Just Hit Me

Moments ago, Posh called me informing me that she has recently been looking at her phone and catching 12:34 more and more often. She then proceeded to tell me that she was slightly tipsy and she was about to use the restroom. She promised to call me back, then promptly hung up. The call was less than a minute.

And just as quickly, she managed to send a text about friends not letting friends dial or text drunk.The item that just hit me is not the truth of this statement. Rather, the actual physical environment where this is all transpiring is the source of my sudden awareness. Why is there liquor at a baby shower?

Is it me or is it just a little suspect that there is actually booze at an event welcoming a new child into the world? The mom can't drink. Why should the baby be hearing clinking glasses? I mean maybe a afterparty for all the lasses relieved they are not yet experiencing the predicament as the celebrated. But at the actual shindig? It just doesn't sit right with me for some reason. Even if I allow for the light beer, wine, or even champagne, shouldn't the sisterhood keep one another from getting out of hand. Tis not the village I want raising my child.

Actually I think that's my old Adventist West Indian man gene speaking. Forget I said anything.

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Now playing: Darien Brockington - Sacrifice (ft. Yahzarah)

Brand New Jones

Last night, I was talking to my new work buddy Secret Stripper (This name will probably be temporary until I know her better). Anyway, we got onto talking about how great it is to wear special clothes, but how few the opportunities are to appropriately don them. She is getting to wear something for her birthday celebration this weekend but there were at least two other items she wanted a chance to wear, including a black cocktail dress.

I say this because my aunt's text messsage has disrupted my sefl-centered plans. She invited me to church and something about a family invitation to church is something I could not deny. Not only do I feel like it would be bad spiritual karma, but also the questions from the fam would escalate to serious levels of suspicion. Best to avoid the headache. I immediately had a crisis cause all my dress clothes are in New York. Then I remembered I did have some khakis and a pair of brown dress shoes I never wear.

Then fashion man went into overdrive. First I was trying to figure out the perfect shirt since I don't like wearing ties without blazers. I had settled on a striped one to offer some summer color. Then I remembered I had a seersucker blazer I had been dying to wear since last year. And now I am going crazy cause I think I found the perfect tie to go with it all.

What is it about the "outfit" that makes every one feel so great? Is it just that the clothes are new or special? Or is it the fact that we know we have spent the time to look our best and feel that way? It's definitely a spirit lifter. Now to see if the outfit actually makes sense.

It's A Beautiful Day

....in the neighborhood. Or at least it was.

I nitially planned on writing this after I came back from my run. But the run bruised my body more than I expected. I was still proud of my shape, round as it might be. But once I walked through the door, my body seemed to respond with relief and released whatever fury it had held back. I felt like I lost five pounds in the shower, just by eliminating the grime that accumulated after running it unexpectedly humid weather. The Gatorade was finished in a matter of seconds.

Today was probably the best day that I have gone running. The sun wasn't too hot. Nothing was off base. At times I felt as if I was starring in my own Nike commercial, proud of my form. Oh but my fellow pedestrians were kind of annoying. This isn't even a big town so I thought people would be more friendly like they are in the town where I went to school. Even though they're racist, they still gave me a smile and a nod. These guys got out the way like I had the plague. Maybe the black guy running so hard, and seemingly with purpose set something off for them. You would think it was a real city.

But as I walked home after purchasing my replenishing liquids, I heard a child over my iPod. As I looked to my left there was a little girl who had spotted me far down the block and was saying hi. I initially was tempted to walk past. No need alarming mom about the random guy walking. But she kept saying it and looking at me. So I waved back and said hi. And she kept saying it. I waved again. And she said it again. This time I smiled and said bye and continued walking. A child shall lead them huh?

And kindness usually comes from the most unexpected places. Though the neighbors across the street are kind of eccentric, they've always been nice. Though aloof at times - like when he has full on conversatios with his bird - he has been considerate and generous. He alerted us to suspicious picture takers, signed for a package when we were all away, and even helped them move in a couch. But I guess lately he's been getting weird and his next door neighbor dropped off some material with Uno after she went snooping. Seems our buddy has some things on his record, most traffic violations and a little theft. His most regular friend is also a sex offender. But both of their crimes were either when they were adolescents or really young adults. If they really wanted to take stuff they could have done it already. And they've been nothing but nice.

