The New Adventures Began Like This (part one)

My blog seems a bit empty and I really don’t feel like I have anything earth shattering to say at this point, so I am going to go back. Back to a time in which the month of October meant 80 degree temperatures and the State Fair of Texas was a yearly wait and see tradition of mine (wait-and-see if I will actually go). I was living in Texas and feeling the need for something different. Antsy. My position at my job at the time was… shaky at best and my lease was going to be up in a few months. Thus it was during this time (and my subsequent layoff) these odd voices swirled around in my little head.

“Move to the frigid north!! Go to New-“

The new part never finished, but there was certainly a movement afoot. It really seemed to start back when my dad was alive. He and my mother would talk of their time in NYC. Staying out late, the music… the food. They spoke of his visits to my mother in the south Bronx where people were requiring tolls to pass through certain neighborhoods. I, the Boston-born-Texas raised kid, would in turn shake my head and quietly call them brainwashed behind their backs.
It’s cold, it’s old and dreary. Why would I want to go there? Sure I had friends who either visited or used to live there. Each of them with their own flavored tales of NY life. Each with an odd glow about them as they enthusiastically described what they did while there. I would quietly roll my eyes and mutter “whatever” because I wasn’t feeling it. If the place was all that, why are you standing here in Texas?
Now, did I have a curiosity about this place? Sure, who isn’t curious as to how (and *WHY*) 10 million-plus ill tempered people squeeze onto a tiny island(s) and love it so. I have passed through NY a few times in life. Visited both airports pre-911 and been driven through parts of Queens. My curiosity was tempered when I visited Toronto and London a few times and were told they were nicer versions of NYC. That there was good enough for me. That Toronto was a cleaner version and London’s subway system and shopping were on par with the Big Apple. Add in Miami and it’s huge NY influence with warm weather and hell.. why would I want to go to NYC??

“Your mother and I loved it and you would too..”

Yet, the seeds were planted and they took root. So much so that one day when it was suggested I move to New… gulp.. Jersey, I didn’t gag as much as one would think I should have. I have things to say about the Garden State, but that’s for another time. The Jersey idea was being pitched again as it has been in the past by the same friend with a twist.

“Yeah, we’re like 30-45 mins from NY and it’s waaay cheaper here”

Again, this statement will be re-visited another time in the saga. At the time… sounded like a perfect idea. Get over the cold phobia and live somewhere outside of the Lone Star state. So I packed it all up and planned my trek east.

To be continued…

-J

Pour One For The "R"

A few years ago my dear friend Pickle told me of this guy she was talking to. She spoke of him highly and I listened along happily and then she sent me a link and suggested I read it. She told me it was a “blog”. “What the hell is that,” I asked her and she explained it in a few minced jumbled words; the bottom line was read it. This was the first version of what is now the R Spot and the writings were of the man who would later become her husband, Reggie. Back then, however, I was very slow on the uptake and regarded this with skepticism. I read a couple of items as she happily spoke of his writings. I had to admit, I was hatin a little but the man wrote well.

The two of them progressed along and time began to pass. Pickle and I didn’t talk as often and I found myself chatting with her online and playing catch up. At some point in the conversation, she asked me if I had a blog and I replied that no one would want to read it. Somehow the conversation stirred back towards her writer boyfriend and something he wrote which now escapes me. I can say it struck me enough to go to Yahoo 360 (and later to Blogger) and create a blog. The rest is bad history I guess.

The blog he wrote often carried thoughts of a Colorado-minded brotha who was living in the mad world of Southern California. He often wrote of various observations, be they of a political nature, sports or just entertainment in general. He truly excels and enjoys touching on more than just the “nightly news issues” or the primetime offerings of the Big 4 networks. He delves into trying to make light of things that may have gone under readers’ noses, especially in the vast land of cable television watching (his post on the 2007 television season is a brief look into what I have enjoyed).

