Part ii

2009-07-05T21:57:00.005-05:00

One sign of getting older is the excitement one gets purchasing new yard equipment. Definitely a sure sign. Ridiculous. Last week, I bought a brand new lawn mower from Sears. Craftsman, baby. No doubt, the neighbors are happy since the yard had become much of an eyesore during my time off tending to a new baby.

Today, I finally got to use my new Craftsman. First project was the alley. As you may recall from a previous post, there was some question about gang activity and blue dots from our neighborhood alley. You may also recall I had some reservations about said gang activity. [at this point, I'd grumble under my voice "Bullsh*t" like adolescent kids do in class] Hence, I conducted my own investigation on foot while cleaning my part of the alley. This is my conclusion:

Indeed, there is gang activity. A number of the fences have been marked with the blue dot, including mine. Pulling out my magnifying glass, I was able to determine the blue marking was made by an individual not accustomed to graffiti work. Perhaps a new gang member or a very hurried gang member from the mass number of dots up and down the alley. Also, I determined my dot was directly above our water manhole, as I later discovered all of the others. With this said, I theorize the intention of the gang maybe to infiltrate our home by means of our water lines. Interesting. One problem, however, underneath the manhole lies only the main water turn off. There is no pipe leading beneath our home or even under the fence line. Again, I theorize, perhaps the gang plans to shut off our water line forcing us to vacate the house for water, and then at that point in time gain access to our house and steal everything inside. Amazing tactic.

To conclude, this gang is highly organized. They mark fences with a "blue" dot to indicate water main shutoff. This gang has operated for years. They are all over the United States and are funded by everyday citizens like me and you. Some call them the "City"; others call them the "Water Man". Whatever you do, keep all doors and windows locked. Who knows when this mass plot will occur.

So, there you have it. Just as I thought, nothing. I saw the college boys outside while mowing the front lawn. Part of me wanted to say something. Maybe poke fun or laugh, but I couldn't. I couldn't do that. Why?? Because in a couple weeks after they've had another aggravating party with that loud laughing demon friend of theirs, simply out of spite I plan to break into their home and steal everything.

Seen one, Seen 'em all

2009-07-05T18:12:00.003-05:00

The annual Fourth on Broadway Parade went down yesterday. We loaded up the Pilot and started our 4th of July festivities by attending. Question: Is it just me, or is every parade basically the same parade but scheduled on different parts of the calendar? Within fifteen minutes, I was done with the Forth of Broadway Parade. In fact, the only entertainment keeping my interest was a lady in front of us begging the paraders for candy. Lady, why? Leave the candy for the kids. Another question: Is is just me, or in every hometown parade are there people in the parade who appear to have affiliation whatsoever with the parade? Ever so often, random people would walk past. Half the time not even waving. Almost as if forced by the local authorities---"Either pick up litter, or walk in the parade." Yesterday's parade went on quite awhile before we decided to leave. Still, it is always a fun way to kick off the 4th of July; and, yes, we will do it again next year. Hopefully, not forced to participate due to court ruling.

Hope everyone had a fun and safe 4th of July!

Marked

2009-07-04T01:54:00.006-05:00

So, today, there's a knock at the door around 4PM. I open it and see one of the neighbors standing there. Odd because it is one of the college boys from next door. Normally, they do not come over as they tend to stay in their area. Again, they are college boys so I tend to HEAR them more than see them. Every other weekend or so, they host parties that meander into the late, late hours of the night. Another reason why the hunt for a new home will begin very soon. I will admit, however, for the most part, it's no big deal except for the beer bottles and trash left in their yard---oh, and this one annoying friend who possesses the most irritating high-pitched laugh. It's a cackle, a freakin' cackle, that echoes through the night. Annoying. Never mind, it is a big deal. That laugh alone is worth relocating. That damn laugh is the worst. Seriously, why do drunk people laugh at every little thing? This guy is like Ed McMahon on speed with this laugh. Holy crap. Sorry. Continuing my blogging....

The neighbor warned to check my back fence in the alley. According to one of the elderly neighbors down the street who supposedly heard the story on the news, local gang members are cruising neighborhoods searching for homes to break in. Once locating potential victims, gang members tag the house's back fence with a blue dot. Joe College (let's call him that because it's easier to type than the whole 'college neighbor' or whatever) found a blue dot on his back fence, which he promptly removed somehow. After doing so, he noticed blue dots up and down the alley on most of the fences.

Blue dot...? The new gang urban legend??

I must admit, while Joe College spoke, I could not help my mind from wandering. His lips were moving but imagined words regarding the old urban legend warning not to flash oncoming traffic. Very appropriate during a holiday weekend. We all know the gang initiation tale: Anyone who flashes his lights is a target. But, he wasn't pointing to our cars in the driveway or making driving movements with his hands, so I snapped back to reality.... Believe it or not, I actually heard every word he said. Hopefully he did not realize I had dozed off into my world of imagination during his spill. Honestly, that is something I often wonder while talking to people. I cannot help it; my mind is a beehive. It is constantly going off into different tangents and scenarios. It's how I roll. Keeps the world a little more entertaining for me. So, where was I? Oh, blue dot story....

About thirty minutes following the conversation, I checked our back fence, and, yes, I too had the mark of the blue dot. I drove past several other fences and saw the same marking. Fences down my block and throughout our entire area (about 15 blocks). Almost every fence had a blue dot, which made me contemplate the extreme workload ahead for these gang members. I mean, geez... Talk about a full-time gig. Seriously, would it be worth a gang membership to do all that work? Regular employment anywhere---fast food, a convenience store, Payless, and even Wal-Mart---would be more appealing. Stealing from all these houses would be a huge ordeal. Another reason I probably won't join a gang. Later, I checked the local news stories, Goggle, and even asked some thug kids at the mall, and found no such stories about gangs and blue dots and casing neighborhoods and initiations. If anyone reading this blog has heard such a thing from a reliable source, leave a comment. Our main source, as I mentioned, is one of the elderly neighbors down the street. I wonder if he even heard the story on the news. Wasn't The Warriors on TV a few nights ago?

Two lessons from this blog:

Being in a gang means lots of work---from buying specific color blue spray paint at the paint store, which in itself is somewhat inconvenient because you must show your ID and if you're like me you don't always have your ID because you sometimes leave it in the car, so you must go back out to the car to retrieve it and sometimes after making that long trek through the parking lot, especially on a hot day, you wonder to yourself if it's really worth going all the way back into the store, fighting through the lines, making a fool yourself because everyone is looking at you thinking "Oh look, that's the dumbass who left his ID in the car and we're standing here waiting in this damn motionless line until he gets back with his ID to finish the transaction", to the hassle of, well, having to steal and carry all that loot from all those blue dot marked houses. Gang memberships, as far as I know, do not have insurance benefits. Moving heavy furniture and stuff is a good way to hurt one's back. No benefits, then what? Ask yourself that.

Old people always get their stories all twisted.

If anything, you've learned a couple things today.

Happy 4th of July :)

things that go bump in the night

2009-07-03T04:58:00.000-05:00

It's almost 5A. I write this blog from bed. A bed I share with a 3 year old.

Such has been my existence since returning from the hospital with our latest family addition, Miles. Harper and I share our king size bed in the master bedroom while Cheryl sleeps in the living room to immediately attend Miles' feedings and Cheryl's mother catches her winks in Harper's bed overseeing Miles. The whole scenario is even more dizzying reading it. The whole plan was devised by Cheryl and her mother. I don't really get it. All I know is that I am in control of Harper, who as mentioned in previous entries, is a Diva.