So if you're looking for evidence that the human condition isn't completely helpless, I guess we need to look to children and ex-convicts more often

Things I Want

This is a list of things material that I desire. Too often, I make lists in my head, but they get lost in the shuffle. Maybe if I actually put them down, it makes it more concrete. It also gives me more motivation to be disciplined with my spending.

No particular order:

• Trip to Europe
• Computer stuff: Macbook Pro, New Desktop PC, New Hard Drive
• Canon Powershot SD850IS
• Soccer gear: Barca Away Jersey 2006-2007, Funners Retro, Ajax, Spurs
• Two pairs of custom running shoes (Puma & Nike) and the Nike+ kit
• A nice whip
• XBox 360 w/ Madden 08, FIFA 08, NASCAR, Forza

Reputation

This weekend, one of the narcs was missing for one of our kids. I sadly counted that they were correct, when in fact they weren't. It was a simple mistake but I felt horrible. I know I didn't take it but it is a serious thing to have an untrackable narcotic just floating around.

Anyway, the director of health care for our campus came and talked to me about it. But she immediately said "I know you didn't take it." She continued to tell me to be more careful and such but it lasted no more than a minute.

And that's when a random memory from a Sabbath School session on Lady Godiva's birthday voyage popped back in my head. The stubborn West Indian men were a tad annoying but I finally get the gist of what they were trying to say. It all basically came down to the fact that Jesus never really had to defend Himself in front of His accusers. He just let His actions speak for themselves. And I know she had that faith in me just in the way I have carried myself.

I hate when I realize I was wrong. But at least I'll be right next time

Sanctuary

The shower must be the most heavenly place on earth. I am naturally a water person, though my zodiac sign would have you believe I was resigned to terra firma. But I usually would stay in the pool for hours on vacations. And my parents were fond of calling me California Raisin after my appearance out of my extended bathtimes. So bath time is just lovely. The more time in the water the better. I feel taller. I feel more relaxed.

It's especially rewarding since I finally decided to make a productive day out of my early wake-up. I burned CDs for co-workers and client. I did some laundry stuff. I brought back in our trash bins. I'm writing this blog. I enjoyed music, but I always do that. I washed dishes. So now I am all relaxed with oodles of time before work and truly have nothing really to do instead of not doing anything. I even ironed my shirt already.

The sun is shining nicely and those earlier chirping birds have changed from annoying to charming. That shower was powerful.

Gun License

Necessary to waste the squawking birds who are waking me up. Things weill perish by my hand if I cannot get back to sleep. That is all.

This Morning

Our top story this morning is the appearance of a stray black dog on the porch this morning. As I was reading my book, I heard my roommate leave for her appoinment with the doctor. After her initial footsteps were gone, I heard some lesser footsteps. I assumed that it was just the particular way the wind was whistling through the trees and returned to my reading. But the glint of something moving caught my eye above the book, and there was a new stranger. He walked the length of the porch and came towards me. He stared me dead on, moved slightly towards me, then turned and went. He then went round the corner and was gone. I was so baffled by the chain of events, I stayed glued to my seat. I tried to resume reading, but needed to rise to make sure what I had viewed was not an illusion. I rose and rushed to see if I could catch at least a glimpse of the dog. Imagine my surprise when I saw nothing!

But he emerged from behind a neighbor's bush and normal breathing returned to my system. As homeostasis returned, my paranoia still did not relent. I thought somehow I viewed it as a sign. Should I get a dog like that? Does a black dog predict something more omnous? Sleep deprivation makes one silly. Maybe divine providence was guiding me along the path in some way.

So as I was talking to Doodlebug, my newest friend six hours away in a country where the young are so mighty they beat Brazil in football matches, I was searching for any symbolism regarding black dogs. Churchill once referred to his own depression as his "black dog." It also was a hit for Led Zeppelin in the early 70s. The Wikipedia article alleges that either the sexually suggestive anthem was titled for a loitering black dog in the studio or might be more of a secretive invocation to a divine being due to its similarities with a novel's name for a club of occult.

Yeah I'm starting to lose interest too, though I was feeling kind of spiritual at that moment. In my second trip to the porch once Doodlebug was kicked out, I viewed my neighbors playing catch in the street. They are in their mid 30s - early 40s yet in the middle of the day, they were in the middle of the street playing catch. While I admire the carefree attitude and playfulness at such an age, their regular dallaince with permanent transience is troubling. If I can somehow stack some paper so I can support my whims and fancies, that would be lovely. But I suppose I will hustle as hard as I have to so my wife and children can everything they need and lead the life I wish to have. If I can't live it for myself, at least I can live it through my family.