It seems that the R-Spot is about to undergo a major face lift and I felt the need to pay my respects to my blogging sensei. When I first sat down to write his blog was what came to mind. “How can I be interesting and amusing?” “How can I talk about topics as they run through my head and flow them onto the screen for someone to roll their eyes at?” I am a guy, who took a couple of years of journalism back in high school, trying to write based on the blog of a person who is paid to write as his 9 to 5. It’s not going to measure up, but I have to try right?

Before it disappears take a peek at some of the posts at the R-Spot.

-J

Welcome to the Eastside

Last Wednesday I went to my first art gallery opening. Not surprisingly, I was a little concerned about what to throw on. I know I am not a very fashionable person and since my relocation to the east, it has become painfully obvious…I look like a tourist. Or something to that effect. In other words, I ain’t from here. I prefer to fit in where I go and what I wear should reflect. Wear what makes you comfortable? Eh, I like dress for the occasion better.

So I tossed on an older charcoal wool long sleeve, some baggy jeans, black leather coat and black lace up boots and set off with one of my new housemates. Said housemate invited me because I was sitting there with nothing to do and took pity on me. Thus, we drove over to the Chelsea area and parked. Now let me say once out of our chariot, I suddenly realized how wrong this looked. She was an outfit complete with handmade crème jacket and exposed red stitching, blue top, nicer jeans and fusha shoes. What she had screamed spring and fresh. Me.. not so much. More prince of darkness –ish.

We fell into a boutique where I felt my 6’2 frame shrink to 2 feet tall. The immaculate nature of the outfits the people in the store were wearing caused me to really start thinking about what I had on. The immaculately trimmed beards in contrast to my two day old scruff, the nice black tops to my weathered jacket with a mysterious patch of dirt on it and their high polished shoes to my.. oo.. lets let that go. The once over I received from of the salesmen told me my ish was all wrong.

So as they complemented my housemates outfit, I kept thinking how tight everything was she had on… but didn’t get the shoes. As I stood and pondered this, she says something about ‘these things? Prada baby!! Pleaaase’. With that she took off the shoe and displayed the logo on the inside. I had to shake my head after that. I don’t need to look like them, per se, but I didn’t need to look like I didn’t care about what I wore as well.

Lessons Of The Father

My father would often dispense little bits of wisdom to me growing up. Some things I took to heart, other items went in one ear and out the other. Those are the ones which would later on in life come back to haunt me. This won’t be eloquent, as he’d say, nor will it all be nice. I wanted to take a moment and share a few.

Lesson 12: Winning Doesn’t Exist and Sticking With The Pick

I recall being introduced to sports one Sunday afternoon. Well, it’s actually just my earliest actual recollection, but I watched the team whose helmet I had sitting out in the backyard and played with everyday, the Dallas Cowboys. The year is 1978 and the Boyz are in the Super Bowl playing the Pittsburgh Steelers. My father explained some of the rules to me, but I recall being lost as I watched on. As the game continued, I saw my team in white lose to the ones in black. The following fall as would be the traditional location for years to come, my father was planted in front of the television watching NFL on Sunday. The Cowboys were not playing until later, but I wanted to stay and watch with the old man. I would ask who was playing and he would tell me.

“The Chicago Bears vs the Oakland Raiders.”
“Oh, where are they playing?”
“Out in Oakland.”
“Oh… what is that??”
“Oakland is a city like Dallas, but far away from here.”
“Oh. where is it?”
“Look it up on the globe over there son. Find California and I will show you.”
“Ok. Who is winning?”
“Oakland is ahead in the 4th quarter.”
“Oooh so Oakland is going to win!! Ok, goo Oakland!!”

At this point my father shot a look at me as though I had just spoiled the end of a book he was reading or given away a surprise ending to a movie.

“No son, being ahead doesn’t mean winning. You haven’t won until the clock reads 0:00. Then you have won. There’s no such thing as winning a game. There’s either being ahead or behind. You either win or you lose in sports.”

He went further.

“You pick your team from the beginning and you stick with them through the game. Picking a team because it’s ahead is not very sporting. Pick the team and stick with them.”