Tonight is sixth night sharing my bed. Each night is an adventure to say the least. Everyone knows I am a night owl. Unfortunately, the apple did not fall far from the tree. These past nights, Harper and I come back the room around 10P so that the others in the household can start winding down and getting rest. Going to bed at 10P is pretty much a beating for me. Seriously, my creative and fun juices don't start flowing until at least 11P. But that's neither here nor there; the problem is Harper is in full 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th wind mode by ten o'clock. Note: Putting her down has always been a battle. Now, however, it is a battle I take on. Tonight is the only night we did not watch Horton Hears a Who before finally turning off the TiVo and pretending to sleep---because we watched Babe instead. My inner clock is such a mess I actually fell asleep before the movie ended. Around 11P or something. Luckily, nothing was stuffed into my nose. Harper did hit me awake to alert the movie has ended. As our routine has come to be, I turned off the television, and then waited for the darkness of the room to lead us gently into that good night's slumber. Then, the real fun begins....

If you've slept with a toddler, the following events you understand:

Sleeping with a toddler is like sharing a sleeping bag with a live Bobcat that wants to escape and will kill you to do so. No matter the size of the bed, the toddler has full control and the territory of the bed is extremely limited. I have very little sleep these past nights. Despite what you may have heard, it is difficult to sleep with someone's foot in your face, or painfully other places. Don't quote me here, but I would not doubt if these sleeping conditions are the same used for training those wackos who jump in sleeping bags with rattlesnakes at the Rattlesnake Roundups throughout West Texas. Probably not - at least the rattlesnakes don't kick you in the boys.
Toddlers in bed tend to fight invisible enemies in their sleep. The number of punches received I've completely lost count. A ringside judge at a prize fight could not keep track of the punches landed during a single night's rest. Moments I rolled over to acquire a small piece of space on the mattress. At the same time, and as if knowing my strategy, she rolled over slapped my face and poked me in the eye. Now, I lay with one leg dangling on the side of the bed; while she is spread out like a jet plane in the middle of the bed. She wins.
There number of things in this bed magically accumulate by the hour. Tonight, she brought in a new blanket. Of course, no questioning because as a parent I do not want to argue before bed. Rule #49 of parenting advises keeping children calm and relaxed before bedtime in order to be successful. So, I don't argue. Now, this blanket takes up a little more space. Normally, a blanket wouldn't necessarily take up space in a bed, but when coupled with a plethora of other toddler bedtime necessities, the mattress becomes smaller and smaller. Over the six day period, we have amassed three additional stuffed animals, two additional pillows, four blankets, a couple dolls and of course Peter Pan, who Harper is never without. Meanwhile, I have my pillow. Barely.

It's now a little past 5A. I should end this before she realizes her last gyrations caused a small lose in mattress space, gaining my legs a small area to rest. Albeit, they will probably cramp from the positioning, but it's a small victory nonetheless. Besides, maybe I can manage a few Zzzzzzz's before her next limps flailing.

Good night.

Home Again

2009-06-29T21:16:00.004-05:00

Saturday, June 27th, we returned home from the hospital. Around 11A. When we pulled up into the driveway, Harper was patiently, but excitedly, standing at the door waiting. Immediately, I met her at the door with the big hug and led her in pajamas to the car. She was a huge help unloading the goodies and welcoming her brand new baby brother, Miles, to his new home. Harper has been a huge help and a wonderful big sister. The photo above was taken during Miles and Harper's first encounter. Harper cracks me up---and clearly defines a Diva---by her sudden mood changes. The photo above shows off her "very serious Diva" look. Then, the photo below was taken two seconds later -

She is my Harper. My little Diva :)

Thrilled 'til the end.

2009-06-28T20:53:00.004-05:00

It was the summer of 1984.

During that summer, our family traveled to Virginia for a family reunion of sorts with relatives descending from my dad's side of the tree. I was fourteen, and the oldest of my two sisters, Stephanie and Tonya. We were leaving Texas and seeing the East coast again. Although reaching our family reunion required several hours strapped beneath uncomfortable seat belts---not to mention, at that time, no DVDs or iPods--- we were still extremely excited about the miles ahead. If fuel was not a factor, our father could mercilessly drive from California to Boston without stopping. Years ago when that crazy astronaut lady drove to Florida wearing a diaper, the news outlets were shocked. Whatever. My dad had needed no diaper. I was convinced pops only required the use of facilities twice during any road trip: before leaving and after arriving. My mom, sisters and I were obviously built from a different cloth. Despite the torture to be endured, we promised not to complain and be the greatest travel companions since the Hebrew slaves were led from Egypt. But, there was something there for personal gain. Our good behavior was a bargaining chip. If fulfilled, our father would buy the three of us something very special while on that vacation. Something we wanted more than anything in the world at that time: The Making of Thriller on VHS.

We had an incredible trip, reuniting with family and spending time at the beach, but I cannot explain the joy upon our return home. Once home, another vacation began. The VHS tape was the first item unpacked and went immediately into the player. By that time, I'd probably seen the full version of Thriller once or twice---on NBC's Friday Night Videos; the other from a classmate's VHS recording at school during lunch. Both times I was amazed. This video was stuff no one had ever created, or even thought about doing. Basically, it was a mini-movie. A mini-movie with dancing and music. The epitome of our MTV generation. It was pure magic. Greatness bottled in thirteen minutes. More importantly now, we actually owned it and could watch anytime. No staying up late for USA Night Flight or patiently sitting through David Bowie videos on MTV. Owned it! Not only the video, but we also owned all the the behind the scene footage detailing everything A to Z in creating Thriller.

When our parents returned to work the following days, my sisters and I dove head first into our new VHS treasure. We watched The Making of Thriller 24/7, from the time we got out of bed until the time we fell asleep in the living room watching. Non-stop. Needless to say, by week's end, we knew the tape cassette inside and out. Seriously. Not just the video, but the ENTIRE VHS tape. Everything from the dialogue to the arrangement of archive footage chronicling Michael Jackson's career. More importantly, we knew every Thriller dance step, having transformed the living room into our own private dance studio. Without a single slip up, we could reenact the entire Thriller video from beginning to end---from the car running out of gas to the zombies to chasing Ola Ray into the condemned house to the final Vincent Price laugh. Not one move was lost on us. It was Thriller, and Michael Jackson was brilliant.

Now, let me explain before we go on, I was not a Michael Jackson fan. At least compared on the grand scheme of Michael Jackson fandom. I did not own a poster, wear a glove, nor did I record every appearance on award shows. The popular music most people listened to wasn't exactly what I was listened to. But, there was something about Michael Jackson's music and videos that slowly swayed my convictions. The first time I heard a song from Michael Jackson's Thriller was at my grandparent's house. My cousin Dewayne had the cassette tape. His jam of choice was the Paul McCartney duo, The Girl is Mine. I thought it was cheesy. First, of all, Michael and Paul fighting over a girl? Come on. Then, it happened. Slowly but surely, the music soaked through my being as my cousin repeatedly played the track on his jam box. I couldn't escape it, nor did I wish to. Thirty minutes later, I could sing every word. Because he had the "home field" advantage, I relinquished and happily played Paul to his Michael---but he knew at my house, the roles would reverse. To this day, some of the happiest moments of my life included singing that silly song while pretending to fight over some stuffed animal.

Thursday, June 25th 2009, will always be a special day for my family. On that day, we welcomed into the world our son, Miles Robinson, thirty-five minutes after midnight. Several hours later in another part of the world, two icons of pop culture would say goodbye---Farrah Faucet and Michael Jackson. Who woulda thunk it? Two huge icons of the entertainment world. Even after Cameron Diaz and Drew Barrymore, no one can say 'Charlie's Angels' without first thinking Farrah. I was barely six years old when her image became commonplace for every adolescent boys' bedroom wall. Very young, but not young enough to realize she was something special when I first saw the poster in my friend's older brother's room. Back then, girls were gross; they were the to be left alone. Gross. This "girl" on the poster was something different; and I stared at the poster every time I visited. Sadly, we all knew Farrah would lose her battle with the disease. The news of her passing that afternoon still left us all a little shocked. To this day, her role in The Burning Bed is one of the best performances captured on film.