Okay I need to write my e-mail. I missed writing on this thing so I dropped something super quick.

Things Observed At The Brooklyn Hip-Hop Festival

• This was as close as one could get to Hip-Hop Family Day. The event was basically free, but they encouraged donations. Regardless, it just meant it was a cheap entertaining option, and obviously for the whole family. Kids of all ages were running around. Toddlers were busy managing overloaded diapers and trying to figure out where that bass was coming from. I'm hoping that they didn't catch contact from all the marijuana that was in the air.
• Nah there are some really old dudes here
• Oh white fans. The reason why hip-hop still exists. The white boys often seemed like they were trying too hard. Its nice to match but the laces don't have to match your underwear. If only they could take lessons from their female counterparts. They seemed more comfortable. A couple were pretty darn cute too.
• A old school cipher broke off to my right, but it wasn't anything to write home about. You have to appreciate the psirit though, and women comprised half of the particpants. Nice.
• Now I understand we are in Brooklyn, the weather is nice, and this is an event that would attract young, single people, so the justification to look nice is there. But should you be really rocking stilettos in the park? And at a a hip hop concert. Did you not want to dance or just wanted your feet to be miserable? Must love the effort though
• Brooklyn seems to be changing into a haven for interracial families. Or maybe interracial families love progressive hip-hop a lot more. Anyway there were a lot of interracial individuals, couples and kids. It's nice to see. Though I lean towards those with melanin, I like to think that if I wanted to go against the grain, I would be just as comfortable taking that step.
• Coming back to the stiletto issue, I think wedges are the best way for girls to go in terms of these concerts. Still gives height and all that calf shape you like, but better support than a stiletto. It's hip-hop. You should be moving.
• Marty Markowitz is the man. This silver haired Jew, Brooklyn's borough president, possible future mayoral candidate, comes on stage and drops a verse. I want to vote right now.
• Hip-hop is loved by many.

The Mean Reds

Posh's Dad once said that depression was a rich man's disease. While I originally was deeply enlightened, I have now come to the realization that the statement is too simple of a caricature of a greater problem that can have many sources. But pondering on the statement, I see that while the meaning may have been wrong, his wording might have been more prescient than I previously thought.

His original intent was to say that depression only afflicted those who were rich in resources, whether it be talent, wealth, or both. As he related to my specific case, my extra resources caused indecisiveness and therefore depression. In cases of wealth, I could see his point because with enough time everyone can convince themselves that there problems are bigger than they are.

His statement was true beyond this scope though. Some people, like my children, just are born with an abundance of chemicals which tells their brain to be more succeptible to sadness and its entourage of effects. And there are those who are submerged in a series of experiences that knocks even the strongest of psyches to the floormat. Usually it takes a series of unfortunate events, but sometimes all it takes is one simple moment or circumstance. And while it may be singular, the intensity of emotions can be so intense that it forces the most proud to kneel in its wake.

Now I hope for homeostasis in every single element of my life.

Witness

Once upon a time, I was a psychology major in college. It's been a blessing and a detriment. The blessing has come largely in my understanding of how people usually work, though processes and such. It also has taught me how things should theoretically be. That has also served to be a detriment, because with my overanalytical mind I constantly wonder what the hell is up with me.

The psychological field has to be one of the most cautious fields there is. The mind is the most important element in our lives for its level of functionality ultimately determines what we do. Making a an assertion about someone's mental state is serious business. Which is why psychologists are nore calculating than CSI in regards to the gathering of information because the smallest bits can color in the blanks of a person's picture. If you look into the DSM-IV, the manual mental health professionals refer to, to have an effective diagnosis for many of the disorders requires months of the same symptoms. Whereas a flu or AIDS can be determined by examination or a blood test, something like bipolar disorder takes months and years to conclusively be determined. You could be depressed for a week but that doesn't mean you need medication. Could just be that your goldfish died.

My question is where do I draw the line on myself. By most accounts, I possess an above-average pool of talent. I enjoy it at times, love using to help others. Sadly its those same others that are often befuddled by my stage in life or the fact that they even encountered me. There must be something else I should be doing, could be doing. And every once in a while, like now, I feel the same way. Sometimes I say it's a time thing and I am still blossoming. Sometimes I say I honestly enjoy where I am right now. And those are both true. But I also wonder why I am even here at this place right now.