I chose Chicago that day because I liked their uniforms. Oakland did go on to win and this interchange began a series of Sunday geography lessons (“You want to know where the Cleveland Browns are?? Go look it up”) and sportsmanship tutorials (“Taunt me today if you want, your team will lose one day and you won’t like someone sticking a finger in your face now will you?”). I would watch the Cowboys pull out wins in the closing minutes of games as well as watch them lose leads. The second part of what he said held true as well as the Cowboys stayed my team through the lean years as have the Los Angeles Lakers (1979), the New York Yankees (1981)/ the Mets (1986), etc.

-J

RIP Fellas

Today, I want to state, it’s been a great season. One filled with surprises and unexpected greatness. Yet, on this Father’s Day, my dad would have enjoyed the events which are about to unfold in the Los Angeles Staples Center in a few hours. No, this is not a salute to him, but to the hometown Lakers who are about to break the hearts of millions of fans and bring to an end a season which went well beyond anyone’s expectations. It’s the unexpected winners of the NBA Western Conference who are about to walk out on the court for the last time this year to mercifully bow down to a powerful Boston Celtics team and hand them yet another championship.

My father would love the irony. His adult son and diehard Lakers fan dealing with the angst of Lakers fans during his early to mid 20’s when each summer it seemed, the two teams would do battle. Each time, my Lakers would come out on the short end of a Bill Russell led Celtics team. He was the one he reminded me it was a long seven game series in the mid 80’s when the two basketball titans renewed their rivalry. My early celebrations or dejected looks after series openers have given way to a semi-ambivalence to early games in a series.

It’s with that, I watched this team walk into Boston and contend with fast whistles from refs and cold shooting to lose. No panic, this was not my team playing at it’s best. Game two I had hoped might be a steal, but again early whistles seemed to hamper their play early on. A fast and furious comeback allowed them to save a little face and head back to LA with some hope. Their best basketball was yet to be played.

Game 3. The announcers say it, the Analysts say it, the old man used to always tell me Game 3 is the make or break game in a series (actually he said 3&4, but I am being dramatic here). Indeed these Lakers came out and.. squeaked out a win. Then Game 4 and the real Western Conference Champs appeared… for all of the first 20 minutes of the game. With a foot on the throat of the Celtics and finally some even calls, I recall tuning out of the recording I made of the game thinking it was over and was off to bed. It was a click on to the Washington Post’s website which sent me spiraling. They f*n lost??? WHAT?? Indeed, this last four minutes of the first half I believe showed why Boston won (aside from the momentum changing fraudulent blocking foul on Bryant against Pierce in the closing minutes).

1) The G-Force : Garnett became the number one option when the Celtics went into their half court set. Guarded by either Gasol, Turiaf or Odom, KG abused his defender and got to the basket or found the open man on a slow double team by the Lakers defense. I suspect tonight will be much more of the same as the Lakers only hope to stopping this…

2) Bynum: Has FINALLY had surgery on his knee. I am not sure what the trainers/medical staff for LA has been doing the past few months, but to wait until the playoffs to diagnose the true severity of Bynum’s injury is nothing short of amazing. The ONE person this team has who is young enough, talented enough to keep KG at bay is sitting on the bench in street clothes. And…

3) Gasol: Has shrunk from being a solid number two option in the Western Conference playoffs to a matador. His lack of speed shows as he can no longer get open anymore and unable to rebound. Not sure but this sounds a lot like…

4) Odom: who like the above mentioned Gasol, has turned into a big pumpkin before our eyes. Saddled often with fouls due to his reckless ways when driving to the basket and lowered scoring production… is it just me or does the man just not want to dunk the ball?? His flipping the ball in is the most frustrating things.. noo.. I take that back… the MOST frustrating part of this team is…

5) Jumpshot-itis: against an opponent that does not give hard fouls and is consistently collapsing down on Kobe, this team finds it faaar more rewarding to settle for a 20 plus foot jump shot or unnecessary three pointer attempt than to drive in for the easy basket. Lacking the rebounding presence of the foul plagued and star struck Gasol and Odom, this team continues to shoot up miss after miss after miss. Against a slower Celtics team, these Lakers seem content to stay as far away from the basket as possible. Sure Jordan Farmar and Kobe drive to the hole with success. But others seem far more concerned with chipping a nail or getting bumped around. The more you drive, the more likely you are to get calls as you initiate contact with the defender. Also, just as the old man tried to teach and Shaq & Bynum love to show off, the closer you get, the higher you percentage of shooting is.