About two years ago, I inadvertently introduced our daughter Harper to Michael Jackson. Taking a page out of the book of bad parenting, I tried scaring my daughter to behave by playing the Thriller video on my iTunes. I think, I told her if she did not behave... My plan miserably backfired. Stemming from my genes, I should have known. She was a little over a year old and completely mesmerized. Completely enthralled. We watched the Thriller video about thirty times that day. She called it "Bad Kitty" and today she still does. Over the past two years, she and I have watched the video---I'd be willing to bet---over 5,000 times. Everyday. Four or five times a day. Months ago, before our first trip to the movie theater with Harper, we tried desperately to explain what to expect and how to behave in the theater. We explained how it would be dark; how she should not speak loudly; how the movie would play on a big screen; etc. Still, no matter how eloquent we could not truly describe the experience to better prepare her, we thought. While we beat our heads together, she rolled her eyes and said, "Like Michael Jackson on 'Bad Kitty'?" Um, yeah, like Michael Jackson on 'Bad Kitty'. The mark he left through his talent stretched across people of all ages, all colors and all boundaries.

Honestly, I will miss Michael Jackson. His music touched my life and the lives of so many people. Whether you liked him or not, or find the last recent tributes unnecessary, you cannot deny the mark Michael Jackson left on the landscape of our pop culture. Certainly there are others---veterans, teachers, police officers, physicians, parents, etc---who deserve greater eulogies; and some who believe Michael Jackson's legacy will be forever tainted by his faults, allegations and everything we did not understand but simply labeled 'Wacko Jacko'. Still, I will miss him. For nearly fifty years, Michael Jackson entertained the world. I will be forever grateful for his ability to bridge gaps between the generations through his talents. Today, some parents groan when taking their children to see Miley Cyrus or Jonas Brother. My parents would have loved taking me to see Michael Jackson, just as I would have loved, and hoped in 2011, to accompany Harper. It is not the day music died, June 25th, but it is definitely the day we collectively pushed the pause button. Don't worry, the music will continue shortly---much influenced by the icon we lost days ago. Meanwhile, pull out that sequined white glove and cue my favorite Rock With You.

"he/him".... A boy.

2009-06-27T01:58:00.002-05:00

I write this with no sleep, so who knows how this "blog" will turn out. Of course, for those of you who read my stuff, it will probably be the same wacky mess. Seriously, no sleep. The couch/bed offered in hospital rooms are less than comfortable to say the least. In fact, I am convinced the company that supplies beds to prisons may be the same who placed this particular cloud of heaven in this hospital room. Anytime sleep tried embracing me, I'd roll over and feel one of the many lumps in the cushioning, thinking I had discovered the whereabouts of my bunk mates hidden shank, which again led to the prison bed connection. But I digress, as I often do, sleep or no sleep.

Less than seven hours ago, our little family grew a little more. Miles Robinson was born at 1235AM, weighing 6 pounds, 15 ounces. We have a beautiful, new baby boy. A boy. Even with a fifty-fifty chance, the realization of a baby boy truly boggles my mind. Honestly, I had no "feeling" regarding the baby's gender over the last nine months. None whatsoever. Boy or girl? With Harper, my spidey senses led me to believe she would be a boy. Obviously, I am no SpiderMan. Darn it. When pulled from the womb, I was so shocked by the lack of "boy parts" and fumbled making the big announcement as if I did not know the difference between a boy or girl. Seeing the lack of "boy parts", I still wanted to proclaim "IT'S A...BOY" but with the deepest of sympathies. Poor guy, I thought. Poor little guy. And then, with some prompting, I snapped out of it and realized my instincts had failed miserably and he was actually a she.

Fast forward three years. Back to current day. This morning. A boy. Still, it sounds strange. A boy. Three years saying 'she' cannot be changed. A boy. Very exciting. Right before my eyes lies years of sitting on the couch watching football games, playfully debating who is greater, Batman or Spider-Man, and standing in the back yard tossing a baseball back and forth. A boy. A little brother for an older sister who is incredibly independent and a Diva. Poor thing will no doubt be the victim of numerous older sister tea parties and unsanctioned makeovers. Still, very exciting. Even typing this he still sounds quite strange. She is still the norm; but He will soon be. However, I am preparing myself for a new word around our household - 'they' -

They pulled down the book shelf and destroyed the room.

They drew all over their bedroom walls with markers.

They clogged the toilet with Play-doh.

They were asked not to come back to school tomorrow.

They are not at church camp; they are in Cancun.

They are the reason why we smile every day.

Good times are ahead. It will be one amazing journey!

Welcome to the world Miles Robinson :)

Miles Robinson

2009-06-26T14:59:00.003-05:00

Miles Robinson

Thursday, June 25, 2009

@ 12:35 am

6 pounds, 15 ounces
19.5 inches long

Incoming!

2009-06-24T23:50:00.002-05:00

I type this blog within the walls of the hospital. Fourth floor, labor & delivery. Cheryl lays on her side mere feet away, waiting for another contraction and ultimately those last fun-filled ones which will plunge us head first into the world of another bundle of joy. Kid number two. Everything is good to go. All set, as they say in Beantown. Waiting, waiting, waiting... Funny how nine months filled with morning sickness, massive body changes and fatigue come to sudden slow motion as we both watch the monitor and clock. Waiting, waiting, waiting.... Soon we'll know, boy or girl? Waiting, waiting, waiting.....

It's almost midnight. Looks like June 25th will become a great family celebration in the years to follow.

Stay tuned.

Moments in Black History - Juneteenth: Better Late Than Never

2009-06-19T10:52:00.001-05:00

June 19, 1865:

In today's society, black people account for several inventions, milestones, and achievements---not to mention, words, slang, and phrases which have been used for hundreds and thousands of years to present day with little or no understanding of their origins. In fact, two phrases we use or hear almost everyday were insprired by black people several years ago on a day now known as Juneteenth.

Juneteenth is the oldest celebration of the ending of slavery, dating back to 1865 on June nineteenth. On that day, Union soldiers landed in Galveston, Texas, to spread news that the war had ended and all slaves were now free. The news came two and half years after President Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, which had become official January 1, 1863.

"When I rode my horse into Galveston, I delivered grand news to the Negro people," proclaimed Major General Gordan Granger. "As the Negro people gathered, I yelled 'FREEDOM! You are FREE! Free people by Lincoln and his Emancipation Proclamation! FREEDOM!"

The word 'freedom' echoed through the crowd. As the word reached the ears and hearts of the slaves in Galveston, some fell on their knees in prayer while others began to dance and sing. Years of slavery had come to an end, giving birth to a new day and a new life.

Excitement filled the air with the sounds of laughter, crying, and singing of old spirituals throughout the crowd of the newly free men and women. Finally, all prayers to end inequality and injustice were answered and freedom was now a reality.

Granger continued: "REJOICE FOR FREEDOM IS YOURS....which by the way happened, well, just about, well, two and a half years ago, but....well, something just came up, and well better late than never, Negroes. REJOICE!! FREEDOM!!"

Complete silence met Granger's last words. All clapping, cheering, praising, and singing came to an abrupt end. Scrappy Johnson, who had spent his last years hoeing weeds in the Texas sun, walked toward the smiling general. "Excuse me," asked Johnson, making his way through the crowd. "Excuse me, but did your white ass just say two and a half years ago and better late than never?? Excuse me? Better late than never my ass, bitch! And who you calling 'Negroes' bitch?"

Granger later admitted the next hours were much of a blur as he suddenly felt 2,439 hands pull him from his saddle, violently slamming him to the hard ground. Granger's horse followed. Granger noted in his journals the two and a half hours provided a lifetime of nightmares and sleepless nights. The pain, he recalls, was excruciating. The beating he and his horse endured that day was unlike any pain and suffering he had experienced during any Civil War battle. Granger was beaten with switches, extension cords, house shoes, whips, chains, radiator belts, water hoses, rocks and stones. Several times, his mouth was punch shut as he attempted to explain his tardiness.