Why do I have drafts of blogs that are mere outlines of what I want to espouse to a world that's not even listening? Why is my room in a constant state of disrepair, ranging from thunderstorm to Category 5 hurricane? Why does it take me so long to do the things that need to get done whether it be obtain a driver's license, write an essay, or even do my laundry? Yesterday was an all-star day by all accounts. I saw my good friend Undeniable after an extended absence and had fun helping her with her homework, relearning statistics on the fly. Three's Company got together, got dressed up, and crashed the prom at work where we were the coolest staff. I got to see my boys be real boys and just had a ball. Cherry (literally) on top was a wonderfully kind waitress who hooked me up with extra cherries and extended conversation when we returned with Uno and her man. So why did I wake up this afternoon after 10 hours of sleep with the vision of blue sky to this general malaise? You can understand why my brain circuitry has to come into question.

Am I scared? Am I stressed? I like to tell myself I'm not but maybe I am. I so just want to be. I want to be successful. But I really want to do and to follow through, regardless of whatever. I have such admiration for the people that go out and just do, or even step beyond and do what is unconventional. I'd love to be that.

Maybe my rebaptism into sportsdom is more of a blessing than I originally imagined. Over the past week, the world has been abuzz with talk of LeBron James and his arrival on the most premier of stages. You might scoff at the idea but there are parallels in our lives. He is obviously an amazing talent and has been highlighted and followed from his childhood. He jumped into the most advanced stage of his vocation at a young age and initially did well. But with his early years, you could see the indecision. While sitting on the bench, he has been seen practicing the nervous habit of chewing his nails. Critics have said he doesn't take the big shot and passes too often. And while his numbers were never totally off, he didn't produce the way people hoped he would. During that same period, he endeared himself to many, whether through his play or just sheer charming personality. But he disappointed a bunch, with what some have called distant play at times and underwhelming effort at grand stages like at the 2004 Olympics. Last week though, he put on a performance in which he scored his teams last 25 points and 29 of their last 30 in getting a win on the road in the favorite's arena. The next game was lackluster by his standards, but he was still the linchpin that sent his team to the Finals for their first trip in the franchise's history. Now Nike has plastered the world with ads saying "We Are All Witnesses."

So at a young age, I was highly regarded for my talents, though I just dunked homework and standardized tests. And at a young age, I went to one of the most advanced institutions. And while I was able to show off my promise at points, like being in student government, it has largely gone unrealized. Somehow over time, I've endeared myself to a couple as well either through that talent or something about my personality. But LeBron has given me inspiration. Something clicked for him and he found the moxie to complete his mission. The day he exploded, he showed up at the arena three hours early for practice, taking the time by himself to work himself out.

Now I must figure how I get on the game and explode on the talent I've been resting on for so long. But I'm ready for change. I'm ready for positivity. I'm ready to shake things up.

You gonna be my witness?

I've Been Up To...

Going for a run.

Realizing I am in better shape than I thought I was.

Realizing I am also nowhere near where I would like to be.

Showering.

Eating.

Rocking in chairs while eating and consuming last week's Sports Illustrated

Conversing with Posh, though it was more me on a soapbox, about sports figures, Deval Patrick, and the little snippets of different songs we absolutely adore even if we don't really care about the rest of the song.

Typing this blog.

Figuring out creative ideas for my media blog that I have not paid attentionto in forever and nobody even really reads.

Realizing that few probably even read this.

Loving that anyone reads this at all.

Thinking about a cheeseburger.

Ending this now that we have totally hit a roadblock.

Play Ball

For some reason, my body chose to wake up this morning at the hour of 7:30 this morning. On a regular Wednesday, I probably wouldn't have cared so much. It's usually an early day since I have to go in for work at noon instead of two. But today the day is mine because I had vacation time to burn before my anniversary, which is technically tomorrow. What better way to spend those last couple of hours to give myself a three day work week.

Which is exactly why one would not want to be up so early when one does not need to be. But it all worked out because I came to the conclusion that has slowly been realized over the past couple of months.

I love sports.

Though I know it's probably time to leave the Bay State, being here has been responsible for so many positive things in my life. Chief amongst the many plusses is probably learning to truly remember and enjoy. And being sucked in to Red Sox and Patriot nation helped rekindle the flame that was once much more passionate. It's the only way I can explain sucking in SportsCenter, the televised broadcast of a sports radio show, and the first parts of the ESPN version of the Today show.