All I can say is… it has been quite the season. I look forward to watching KG or Pierce being named Finals MVP tonight after two very long and distinguished careers. Kobe will get his gold medal this summer completing two thirds of Michael Jordan’s league MVP, Finals Championship/MVP and gold medal season. Bynum will hopefully recover in time for the start of the season and this team will start the new season as favorites to win it all. However, tonight… the Celtics will dance.

Fellas, get your fishing hats ready.

Not The Same.... Tim Russert

I am not a long time subscriber to the Church of Russert as some are every Sunday morning. The Church being NBC’s 60 year old news show Meet The Press. Tim Russert, the show’s host of nearly 20 years, passed away earlier today from a heart attack. The news of his death caught me (as well as I am sure many others) off guard as I was looking forward to seeing him on the show this Sunday, a Hallmark holiday I dread, Father’s Day. During his time, Meet The Press maintained semi objective manner with Russert skewering and seeking answers from guests without playing partisan politics. Democrats and Republicans alike had to not only answer for current deed/misdeeds, but Russert also would call on them to expound upon prior comments made in other venues or on other shows.

I recently came to subscribe to watching the show earlier this presidential primary season. His direct yet not “in-your-face” manner of questioning was refreshing. Unlike McLaughlin or This Week where the host put themselves in front of the issues, Russert was about giving the viewer the truth and the show’s name continued to stand for that, the truth, not hosts ideology. One Fox News colleague likened him to tv lawyer Perry Mason with his dogged manner for getting answers. His appearances on various other NBC and MSNBC shows brought instant credibility to the segments as his political knowledge and love of politics often shown through. At times this spring, he seemed like a kid in candy store when discussing primary results and what came next for the candidates.

As I watched the numerous accolades being lauded upon him by journalists on all networks (including Fox and CNN) I was touched for reasons I really wasn’t aware of. Saddened by this man’s passing whom I never met and had only come to really know of within the last few months. The man was like a pseudo “tv dad” for me. Much of what Russert said reminded me of listening to my own dad talking to me about politics.

It was his manner of taking either side and asking the questions to get to the core of an issue that reminded me of my father. Probing and seeking answers rather accepting half truths and letting sleeping dogs lay. My dad would often sit my brother and I down at the kitchen table and ask questions about what we learned in school, had read in the newspaper or just our opinion on news events. We often were called upon to not only explain aspects of our views, but to back up things we said as well. Site them our sources. He had his views as well, but made it a point to get us to truly explain what we meant and see if we truly understood the issue. What he thought was secondary to getting us to explain what we truly meant or thought. I often saw that in Russert on Sundays.

Tim Russert, you will be sorely missed.

Tell It Like You See It

Tattling. I tell younger folks not to do it. No one likes a tattle tail. It was how I was raised. Don’t tattle on your brother is what I was told. Work it out amongst yourselves. However, if someone else wrongs him or you, then you most certainly make it known.

This is the mini code I live by. If it’s in the family, you keep it quiet and work it out as needed. Outsiders.. another story. This goes for minor property damages and fighting. Once it goes beyond that, then in my book, the authorities need be involved. For example…

My brother was unfortunate to get in a confrontation with gang members after they attended a “take back the neighborhood” meeting. Seems their leaders informed them they were being a bit slack in enforcing their turf. Thus a carload of young men had just finished wrecking havoc at a service station and were following a car in which the mother had two small children in the back when they saw my brother’s car ahead and sped up. A few words were exchanged between vehicles and shots fired into his car. The last bit is the witnesses accounts. People saw what happened and reported what followed. No witness report, no justice.