Truth of the matter was Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation had little immediate impact on Texas due to the minimal number of Union troops to enforce the order. Finally, with the surrender of General Lee in April 1865, and the arrival of Granger's regiment, the forces were finally strong enough to overcome the resistance and execute the Proclamation.

Still the beating continued. "Bitch, you could have sent a postcard or passed a note or something! Two damn years? Oh no. And, in this hot ass Texas heat?Oh hell to the no, fool! You white people be trippin'! Better late than never, my ass!"

Eventually Granger and his horse managed to free themselves from the beatings as he mumbled an explanation to the enraged crowd. His words seemed to fall upon deaf ears as the mass again surrounded Granger for another beating. Finally, Granger pleaded "Don't kill the messenger!" Slowly a calmness fell about the scene.

"My apologies for the late news, my fine.....colored friends of African American heritage," moaned Granger. "You are all now free men and women. Please don't hit me or my horse again. I can no longer feel my lower extremities and painfully I believe I know the whereabouts of someone's left Timberland boot. Size 12. Now, do any of your fine, um, colored people have a first aid kit or Tylenol? Again, my apologies for the tardiness which resulted in extra unpaid work over the past two years, but today, this nineteenth of June, you are all free!"

Later that evening the joyful people of Galveston celebrated by kicking off the first annual Juneteenth bar-b-que featuring ribs, pork chops, and Earl Cambell sausage. General Granger, who was temporarily unable to eat solid foods, was forgiven and extended an invite to the festivities. He chuckled and moaned in delight as the phrases were re-told and met with laughter. Although, a white man initially uttered better late than never and don't kill the messenger, recognition is given to the black people of Galveston for introducing the phrases to today's culture due to their continued enjoyment when using the phrases over the years.

Today, every June nineteenth in Texas, African Americans continue to celebrate the historical day of freedom known as Juneteenth. Due to CPT, Colored People Time, some events may begin later than scheduled but, as we have all come to know, it is always better later than never.

This is a Moment in Black History.

"You can turn painful situations around through laughter. If you can find humor in anything, even poverty, you can survive it."

Bill Cosby

Genius, indeed.

2009-06-06T02:47:00.005-05:00

Everyone knows I am a Mac person. I have two Macs---a massive video production beast affectionately and appreciatively named Maxine; and my on-the-go, edit-on-the-fly baby, Apollonia. Apple products I believe were created on the 6th grade, and then on the seventh day God synced his iPod, surfed iTunes and produced a dope video called "What I did in just 7 days" with iMovie. I love Apple.

Tonight, my love for Apple reached another notch.

Now, certainly I have raved about this recent feature in previous blog entries. Surely I have - Don't call me Shirley. For those of you reading, that's Comedy 101, and, really, there really is no need to read further. But, for those still intrigued, I continue.... One of the latest features on iTunes is iTunes Genius. Perfect name. In a word, this thing is GENIUS!

Here's what iTunes Genius is all about:

Say you're listening to a song on iTunes. You're dancing and grooving. The volume is cranked. Like Kevin Bacon hearing Kenny Loggins at the dance, you are in music heaven. Since you dig this tune, I'll bet there are songs very similar throughout your library. Even some you may not even know exist in that massive collection of digitized funk. Well, with just one click of a button, your iTunes can create a playlist built around your song. Now, I've seen a magician pull a rabbit out of hat; pick the four of diamonds from a stack of cards; and make an elephant vanish underneath a large picnic blanket. Oh yes, I know magic. This feature, iTunes Genius, my friends is MAGIC. SHAZAM!!! With one click of the Genius button, an entire playlist appears, starting with the original groove-filled song followed by 25, 50 or even 1oo addition masterpieces. Incredible. Simply incredible. This playlist can now be saved and added to your collection of other great playlists, like "Friday Night Rules, Bitches", "White People Songs for Black People" and "Breakup Songs". What, you don't already have these playlists? Is just me??

The reason I am inspired to blog about this topic tonight:

General Public "Tenderness" + Genius button.

Um, as they say, the rest is history....

Apple, I love thee.

Eye Patch

2009-05-29T09:46:00.002-05:00

Not one to wear jewelry or other accessories, I have decided I may bring back the eye patch. If not an eye patch, I may start wearing a cape. Capes are cool. A cape and an eye patch. Two words: Straight pimpin'.

This blog is done.

Run, RUN, RUN!!!!

2009-05-29T02:58:00.002-05:00

Tonight, I completed a Nike+ challenge - 101 miles in 60 days.

Going into the challenge, I seriously never thought I'd actually run 101 miles; I thought 60, maybe 70 miles tops. In fact, at the start of the week with a little less than 20 miles to go, reaching the goal was a stretch, I thought. Here's a little bragging, I suppose. In two days, I managed to run 17 miles in two consecutive days---8.37 and 9.10 miles.

With legs like Jell-O, I have reached my goal with 2 days to spare AND took the top spot on the leader board. I'm tired. Exhausted. Never think you can't achieve. It's in you. Always think of the relief and joy awaiting after reaching your goal.

Man, a massage is gonna be soooooo nice tomorrow :)

I Hate Clutter.

2009-04-17T03:04:00.003-05:00

Allow me to go on record---it is official---WE NEED A NEW HOUSE.

After five years, we have outgrown our 1,800, 3-bedroom square foot house. It is simply amazing how a toddler can take up so much space. Amazing. With another on the way, um, what will become of our home. I hate clutter. Unfortunately, I come by it honestly since my mom has a Master's degree. My mom has more "stuff" in my parent's home. The garage is filled with material for her flower business, not to mention useless items she got a bargain on at various stores, like Hobby Lobby and of course Wal-Mart. My gosh, have I become my mother? I hate clutter.

I don't put the blame solely on my shoulder however. Back to the 3-year old---oh, and there is my wife... It has come to the point where walking through the darkened household is like walking through a field of land mines. Is it just me, or is one of the goals of a toddler to randomly place toys and objects throughout every area of a house? Right now, I am sitting on a deluxe Tinkerbell tea set. Sadly, it has become commonplace and the pain of a deluxe Tinkerbell tea set firmly pressed against my underside is just another part of living in clutter.

The house has exploded. Too much everything everywhere. One of my resolutions for 2009 was to keep the house a bit more tidy by picking up something out of place with every exit of a room, returning said object to its appropriate whereabouts. Easy enough. Um, not so much. Under my plan, I'd need to leave a room about 7,628 times to feel resolved. Four months later, I have abandoned my resolution. I'm done. I am defeated. The demons of this household are stronger than I. I am only one man. Alone. Right now, just me and the tea cup I'm sitting on.

I am rambling now.

Back to it - WE NEED A NEW HOUSE cuz I hate clutter.

Easter what?!?

2009-04-13T11:26:00.003-05:00

This past weekend was Easter. Real quick - just a quick something about it without getting all "religion on you" because I am not one to speak religion or politics:

As a child Easter, I am lucky my parents instilled within me and my sisters the true meaning of Easter. It was not until I reached junior high when I discovered there was some backstory involving a human-sized bunny who delivered colored eggs and candy. Don't get me wrong, we weren't completely out of the loop on egg hunts, Easter baskets and new threads for church. We got all those cool Easter things. However, there weren't any trips to the mall to sit on a bunny's lap, telling what color eggs we wanted, if that in fact is the protocol. Nor did we wake Easter morning to discover presents from said Easter bunny. Years later, hearing friends' childhood tales of the Easter bunny blew my mind. Blew it! "Easter bunny....presents....photo ops at the mall..." Those tales of merriment made me think my sisters and I got a bum deal at home. Were the parental units holding out on us? Did dad simply not want to put on the Bunny costume and hop around the backyard planting eggs?

Nah.