Sons usually derive their interests from their fathers. When I think of it, my father had few interests or hobbies in life. There is photography which I have a passing interest in, but every Sunday I know I was watching the NBA all the way back when Dick Stockton was calling games for CBS. And that's probably where the seed took place.

Seeing that I devoured whatever reading material was in our house, the Sports Illustrated subscription for Dad also benefited me, and not just the annual swimsuit edition. Mom picked up on this and moved me from Highlights for Children to Sports Illustrated for Kids. From there it was a wrap. In time, my breakfast viewing transformed from reruns of Sonic The Hedgehog and Widget to the rotating band of personalities of SportsCenter. While others were memorizing the fight moves of Hulk Hogan and the Ultimate Warrior, I marvelled at the beauty of Kareem's sky hook, even Magic's cute baby imitation. As others mastered Super Mario, I taught myself how to read the standings in the paper and compute averages, somehow nurturing my bookishness in the presumably simple area of win or lose. I drew ire from my schoolteachers not for class clownery or bullying, but rather my insistence to read the USA Today sports section during class.

That spirit developed over time. SportsCenter grew from 30 minutes in the mornng to 60 somewhere along the line and I found myself getting to school late a little more often. Basketball was my primary baptism. It was definitely my father's favorite and we both had a special place for Magic Johnson. He called me at school to tell me that he had contracted HIV and would be retiring. But even that is indicative of how I would approach sports from then on. I think that the ages of 8 - 13 are pretty important in the permanent impressions of a sports fan. This is where you are smart enough to comprehend but still young and innocent enough to be fed anything and totally believe. Since I was reading Sports Illustrated, which was national and unbiased, and also not limited to the mainstream sports, I just learned about everything. The black boy from New York City loved Magic Johnson, Frank Thomas, Emmitt Smith, Brian Leetch, and Dale Earnhardt. I skipped the Simpsons to watch Pavel Bure and the Canucks lose to the Rangers and see Mark Messier act like a loon with Lord Stanley's cup. As I watched it live, I prayed that my premonition that Dale died when he hit the wall was wrong, only to stop watching NASCAR for 5 years because of it. I make a point of watching the lacrosse championships every year, at least a half. I might buy a PSP just so I can play FIFA cause I love soccer that much.

As for my own allegiances, well it goes back to that formative period. Remember I was getting national perspective from Sports Illustrated which doesn't exactly foster any attitude except for fairness and just enjoying everything about sports. Plus the apathy of the city in general plus the dearth of successful teams didn't exactly inspire much fervor. Those Philly and Cleveland fans who dust themselves off after season with othing to show for it were indoctrinated by their fathers at that age that's who we root for. My program director is a perfect example. Raised in Connecticut till his early tweens, he was a Yankees fan. Upon moving to Massachusetts, the intense peer pressure - and boy is it intense - did not sway him to the Sox. The late 80s and early 90s were pretty quiet in New York, save for the Giants. Everybody else sucked. The Mets had lost their star players to free agency and cocaine. Donnie Baseball was the sole star on a frustrating Yankee franchise. The Knicks were ambling in the Eastern Conference. We won't speak of the Jets. Uhhh hockey what? In addition, Dad had no allegiance as a Jamaican immigrant. I loved Magic Johnson and therefore I loved the Lakers. So from then on I've been a fan of the individual athlete and whatever team he or she plays for. I hate the fickleness of it sometime. I'm jelaous of my boy Mocha and his undying devotion to anything Patriots and to a lesser degree Red Sox. Something about the commitment to heartbreak and the hope for victory is attractive. With sports, the most attractive thing to me is the game. I love to watch whatever it is I'm watching played. If I'm rooting for a team and they win, that's lovely. If they don't I still feel like I've enjoyed it. Lately I've always been pulling something new.

I think most sports fans can attest to that. It's the reason highlight reels are popular in the first place. Even though every clip is not going to include your player or team, you still watch for the simple fact that the act occurred at all and to relish it along with every one else. There is the intensity involved as well that somehow travels to the viewer. I was once so superstitious I though I wouldn't get into Duke because I didn't watch a game with my complete attention and Kentucky pulled off one of the biggest comebacks in NCAA Basketmball Tourney history. During last year's Division Series, I watched an entire Mets game from the same chair, topless, with my Mets visor cocked to my right side just so.