I just saw Cam’ron’s interview with Anderson Cooper. I watched it and shook my head. It can’t be that simple. You can’t tell people straight up not to talk to the police about crimes. My brother’s murderers were pointed out to police canvassing the area by witnesses as they drove back by the same area to seemingly admire their handiwork. Their speaking up made it much easier for the police to bring them to justice. But assume for a moment they lived under the code of ‘Not Snitching’. What would have happened then?

I did a quick search and found a horribly slanted, but somewhat informative article about snitching. While informative, it appears to take one down the path of Black ignorance. That this slogan is only about not telling on others. It isn’t until one reaches the very very bottom of the article the truth comes out. There is a code to not Snitching. Allow me to point a few of my favs as stated by Rayco Saunders, one of the interviewees in the article.

Don't snitch on others just to save yourself. "Stop snitching is for those guys out there ... selling more drugs than Noriega, and their only out is to tell on somebody. ... If a (criminal) wants to be a Good Samaritan, OK. But send (him) to jail. Don't give him immunity to do what he wants on the street."

Now understand. From where I sit, this means other criminals, not innocent citizens. And your drug dealer is typically not going to be called on for something minor. I might be wrong, but immunity is generally offered up for something serious. So this would sort of fall back on those who offer the immunity in the first place, now wouldn’t it? Just a thought to keep in mind, at the trials of my brother’s murderers, it is alleged the triggerman (with a wrap sheet a mile long) was an immunity-clad informant for the police.

Stop Snitching doesn't mean stop talking to police. "It's always misconstrued by the public, or the powers that be, that we're trying to intimidate the regular people or the law-abiding citizens. That's not what it's about. ... If that is your only outlet, to call the police, that's what you do."

There is an episode of the television cartoon The Boondocks in which one of the main characters wants to hold to the non-snitching code after his grandfather’s highly customized car is stolen front from right in of him. When questioned about the crime, he sticks to the code of not snitching believing he is doing right by the community. In what way is this helping? The show ends with grandfather’s car being recovered and Riley’s convictions being put to the test when his prized bike is taken from him by the same criminals. Tell or not?

But witnesses have no obligation to help police. "Do your job — you're the police. ... I've been wronged by the system. Do you think I would help the system? ... Do cops snitch on other cops?"

The authorities can't protect witnesses. "What's happening to the innocent witness? They get dead or ... terrorized for life."

There are two different points and yet, this is why I can understand not snitching. First, when a person helps the police, they become ostracized in the community. I mean honestly with Rodney King and other famous cases of police abuse, why should I trust them? Seriously, I fear driving in some parts of my community because of the police, not the actual people. My supposed protector doesn’t actually protect. They seem to spend more time trying to figure out how are able to afford 22” chrome rims than try to see to it children walking home have some sort of police presence to possibly ward off those who would do them harm. It’s not highly publicized, but I get the impression from movies and various television shows, witnesses are not too well protected by the authorities. Soo the people who do come forward to assist are not safe and yet the term civic duty is tossed at them and laid around their neck like an albatross if they don’t assist. My civic duty entails reporting something I happened to see or have innate knowledge of and it could cost, not only mine, but the lives of friends/family/others close to me? Damn, at least my folks would offer up not spanking my brother and the promise of no retribution from me to get him to tell the truth if it boiled down to it.

Sure, it sounds hood and cool to say, Stop Snitching. It looks great when you don’t come forward about things you know. Seriously.. who are you helping? Biggie Smalls and Tupac lay dead with unsolved murders because no one is coming forward. Even better yet, what if it were your family? What then?

You Couldn't Keep It To Yourself

Sooo... I am looking at it like this. Barbara Walters kept her mouth shut for... not days... not months... not even just years, but decades man! Decades!! No one has passed (adultress nor adulter that is..) but her momma yet she felt the need now to unload her conscience? Now when you can capitalize on the sensationalism of it?

Does she talk to ol boy about it? Naw.. reportedly she sends a message telling him its going to be in her book in the next week or so. Tough ish, deal with it.

Now.. my man could have capitalized on having continuously shtooked BW... BW!! He could have gotten some money off that in the 80's or 90's heck.. even when The View started.. “I had an affair with the then unknown Barbara Walters.” Think of the headlines? Think of the warm water BW would have been in.