Today, I am very thankful to my parents for establishing the true meaning of Easter for my sisters and I, even if it meant singing "Sister Mary she came runnin' and searching for her Lord..."; listening to my little sisters and youth Sunday schoolers deliver their Easter speeches; and spending a good part of our Easter Sundays sitting in church hour after hour. (If you've been to a Black church, you fully understand this.)

Yesterday, we did not do anything Easter bunny-ish with our daughter. Right now she's probably hearing about the Easter bunny from her daycare friends. Damn. I'll bet she's really pissed. Thirty years from now she'll thank me. Until then, I'd better grab a gift or something on the way home from work and tell her it's something I found at the office that Santa must've left hidden until now. Man, can I parent or what?

Rescue Aid Society

2009-03-26T20:05:00.002-05:00

Every month or so, Harper's interest turns to a new movie. Currently, she is captivated by the adventures of brave mouse couple Miss Bianca and Bernard in Disney's "The Rescuers". Truthfully, I am thrilled she has developed a love for Disney. I have loved all things Mickey since I was her age. Unfortunately, I have forgotten large portions of the cartoons and songs. This month I was re-introduced to one of the favorites, the "Rescue Aid Society" sung by the League of Rescuers before each meeting.

Stand at attention and sing -

R-E-S-C-U-E
Rescue Aid Society
Heads held high
Touch the sky
You mean everything to me

In a fix, in a bind
Call on us anytime
We'll appear from nowhere
Mighty are we

R-E-S-C-U-E
Rescue Aid Society
Honesty, loyalty
We pledge to thee

R-E-S-C-U-E
Rescue Aid Society
Heads held high
Touch the sky
You mean everything to me

In a jam, in a scrape
And you think 'no escape'
Do not fear, we'll be here
Courageous are we

R-E-S-C-U-E
Rescue Aid Society
Heads held high
Touch the sky
Our hearts we pledge to thee

Catching Up

2009-03-20T11:45:00.002-05:00

About a month ago, I made a promise to myself and my fans [insert laughter here] that I would blog more. In doing so, I would blog every week even if my entry was something simple like "I went to WalMart and cursed myself for going to WalMart today". Since I haven't blogged this week, and have nothing exciting to report, this is my blog for the week:

I went to WalMart Wednesday night and cursed myself for going to WalMart Wednesday night.

Daylight Saving Trap

2009-03-08T17:00:00.008-05:00

During the wee hours of the morning, clocks across the nation magically "spring forward" an hour, essentially skipping an hour. Poof, vanished. Gone.

This morning while stretching the sleep off, I knocked something out of bed onto the floor. It was not my iPhone, or the TiVo remote, or the DVD controller. What was it? I crawled out and looked under the bed. There it was. Amazing. It was the stereo remote control.

Amazing because this particular remote had mysteriously disappeared some 12 months ago. To be more precise, late one Saturday night, the last time the household clocks were manipulated for, yes, Daylight Saving Time. Now you too are amazed, right?

Although the scientific evidence is not available to help prove my following theory, this is what I believe happened:

During the last "spring forward", I theorize the stereo remote was somehow trapped within an alternate dimension in time. I cannot explain how the remote fell victim to the time change black hole, nor can I explain why other objects were not lost (perhaps others were however), nor can I explain why the object did not find its way home this past fall when we turned the clocks back an hour thus reopening the theorized dimensional door. True, my theory has holes, but so does "Lost" and I still happily watch it scratching my head every Wednesday night. Nonetheless, somehow the remote was trapped between the hours of 2AM & 259AM over the past year. Last night's time change, unlocked, or reversed, whatever happened and, POOF, the remote reappeared under my pillow just where it was last placed a year prior. Amazing.

Looking outside with the sun exactly where it was twenty-five hours ago, I wonder if something new is missing following last night's clock change? What is gone? What item has been trapped inside some alternate universe as of 2AM this morning? What.....wait a second.... OMG...........MY LEFT FOOT IS GONE!!!!

Damn, Daylight Saving Time.

Genius. Brilliant.

2009-03-04T01:00:00.007-06:00

Apple I love thee.

I am a Mac person. I converted several years ago after buying my first Mac, a Mac Pro, primarily for editing video projects. As time went on, my beefy Mac Pro, which I named Maxine, became the computer I utilized for everything. Not wanting to fill its capacities with nonsense since it was for the video business I bought a Mac Book Pro, Apple-lonia.

I love Apple products. Everything is 'magical'. Really, is there a better word? I think not. As the advertisements proclaim: It just works. Every night I find another reason to love Apple. Tonight, I re-discovered another: The Genius thingy on iTunes.

Since it's introduction, I've toyed with it, creating various playlists from my favorite songs. Each time I find myself sitting in front of my computer captivated by the greatness of each Genius produced playlist. Seriously, how does it know?? How does it do it??

For those of you who don't know about Genius... With the new iTunes there is a button, the Genius. After selecting a song in your collection, by clicking the Genius button your iTunes begins finding "similar" songs you may like based on your selected song. Instantly, iTunes creates a playlist of songs, again, all based on your original song choice. Let me tell you something - it is NEVER off. Seriously, how does it know? Amazing. Incredible. Brilliant.

I should have gone to bed an hour ago, but here I am listening to music. Tomorrow morning's reason for hitting the snooze button repeatedly: ADELE's "Chasing Pavements" + Genius.

Apple, I love you.

Even if this MobileMe sync/cloud crap isn't working 100%.

BTW fix that soon.

I am legend.

2009-03-03T02:08:00.002-06:00

It's hit my house.

The flu...

Since Friday night, I've found seclusion in the living room while the sick people live in the back bedroom, watching Disney cartoons and laying in bed. I feel like Will Smith on "I am Legend" - I am alone, talking to myself and ever now and then see a zombie. It's frightening.

Go away flu.

#1 - Moments in Black History

2009-02-27T16:15:00.004-06:00

Today is February 28th, and this year marks the last day of February. Sadly the final day we celebrate Black History Month. After today, all Motown and rap CDs return to regular price; PBS television returns to regular programming; and CPT is not as easily dismissed by employers. Black History Month comes to an end.

Five years ago, I started writing my "Moments in Black History" sending to about 50 or 60 close friends and family. By the end of the first month and over the next years, my mailing list grew. This year, my distribution list contained a little over 600 people. The list includes friends and family, friends of friends of friends, people I've only spoken to online or telephone, people giggling in office cubicles, families of friends, janitors, sportscasters, singers, actors, and many who I'd never imagine meeting or would read anything I'd written. To phrase it simply, it's been fun. Hopefully the underlying messages are understood by all: Even though we are different, we are all very similar. No matter your color, age, religion or views on politics, know that the only thing that matters is living a good life filled with love, happiness and respect. We all put our pants on the same way; we all eat in the same manner; and we should all raise our kids not to curse at teachers or bring guns to school. This is a great big world, but I know when I am playing tea party with Harper and Cheryl, playing Guitar Hero with Brad and Jeff or laughing with my family and friends, all thing are good. Always remember: Take care of yourself, make a difference and the embrace the differences in others---Everything else will fall into place.

This is my personal favorite BHM. Being a child of the 80s, this one has a special place in my heart. Perhaps it reminds me of high school, friends, living at home, mom & dad---the simplicities of life. More people request this BHM than any others. Maybe it gives them the same feelings. Maybe it reminds us all not to complicate life 'cause it moves pretty fast and if you don't stop to look around every once in awhile, you could miss it.

Thank you for the kind compliments over the past month. I am flattered to have been glad a funny spot in your day. More importantly, sincerely from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading :)

One more important thing: Do not think because my birthday is coming up you can double up both my birthday and Black History Month gift. TWO GIFTS, TWO OCCASIONS DAMMIT! (Thanks for the Carlton Banks shirt, JR - HA!)

Enjoy life and live every day to the fullest! pc

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Moments in Black History – Save Ferris!