But there's something involved with the camaraderie as well. Though I love to highlight the individual, my favorite exhibitions are when the team works together. I liked Magic so much because he was an orchestrator. I fell in love with the Red Sox during my stay here because of the way they play, like a team. Same for the Patriots. And thank God its the same for my re-adopted Mets. I always try to teach my kids, if they feel like listening and seem like they want to understand, to share and move the ball around. I love the technique of it. I love the spontaneity. I love it all.

And the camaraderie aspect can probbably explain why I was quietly following the Mets all those years. Dad used to take me to baseball games pretty regularly, but we had no real allegiance so it was just a matter of motivation. I ended up at Shea more often than the Bronx just because of the proximity. I've known that route since I was seven (BQE to the Grand Central Parkway). I used to get excited to go to LaGuardia Airport just because I knew I would see Shea and its corny neon baseball stick figures on the walls. I remember feeling cold and distant in Yankee Stadium whereas Shea was always comfortable. Sitting on the third base line seeing Daryl Boston launch one into center left and seeing that apple rise in the outfield subconsciously hooked me. I remembere seeing Mookie Wilson stealing a base and getting all the way home on a throwing error. And something about that shade of blue with that shade of orange was strangely attracting. I recall being excited when we signed Bobby Bonilla for the largest contract ever, then being flatly disappointed when he ended up sucking. The lockout came and further eroded what had never been firmly in place. But Robin Ventura and Al Leiter brought me back with Grand Slam singles and ageless gems from the mound. There has been Kaz. But I've watched Reyes develop from a liability to a treasure and Wright being isolated that he can be the new face of baseball.

I will sally forth in my love of all things athletic. I've even become more athletic in my post pubescent years. I love it too when I get the chance. Only my insecurity in my underdeveloped abilities keeps me from going out more often. Please believe that a joy that laid nascent for a bit is fast arising again. Glad it's here.

And Now Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Program

Since the wee hours of Monday morning, I have not had internet service. This is something that has been annoying at worst and pretty tolerable overall. Every once in a while I did have the notion to check for an important e-mail or search for some random item on the internet, but they weren't life or death so things were cool.

(I did wish I could have blogged a conversation me and Mocha had the other night on our way home. We were trying to figure out why music, video games, and DVD's were released on Tuesdays. How did they come upon this arbitrary day? Wouldn't it make sense to move it to Thursday? You beat the bootleggers. People would like to have it for their weekends. Who wouldn't love to test out the new game over the weekend or play that new CD on your vacation up the coast? It just makes sense. And we would get to hear new stuff much earlier. Just a thought brought to you by Mocha Latte.)

Today I got to go to the girls' program because they needed a male staff just in case this one particularly big girl had an issue. At first I was reluctant, but I eventually warmed to it after the lovely reception from the program coordinator and some of the girls I've worked with over there. Even though I played with Bratz dolls for most of the evening, it was a wonderful change of pace. I got to dance. I got to sing. I had fun. And the girls are more appreciative. I'm not sure if it's something that's natural or learned, but they are. They are just more expressive too. I think what would grind on me if I worked there regularly would be how often they are emotional, which is nightly. My boys aren't emotional that often and we usually respond to their physical outbursts. The emotions might come much later and with a whole other staff. But like Wu-Tang, I'm for the children and I'll work with either set.

The cool part of tonight was realizing how awesome music is. Banana skipped ahead on the Robin Thicke she was pumping on the way home to hear just one section of the song "Complicated." Just the simple way he sang this half bar of music tickles Banana just so. After it was over, it was on to the next track. Abrupt as it may seem, I am totally the same way. There's a bass lick at the end of the chorus in The Spinners "I'll Be Around" that always gets me.

Anyway that's all for now. More postings to follow since I am celebrating early Friday this week.

WIWUTS 6/3/07

Today I did not work at my usual program. Late last night, after a Three's Company excursion to see Shrek the Third (so inappropriate for the kiddies, but trippily funny at points), I remembered my new boss saying I was to be sent to one of the adolescent boys units to supervise, one I had barely been in, and never staffed. I was peeved when I heard one of my co-workers called out, but hopeful that would mean I would have to stay at my program.


But it all worked out in the end and there I was. I kind of missed my boys all day but being reunited with some of my old favorites was really pretty awesome. Plus it was nice to interact with more kids who could actually understand more things that I said without dumbing down as much. Plus those kids handle their issues more easily. More maturity means less energy spent on bickering about the ticky tack stuff. That also means easier since maturity also means a heightened sense of responsibility, which those young men have in spades. They still working out a couple of issues, but they're still working and that's the great thing.