Naw.. he kept it quiet.

Saved her reputation.

The former Senator even wrote and released his own memoirs in 2006. Not a mention of it in there according to the Associated Press article.

This here... naw.. this was low.

Why not describe your favorite positions? Favorite places you had sex...hell.. make up that you had sex in an alley with an ex-hubby. I understand scandal sells. You don't admit to having an affair when the fool is still alive many years later. That train left a while ago. Thank you BW, o’ queen of morality.

Parts of... Da List

I was watching Reaper and one of the characters, Ben, pulled out a list and started listing the qualities and characteristics he sought in a woman. Nothing new nor earth shattering about this. However, his requests of piercing blue eyes and a love of Mixed Martial Arts caused me to think of how MY list has changed over the years.

Ahh.. the first list I recall was in high school. I had a hang up on a particular girl at the time. She was everything I envisioned in perfection. Very smart, musically inclined, nice big brown eyes and developed (I liked all shapes even back then).

Please allow me to sidebar here… So how did I show this girl my appreciation? Like a school boy I spent the better half of our freshman year teasing her about her weight gain. Yes, I did call her the “f” word to her face. Not just once, but multiple times. I was just teasing, because I truly liked her the way she was, but didn’t exactly know how to communicate this to her. Thus, when a little maturity set in, I was already getting the silent treatment.

Fast forward to our sophomore year and I don’t recall when I apologized but I did for we were on speaking terms and I.. err.. I was not let off that easily. Through out high school, I came into a number of different kinds of sweaters. Some old, some second hand. Each was very very different from the others. There was the white Izod tennis sweater, the “puke” yellow wool one, a Kelly green v-neck and a few others I can’t or prefer not to recall. These sweaters did not escape the attention of the lady as she dubbed said sweaters a part of “Jamal’s Ugly Sweater Collection”. This was a running joke for her (I wasn’t laughing.. I liked almost all my sweaters) for two years. Over the last couple years we drifted apart running in different circles yet she remained what my original list was based on.

I digress…

From there the list has changed at various points. The “after” high school list included things like having her own car, swearing properly and fun to be around. A few years later, early 20’s subtracted the car (it’s an assumption at this point) and added the love of sports and had her own place. Also she had to like hamburgers. I was truly simple back in those days. She didn’t even have to like my music or need to drive a stick shift. Shortly after my first real girlfriend, I added the oddball, must get along with parents and siblings. Yeah, there’s a story there and if you offer me the right drink, you’ll get it.

Mid 20’s come and the list has been beefed up as I feel I am older and much more in tune with my true needs. Thus, a woman who understands wine and another language make the list as does the less “make-up is better” rule. I have come to realize.. I am just not a fan of someone who has to put on her face everyday and won’t go out in public without it. Nah, it’s just not for me. The swearing has been removed from the list and replaced with flirtatious. Yeah, a woman who could make me blush on the sly was first added then. Sure, I added politics (liberals only) and a love for various types of music (yeah, now you had to deal with my music), but this still remained a pretty similar list from high school days.

Late 20’s saw marriage… and quick divorce. This led to a lot of alone time and soul searching. My soul searching taught me I needed to add a woman who can cook to my list. Oooh how I missed a decent home cooked meal. The creativity and conversations which sprung up from meals… and umm.. I truly hate tipping. I tip properly, but I don’t care for having to do it. This is also the time when travel pops up. Indeed, she must like to travel beyond the boundaries of the great nation of Texas. We have added to the list “no salad only eaters”. As in, the woman who only eats tiny meals once or twice a day.. nooo way. That’s not to say she needs to eat the same junk as I, but please, the I have to watch my figure/weight comments every meal… no, that had to go.

Since then… well, certainly there have been additions and subtractions from my little list. Accents get bonuses as well as the ability to enjoy a good laugh often. I dropped the total liberal requirement in favor of anything not conservative and give another bonus to stick shift drivers (or willingness to learn how). The ability to communicate shot to the top of my list (look back at my other blog entries and you will get the point) as did the wanting/ability to show new things.