May 1986:

During the spring of 1986, director John Hughes, following on the heels of his highly successful movie, The Breakfast Club, introduced the world to arguably one of the greatest adolescent cinematic icons of all-time, Ferris Bueller. The movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off became an overnight sensation with a following consisting of fans both young and old. The movie made its director a household name, as well as the names ‘Broderick’, ‘Cameron’, and ‘Mr. Rooney’.

Creating the cinematic masterpiece, however, was not without its ups and downs. Hughes struggled with intricate plot details; characters seemed too unbelievable; and, unlike other Hughes’ films, the movie basically lacked a certain “punch”. That is until a chance meeting in downtown Chicago catapulted the movie into orbit and changed the cinematic landscape as we know it forever.

“We had just finished the Wayne Newton song in the parade,” recalls Hughes. “Admittedly, it was lackluster and boring. At that point, I thought the movie was a disaster. Somehow I had managed to piece together a plotline and salvage enough actual film for a ‘straight to video’ deal. It was disappointing coming off the success of The Breakfast Club.”

Hughes was correct: Absent from the movie was the impact of a Long Duck Dong or Molly Ringwald. It lacked something special – but, what, he could not identify.

While wrapping the parade shoot, Hughes overheard a Black man yelling obscenities and hurling complaints at the cast and crew. The Black man had stood in disgust for most of the afternoon, shaking his head at the uninspired, mostly white, crowd during the entire shoot. His name was Walt “Wayne Wayne” Shakey.

“I watched that white boy lip-synch some old Wayne Newton slow jam,” said Shakey. “The song was whack. Who the hell wants to hear a Wayne Newton song at a parade? Who the hell is Wayne Newton? What kinda parade is this - a retirement home parade? Don’t parades have bands and cheerleaders and music and people clapping their damn hands and dancing? Most importantly, where is the damn Black people?”

Director Hughes took mental notes of Shakey’s criticisms:

“Who the hell cares if this little, spoiled white boy skips school? And why is the principal busting his ass searching high and low for this white boy? Tell me – if the boy was black, this wouldn’t be no comedy movie, now would it? It would be called ‘Terrell Skips School…to hell with it, he’s Black’, an after-school special about drugs and getting a damn GED. This movie ain’t for everybody. It’s another damn white movie.”

Shakey’s words slapped Hughes across the face. Instantly, Hughes realized what his movie was missing: Color.

At that point, production was 95% complete with only the main characters needed in the remaining scenes. Despite filming in Chicago, the movie contained only five Black people: two in Bueller’s Economic class; one passing newspapers outside the auto garage; one, in the background when Broderick and company blatantly ignore the one waving the newspapers; and, a fifth Black, who ironically, helps steal Cameron’s dad’s car at the auto garage where the one Black is waving a newspaper and one of the others is walking in the background.

Thanks to Shakey, Hughes had an inspired new direction.

Immediately, shifting into gear, hoping to pump life back into his struggling film, director Hughes changed the downtown scenes from beginning to end. He changed the script; he found new music; he reset the scene; and lastly he pleaded that Shakey gather all the Black people he could find in an hour and meet at the top of nearby stairs.

“For the record,” Shakey made sure to add, “we initially had a problem with the new music – but since they only had three CDs---Phil Collins “No Jacket Required”, Pat Benatar “Love Is a Battlefield”, and the Beatles---we agreed on the Beatles. Who the hell can dance to that ‘Sussudio’ shit? Obviously, they didn’t have no Black music.”

Less than twenty minutes later, Shakey returned with eleven cousins, four brother-in-laws, five aunts, six sisters, and a few other Black people he found waiting in line for the Oprah Winfrey show. Hughes provided the group only one instruction: Add some color to this movie.

“When the music started---that ‘Twist and Shout’ song,” said Shakey, “we all just got our Black groove on---again, despite it being the Beatles, not Run DMC or somebody. We still got down!”

Amazingly, no choreography was needed for the magic captured on camera that afternoon.

“We as Black people did what all Black people knew at that time: The Thriller.”

Notably, before the electric slide (“the official dance of the Negro people”) and somewhere after “The Hustle”, Black people’s dances came directly from the Michael Jackson catalog. Considering the Beatles’ song and its beat, the “Thriller” was most suitable. Had the scene involved gang members, a pool hall, and/or a heavy guitar riff, the Black people’s code of dance conduct would have activated into a “Beat It” mode; conversely, had the steps illuminated with every move accompanied with a heavy bass line, the “Billie Jean” would have been required. Therefore, following the appropriate guidelines in the Black code of dance conduct, Shakey and the Black dancers engaged accordingly. With no formal training or practice, every Black person on the set that day recreated Michael Jackson’s dance moves flawlessly from his award-winning “Thriller” video.

The scene was a huge success! With only one take, Hughes and his crew shot the entire scene from beginning to end, including song, dance, marching bands, dancing girls, an excited crowd filled sporadically with Black people whom Shakey recruited, and of course, the “Thriller” dancers. It was beautiful! Pure cinematic bliss.

Since its release in 1986, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off has earned over $100 million worldwide. The movie is still aired on national television; children of a newer generation can quote their favorite lines; and its stars, Matthew Broderick and Alan Ruck, are recognizable all over the world.

Meanwhile, still living in Chicago, Walt “Wayne Wayne” Shakey lives a normal life, only recognized in neighborhood barber shops and malls as one of the “Thriller” dancers. Outside his neighborhood, however, strangers do not ask for his autograph or pose next to him in pictures. Little do they realize this quiet, brilliant man single-handedly rescued John Hughes and the ‘80s when he, dare I say, saved Ferris.

“Hate is too great a burden to bear.
It injures the hater more than it injures the hated.”

Coretta Scott King

#2 - Moments in Black History

2009-02-25T15:25:00.007-06:00

Two more days of Black History Month. This year we don't get the extra day. Damn the man. Only once every four years. It could be worse, I suppose; the man could take one away every four years, right? We shall overcome.

This BHM is another where I put my hands on the keyboard, fell into a coma-like state with glazed over eyes like a possessed being, and then fifteen minutes later the story below stared back at me from on the screen. To everyone who has emailed, texted and called, here it is -"Moments in Black History - The German Shepherd".

Since I was a kid, my favorite television show has been "Leave it to Beaver". Funny mentioning arguably the whitest show ever made while discussing "Moments in Black History"---although I'd squabble "Happy Days" beats it. Even though it was way beyond my age, an oldie, I absolutely loved the antics of Beaver and Wally, Eddie and Lumpy, and the gang. One episode that always stood out was one where Eddie's dog attacked Beaver. To some, it was quite innocent as Eddie's German Shepherd chased the Beave ripping his new suit pants from the behind. Oh boy... Needless to say, Ward and June were not pleased. What concerned me more than Beaver's ripped slacks was the fact A DOG actually attacked poor Beaver Cleaver, who was only attempting to break up a fight. Couple that episode with years of watching PBS Civil Rights Movement specials made me realize one thing: German Shepherds - don't trust 'em. If they'd attack Beaver Cleaver, they ain't right. Screw you, Lassie.

Also, I do this every year because it is necessary---a great friend of mine and voice of the Houston Rockets, John Paul Stevenson, enjoyed this BHM so much he actually produced an audio version. Special thanks to Stevenson Productions and some very talented Memphis DJs for lending their voices and transforming my words into an incredible piece. Thank you again, JPS!

If you really want a good laugh, listen here:

Moments in Black History - The German Shepherd

This is for you, Beaver Cleaver, and anyone who has felt the unpleasant teeth of a dog. Especially those who were only trying to eat at a restaurant, drink from a water fountain or sit on a bus seat.