But I did find a quote from my absolute favorite boy. He was the first new kid to come in under my tenure and was also my first hold alone. He is one of the best kids around. Wherever he went he was a charmer. Intelligent and also crazy athletic. Anyway, as I combed through the e-mail looking for the answer to some question about the house, I saw an e-mail another guest supervisor had written. This young woman is white and this boy is black. So he goes up to her and says "What's up my vanilla sister?" and she says "Is that just a way to call me white trash?" and after a pause he says "Yes."

And that's why I woke up this Sunday.

and club milk installment on the way home (how do the obese become that way? why doesn't the obtrusive light blink over their silly little heads?)

this message has been brought to you by life. go live it.

Haze

I've written this posting at least seven times in my head today. But the haze is so thick round these parts, I think it has contributed to my apathy all day.

Whereas yesterday was mildly productive, today has been a lesson in slothfulness. I was hoping to continue the same pace so I could get some things done. It's not too much of a loss though. I still did manage to get the last couple loads of laundry in. Many blogs remain unwritten and files are still not where I'd like them to be on my computer. No big deal though.

As I was sitting on the porch, doing what people on porches do, my mind started to wander. I recently read an old blog posting post by this underground soul singer about the change in Catholic doctrine about children and limbo. I guess limbo as defined by the church is being in a state of complete contentedness but never having any communion with God. I started to wonder if I was in limbo, like if I'm having true communion with God. I mean He's been answering prayers left and right, but maybe it's to keep me close enough so that I can make that final dive into Him.

So I'm listening to the iPod and I ask God to speak to me through it. The whole uncertainty of where I'll be in the next couple of months is weighing heavier on me since it is actually June. The chill I once embodied is slowly evolving into panic. Here's the deal I made to God: If the next song was DC Talk = Washington, D.C.; Donnie McClurkin = N.Y.C.; Anyone else = Just wait on me idiot. I tried to get in some late Yolanda action in the brief pause between songs but I couldn't decide on another viable answer. The next selection? Take 6 (Take six months maybe? Weeks? Days?!!?). The song: You Don't Have To Be Afraid. That God has a sense of humor. And an ill sense of timing.

Living as the other half lives today, you know lazy Saturday, watching baseball and doing chores around the house, it's nice. This is the first Saturday I began in Massachusetts in over a month so it's nice not to be hustling and bustling. And I've also learned that I want to live like Run's House one day. And even I could not escape rooting for the bloody Red Sox.

Life's good. And being beautiful is hard work. But worth it.

Lucky Day

Bottom of the 12th inning at Shea Stadium, slowly emptied from its pretty full capacity due to the lateness of the hour. Our hometown team is down a run after a defensive misstep by the first baseman, and arguably the catcher. One of the young stars of the team, a speedy defensive wonder showing more and more promise on the offensive side of the game, is leading off the last set of chances the Mets have to win. This is the last chance at winning and the tension is thick. San Francisco has brought in their closer, a former Met who has since had a bit or a resurgence and is pretty reliable as a shutdown pitcher.

I hate my life.

So Reyes steps in the box and takes one pitch. Fast and outside. Next pitch was pretty much in the same location. Now for the uninformed, San Francisco has no interest in seeing Reyes get on base at any cost because he has stolen more bases than 16 teams in the Major Leagues. Yes he has stolen more bases than the combined totals of 16 whole teams. So we don't want a hit or a walk or him being hit by a pitch.

The count now two balls and no strikes. The pitch sails in and just misses the outside corner. Three and 0. Now on this pitch, you never swing. It wouldn't make sense logically to miss the pitch and get an unnecessary strike when you might have gotten the fourth ball. So it's a strike. But the tension is thick on 3-1. And he takes it and crouches. He turns slightly, as if he were headed to first, when he realizes it's a strike. Reset. Now he fouls off a pitch in desperation to stay in the box. Our closer, frazzled temporarily, has semed to regain his composure. And with it, he also has gained the upper hand.

Their eyes are steady on each of their targets. Pitcher to batter. Batter to pitcher. The signal set. He rolls into his windup. The ball seems crisp and direct when it leaves his fingers. The batter's eyes follow the ball sharply till we all hear the gut wrenching sound as the ball hits his mitt. He stays crouched in a position almost eye level with the ball and seems to see passed it. Passed the past, present, and future. Till the umpire stands calmly and directs him to first base.

And cheerily, he jogs to first base with fists pumping. And the Shea faithful rouse from their shackles of uncertainty. And they know. They feel it this night. And with their cries, the short circuited the axons and dendrites of Benitez. And though he received fortune with two outs, he lost his cool and balked not once, but twice. Which meant that young Reyes was afforded two bases he had earned only out of respect and fear of his potential to steal. Not for anything he actually did. Except be patient. He could have presumably spead away at an earlier pitch and stolen a base. Or he could have been called out and lost any chance of the rally that would result. For when he scored, Benitez unraveled further and gave up the game ending home run. Mets win. Mets win.

It makes sense today. The fact that they were on TV was wonderful news for an expatriate in Massachusetts and they won against a formidable opponent and continued to lead in a tough division. Despite missteps, they held it together and came through. The boy at work who shares my birthday said that since our birthday is the same (12/29) every 29th is like a lucky day.

Looking back it was a pretty great day. I actually got good sleep and was slightly productive. I felt proud of myself all day. I think the best word for it was spry. But I felt alert and good. Maybe it was the yogurt smoothie or Banana's excellent India.Arie selection in the ride to work. But I said a prayer as I went to pick up one of the kids and I guess God handled the rest. Explosive situations were kept to a minimum and the boys were good. Compassion and humor abounded for everyone and it felt just lovely.

Man I love the Mets.

I love my life.

The Children Need Some Regulation

As I was walking through the city, thoroughly enjoying my iPod on this scorcher of a day, I took in the many sights the city had to offer. Mainly, the many outfits people are sporting on this weekend, the unofficial start to summer. Of course, there must be some lattitude in how we judge people. Weather this year has been so scattershot, it's hard to get yourself into a groove you're comfortable with. I myself have been all over the place, where one day I planned to wear a seersucker jacket only to find long sleeves unbearable and vice versa.

But as I walked along Fulton Mall, one of the last shopping arenas that is mostly mnority and local, I saw one of the most atrocius outfits ever. In the blur, I made out a white skirt with multi colored polka dots, a tangerine tank top, and matching tangerine leggings. Yes. Yes I know. I would have taken a picture but I don't think that outfit should be committed to anyone's hard drive. It's already done damage ensconced in my memory.

And I know it's hot. And I know you're excited to wear all the clothes that you've been waiting to wear. But it doesn't mean you need them all at once. So she gets one of these.



Yeah that is a red card but man she deserved it. As the link points out, it is to show a penalty after a rules infraction and boy did she infract some rules. Beyond the embarassment, she made her clique look crazy and also hurt all of our eyes. She might be next up for execution like in Iraq. Well at least her fashion sense should be.

Ugggggggggggggh/Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesss

So today I decided to go get a cut. I'm really not used to having them every two weeks but I would love to get back in the habit. Though I've gotten better at self-maintenance, something about sitting in the chair and having someone else do the dirty work.

But it's Friday so already more likely to have a line and I knew it but I had an iPod. However, after I finaly answered the alarm and moseyed my way over to the shop in the soon to be blistering sun, the line was even longer. Even worse the two people that I would have gone to were nowhere in the building.

So off I was to another section of the neighborhood with more barbershops. In one shop only one barber and an Algonquin round table of people waiting to get in the chair. In the next, it seemed full and I was about to say screw it all. But then it would be a month for a cut. And I might see people this weekend that I might want to look nice for. Plus it's just nice to be clean and I really had no plans.

So there we are. Five black guys of disparate ages all eagerly anticipating the rising of one person from any one of the four chairs. In the interim, people came in to inquire how long the wait was and usually left with the promise that they would return. Some came in and seemed like they presumably skipped us already on the couches, but we were reassured that they had appointments or simply were there before and came back.

Finally after learning how to make pie with Rosie O'Donnell and almost learning how to cut hair myself with the attention I was giving some people, I made eye contact with one barber and he indicated I was next. Now someone was there before me, but I thought he told someone else he was waiting for a specific barber. So when I got up and in the chair, I had no problem. I was giddy as a schoolboy.

And he did me so nice. And used razors to shape me up without asking. It's honestly the most comfortable I felt. I actually was texting during the cut, something I don't think I've ever entertained. It was absolutely phenomenal.

When I left, another man got in the chair and the guy who was ahead of me got upset. But I left knowing that he saw my ass get up past him and in the chair and he didn't say jack so he needs to work that out.

Earphones in. Exit.

I look too clean to sweat the small stuff.