Enjoy.........pc

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Moments in Black History – The German Shepherd

August 26, 1985:

Born on a small farm on the outskirts of Philadelphia, he was feared to be too small and too weak to survive through the night. But he was strong and courageously fought hour by hour, day by day, until he was healthy and strong and out of harm’s reach. He grew and became the favorite amongst family and friends. Sadly there was no space for him and the family was forced to give him away. Less than a month later, a black man named Michael Jones discovered the same fondness and joy for the strong, little survivor. Falling in love instantly, Jones began the adoption process. Jones newly adopted bundle of happiness was a full-blooded German Shepherd puppy he would name Gibson---the runt of the litter and a true survivor. Both he and Michael returned to Philadelphia to begin a new life together. Michael Jones is the first black man to own a German Shepherd.

“What the f*ck was that dumb ass, no history reading ass mutha f*cka thinking,” exclaimed Jones’ neighbor, Wiley Cunningham. “A German Shepherd? Why the hell does a black man want a German Sheppard? There is a mutha f*ckin’ history of violence against us Black people involving the po-lice and German Shepherds! That mutha f*cka ain’t seen the last hours of Roots?”

The history of violence Cunningham refers is known as the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960’s.

Since the 18th and 19th centuries, the German Shepherds were true working dogs. Shepherds of Germany used the dogs for herding sheep and cattle. Max von Stephanitz, who improved the methods of herding sheep and training the dogs, is credited for establishing the breed as it is known today. Stephanitz envisioned a dog of incorruptible character, great working ability, loyal, and highly trainable. Over time, railroad transportation and the decline of raising sheep formed a “modernization” in the breed as German Shepherds became companions for both the military and police officers. During the 1960’s Civil Rights Movement, police officers used German Shepherds to “uphold” authority and manage peaceful marchers. Sadly, German Shepherds followed commands thus being captured in historical clips as violent animals victimizing peaceful black marchers.

An avid viewer of PBS television, Jones’ ex-girlfriend, Shawna Wright, admitted, despite the playful pouncing and wagging tail, she refused to let her guard down with the dog:

“Hell no - that German bitch will bite my ass! You must be outta your damn mind if you think I’ll turn my back on that dog! Fetch a bone, fetch a ball….fetch a piece of my ebony ass, if he gets some Civil Rights/bite a Negro flashback!”

Although Wright and many of Jones’ family and friends share the same beliefs, Jones stands behind his decision to adopt the puppy, stating he understands their concerns, but hopes they realize Gibson had nothing to do with the actions of his ancestors during the Civil Rights Movement just as many white people today. His aunt, Georgia Bean, was the only person to defend his decision, that is, until an unfortunate incident at Jones’ home which retriggered her own personal experiences of the 1960’s:

“Baby, I marched in the sixties,” Bean notes, “right alongside Reverend Martin and several others. I was thirty-six, unbreakable, dedicated, and strong…..until they [the police] released them dogs on us. Child, we came in peace; but them dogs just wanted a piece…a piece of black ass! I saw it then and I seen it now baby.”

The incident happened when Bean stopped by Jones house to water plants and feed the dog while Jones attended business meetings in New York.

“I knew the day was off to a bad start when I forgot my key,” Bean remembers. “I had to go to the backyard and find the spare. When I got back there, Gibson just stood up and started eyeing me like he didn’t know who I was. He looked like that ole yellow dog in that white folks’ movie---the one where that white boy had to shoot him. I kept trying to talk to him and let him hear my voice, but he just stood there showing his teeth and actin’ all crazy.”

Unlike past experiences, the dog’s demeanor did not change, and Bean decided against approaching and petting the dog. Gibson began ferociously snarling and barking at Bean, lounging back and forth, like a wild animal. Fortunately, the dog was chained to his dog house mere feet from Bean.

Bean continues: “I was shocked. But I just thought the dog was just hungry so I went on looking for the key, letting him bark and carry on. Then….oh child….then….then it happened...”

As Bean searched through the tomato plants for the spare key, the sprinkler system activated, spraying her against the house with a high pressure stream of water, knocking her to her feet. Within an instant, Gibson broke free and attacked Bean.

“Oh child, that dog bit my black ass! I know….I know that dog had a flashback! That damn dog thought we was in Alabama or Mississippi 1964. And I know that water triggered something deep, deep, deep inside his canine soul, like old police dog skills or something. Then…oh child, it didn’t stop there….”

Police officers patrolling the neighborhood alley witnessed the incident and entered the yard.

“Ooh, child, those police was good to see until I realized two things: One, they was white; and, two, they thought I was breaking in the house. They pulled out them sticks and beat my black ass. I had the dog biting my ass and billy clubs whoppin’ up my ass too.”

Jones returned the following day to release his aunt from the local hospital. She spent the night as a precaution after being treated. The police department dismissed the incident as a case of mistaken identity.

To this day, Bean refuses to visit her nephew’s house and owns a cat. Meanwhile, Jones and Gibson live happily – but have since relocated to Simi Valley, California. Jones now dates a white woman. She owns a Chihuahua.

This is a Moment in Black History.

“Racism is not an excuse not do the best you can.” Arthur Ashe

#3 - Moments in Black History

2009-02-25T01:33:00.008-06:00

Seven down, three to go....

This one was a difficult decision. Numbers one and two are pretty clear cut, but I wrestled with this decision. Actually, I am still deciding.......

OK...ok....ok....um... Decided.

Here is my #3 "Moment in Black History" from my collection of BHMs. This one is a favorite simply because stereotypes make me giggle.

Enjoy.......pc

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Moments in Black History – Affirmative Action

January 13, 1989:

Seeking a new path in life, Devon Harris quietly packed his cubicle at Imperial One Advertising Agency, leaving behind three tremendous years of remarkable service. His departure, unlike those in the past, marks a painful blow to the company. Certainly, his absence will leave an enormous void; and many wonder how, or if, the agency will ever recover. Since 1986, Harris had been a crucial ingredient contributing to the growth, success, and achievements of Imperial One Advertising Agency. Contrary to water cooler jokes regarding discrimination and affirmative action, Harris was hired based on merit, talent, knowledge, and his overall character. As noted in both Black History and the company newsletter, Devon Harris is first and only Black person employed at Imperial One Advertising Agency.

“We loved having Devon here,” said Patti Whiteside, a fellow employee, who was the first to orientate Harris into the firm. “He definitely brought something special to our little world. From the very first minute, I knew we’d get along because he can relate. I mean, they work us secretaries like slaves.”

Welcomed with open arms by his new co-workers, Harris soon became a favorite amongst the staff.

Tom Whitehead remembers Harris as a kind, thoughtful, smart, and “un-lazy” office mate. “He always got his work done. No matter how difficult the task or how long it took. He never goofed off or danced, even during February, when I’m sure he had a lot of stuff going on. I cannot say enough about Devon.”

“I was always surprised,” said Glen Whitesboro, who shared his cubicle area with Harris. “I was always surprised that I never really heard a lot of noise from his side of the cubicle. He was quiet. Didn’t really talk a lot and kept to himself basically. No loud rap music or yelling on the phone or anything. He was just like a normal guy. Weird.”

Within a matter of days, Harris became the most sought after member of the team. Despite lacking knowledge in many of the company’s in’s and out’s, co-workers still requested his knowledge and insight regarding both work related topics and life in general.

“My group was stuck on this one campaign,” recalled Jill Whitelaw, Lead Advertising Executive. “We were going nowhere and running out of time. Then, I thought, ‘Wait a second, the answer is right in front of me’. Immediately, I found Devon. I don’t know if he was being shy, or just didn’t want to show off his knowledge, but with some reluctance he answered all my questions. I mean, we had no clue how to advertise a fried chicken restaurant. His contribution was invaluable.”

Charlene Whitewood also recalls Harris “shy” nature:

“One night after work, we all met for drinks. Well, I was very curious about his, um, well, just curious about something, and talked Devon into a movie afterwards. Wanting to appease my intellect, he pretended he wanted to see Rain Man, despite my suggestions to see something easier for him to understand, like Who Framed Roger Rabbit? or even something he could relate, like Glory. But, being the gentleman he was, he insisted on seeing Rain Man. Well, throughout the movie, I kept reminding Devon that Dustin Hoffman’s character had a mental disorder, not a super power or E.S.P. Obviously, this must’ve embarrassed him because despite my aggressive flirting and obvious hints, Devon would not come back to my house. Even the slow jam mix tape didn’t work like the Time Life operator promised.”

Another co-worker, Dirk Whitestein recalls another “helpful” piece of advice Harris offered:

“I was at my wits end. I’d done everything I could think of and researched my fanny off, but still came up with nothing. Then, it suddenly hit me like a chocolate pie in the face: Devon. We talked for about thirty minutes. He seemed a little reluctant, but still nodded and shook his head with every question. He helped make a critical decision in my life. Days later, I am happy to say that I purchased the best car stereo EVER, and I’ve been one happy camper ever since. And the Notorious Biggie Boy CD I bought is sweet too. I will really miss his insight.”

Obvious to the cultural difference, many employees did not feel a true bond with Harris. However, George White, office temp turned part-time employee, believed he truly connected with Harris.

“Yo,” said George, “me and my home chill slice D-Von-Rock was tizz-ight like a mo-fo. When I said dope things like ‘my bad’ and ‘get jiggy’, D was totally feeling it, and we connected like that, boo. He’s outie now, but, yo, D, I ain’t mad at ya, playa – my boy’s off holdin’ it down in another area code. Represent playa. Word to the mutha.”

Sadly, days following Harris’ departure, White was terminated without cause. Although White is in fact Caucasian, he claims the termination was due to discrimination since he “grew up on the skreets, fool.” White is actively seeking a lawyer to “do some representin’” on his behalf.

Harris left the company in the same manner he worked daily---without uttering a single word. In fact, co-workers were indicated of his absence merely by an empty cubicle the following Monday morning. Rumor has it that Harris left before work hours to avoid shedding tears. Many believe Harris left to pursue a career in music, dancing, or professional sports; while others fear he may be the victim of gang violence.

“No one knew where he lived,” admitted Joel Whitehouse, “but we’ve all seen movies about gangs and carjackers. Those movie scenes, I assume, were just grim images of his everyday life. What a frightening piece of reality Apple pie. The ghetto is a dangerous place. We all hope he’s not dead. It’s sad. Even sadder, he left right before our office basketball season.”

Days later, the office remains saddened. The old cubicle remains empty. “We miss him,” cried Pam White-Walters. “Maybe one day we’ll see him on the news or maybe even Cops.”

Devon Harris earned respect and left behind an office-full of admirers. Company owner, DaMann Whiteman, admits his absence is painful, but the agency must move forward – but, if he does reappear, Harris will be welcomed back “no questions asked”.

Imperial One Advertising Agency is currently searching to fill Harris’ spot.

Preferably on or before Cinco de Mayo.

This is a Moment in Black History.

"Like an unchecked cancer, hate corrodes the personality and eats away its vital unity. Hate destroys a man's sense of values and his objectivity. It causes him to describe the beautiful as ugly and the ugly as beautiful, and to confuse the true with the false and the false with the true." Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

#4 - Moments in Black History

2009-02-24T04:02:00.005-06:00

We've come so far. Sadly, the month is almost over. Four more "Moments in Black History" remain. Before it comes to end, however, we must get a little serious. We must not forget the pain. Life was never the same after these events. This is a day I will never forget. I cried myself to sleep that night.

Enjoy.......pc

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Moments in Black History – The LA Riots

Los Angeles, 1992:

It was frightening. It was tragic. It was a horrifying. It was justice. Can we all just get along?

On April 29, 1992, rioting broke out in Los Angeles. Across the city, raging fires burned out of control; innocent bystanders were pulled from vehicles and beaten; and stores were vandalized, looted, and destroyed.

"I was scared for my life," said Evon Sheppard of Los Angeles. "We knew it was coming after the announcement. We all knew, but no one expected this outcome."

Indeed.

The announcement came from NBC months prior when the nation was told the 1992 season would be the last for "The Cosby Show".

"We had only one show," screamed Randolph Mitchell, while carrying a television and VCR from a looted Korean department store, "and now those bastards are pulling the plug! Now what?! We can't even find reruns of 'Good Times'…….anywhere!"

Since 1984, "The Cosby Show" was a major television success story. The sitcom, airing on NBC, was the brain child of Bill Cosby, the creator of Fat Albert and countless comedy routines and books. Many critics say "The Cosby Show" saved the NBC network by solidifying Nielsen ratings and establishing the network's Thursday night "Must See TV'" lineup for years.

"It was just good television," explains Carol Knight, of Simi Valley, California. "We all watched it, every Thursday night. It was fabulous!"

The show was centered on the Huxtable family, an upper-middle-class family living in Brooklyn, New York. Cosby played patriarch Heathcliff Huxtable, who, with his wife Clair played brilliantly by Phylicia Rashad, presided over a raucous yet loving house hold of four+ children. In every way, they were an utterly typical American sitcom family, with the notable exception that they were African American and upscale professionals: Cliff being a doctor, and Clair a lawyer. The comedy celebrated the foibles of American family life first and foremost; that the family happened to be African American was secondary. Both African Americans and whites adored "The Cosby Show".

"I can't believe this is the last season," says an emotional fan. "I never missed it. Every Thursday night, I'd laugh so hard at Rudy or Theo or Cockroach. I've never laughed so hard. Especially that episode when they went to the studio and chilled with Stevie Wonder! Baby…baby…baby…..jammin’ on the one!! That was hilarious!"

Initially, the sitcom as not quickly accepted in some African-American circles, who argued the characters were "too white".

"Mutha f*ckas didn't ever cuss or talk like black people," said John Hartfield, "but I came around. Especially when they showed Denise. Damn, she was fiz-zine, fool! If I went to that college, I’d be trying to get up in them pants, yo! And those episodes when they lip synched Ray Charles music....sh*t was funny. But, come on, man, are there really black doctors and lawyers? Get real."

Some criticized the show for presenting an unrealistic portrayal of an African-American family as wealthy and not addressing black-white relations. Others felt that the show was simply a portrayal of what African-Americans could potentially become. They also felt that portraying an African-American family as a normal family with normal family issues was generally a positive contribution to issues of race in the United States.

Despite the criticism, "The Cosby Show" had a successful and award winning eight year run. The show earned three Emmys as well as three NAACP Image Awards and a Peabody Award. The show has been praised for its portrayal of positive child rearing methods.

"Man, I can't believe is going off the air. F*ck NBC and all this bullsh*t! First, 'D'ffrent Strokes' now this."

The riots lasted about four days and shocked viewers across the world as parts of the Los Angeles went up in flames. Open gun battles were televised as Korean shopkeepers took to using firearms to protect their businesses from crowds of looters. A white truck driver was dragged from his vehicle and severely beaten by an angry mob as the news helicopters hovered above, with the police nowhere to be seen (several assailants were later arrested and sent to prison). Estimates of the material damage varied between about $800 million and $1 billion. Approximately 600 fires were set, and about 10,000 people were arrested. The season finale of "The Cosby Show" aired April 30.

"Sh*t, I didn't even get to see the damn show," admits Reginald Holmes, "due to the fact of my unforeseen and unscheduled incarceration. But my brother and his family said they watched it. On a brand new Zenith TV. Thirty-six inches too baby."

As fires raged and stores destroyed, one man came forth that day to calm the storm. On television he begged a torn nation to stop the violence and begin healing. His name was Rodney King. Ironically, on that same day, an all-white jury acquitted four LAPD officers---Stacy Koon, Laurence Powell, Theodore Briseno, and Timothy Wind---who had been videotaped delivering a brutal beating to King, an African American motorist. (Note: In this writer’s opinion, anyone with the last name 'Koon', watch with caution, especially if you are black.)

Today, reruns of "The Cosby Show" can be seen on Nick At Night. "Good Times" was recently added following the Michael Jackson unrest.

This is a Moment in Black History.

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." Maya Angelou