There are a ton of other things on the list I am not going to bore you with. Needless to say, its going to be interesting to see what ends up happening. Oh, as of this week’s episode, it looks like Ben might have find the woman on his list.

I walked out of the dark into a well lit office building. The clock read 6:45 a.m. My eyes were still half closed as the haze in my mind begins to lift. Then… then I see her. She has a smile on her face, which contrasts my frown. I avert my eyes from her as we walk towards one another. She knows why. Surely, she isn’t going to say it; she has to know the state I am in. She sees my pain!! She won’t do it. She starts to walk past; I begin to silently praise her for making the transition easier, and then...she does it. She says the words I dread most.

“GOOD MORNING”

As I see it, the two worst words I used to hear during the day “good morning”. The words make me cringe. I am happy to see another day, please don’t get me wrong.. But I can’t take people being THAT happy first thing in the morning, which for me is any time before noon.

Ugh! Why? Please excuse me for preferring life after the two hands on the clock meet at 12. During the work week, I used to come in at 7a and not feel like moving until 11 or noon’ish. After that, I was your man. At 8a, I don't want breakfast, reading material, chit-chat. I want to go back to sleep and make this nightmare end. I see morning this way; it's like eating oatmeal while wishing I had a large juicy burger or a steak...filling but entirely unsatisfying.

Morning people talk gloriously about their breakfasts! They smile and speak of the syrup smothered pancakes and waffles they threw back while sipping on glorious breakfast blend coffee and reading the morning paper. They want to wax poetically about the beauty of the amazing sun rise and the joy of hearing birds chirping.

There, confronted with of her pert, bright-eyed exuberance, I faced a dilemma: toss my prized Sumatran coffee, my very lifeline, in her perky little face or say good morning through a tight-lipped grimace. No! A fake and very put on grin. No one needs to know that I dislike mornings, or I face being labeled a grouch for the rest of time.

Have you ever not said good morning to someone? Woo, the horrors that can ensue. I have experienced several indignant people in my time who seemed to make it a point to have me pay for not wishing them a “good morning”. My tight lipped grimace and utterance of ‘mornin’ got me called in to an officer once. Something about being nicer to people. Next time, there would be a firing squad for my heinous offense.

But that's work, part of the politics of office life, but why do such rules persist in one's private life as well?

“Heellloooo????”

“Good morning Jamal!! It’s Saturday!! Lets go have breakfast!!”

“Huh?? What time is it? Who is this??”

“It’s time for you to get up!! Come on, meet me for a great breakfast! You’re not going to sleep the weekend away are you?? Come on!! Let’s go!!”

“(sigh) This isn’t happening to me…”

I have a friend, let's call her Tasha Jackson, who occasionally texts or calls me on Saturday mornings around 7a.m. Sickening, right? I try to understand. I imagine she wakes up and jumps out of bed with a smile on her face just because it’s Saturday morning. She's that kind, you know? Not that there's anything wrong with that, but No No No...NO CALLING ME! Saturday mornings are for sleeping in, for resting. I smile if I can sleep until 1 p.m. without interruption (hint, hint). So if you care for me...for the love of ...just wait for noon.

"Good Afternoon" has such a nice ring to it! Good Evening sounds even better...!

More later, I need a nap...

-J

Sooo.. I am.. a snob. When it comes to how I view my movies or how my music should sound, I want it to be a certain way. The same thing holds especially true for a live show, I want to hear the artist. I have only seen a few big concerts in my time (Prince, Pink Floyd, Maze) that were spot on excellent shows. THIS … this should have been one of them.

“Hello, my name is Jill Scott”

With that, a beaming lady stood at the microphone in a long flowing animal print blouse and black leggings. Her natural pulled back creating a poof and a sweet melodic voice. Indeed, this should have been Jill Scott. As this woman sang, she touched us with her stories of love and life’s ups and downs. With a small, but spot on group of musicians backing her, this lady entertained the Nokia Centre for nearly a solid 2.5 hours. She ran through a growing repertoire of songs that included her recent hits including Golden, The Fact Is (I Need You), Cross My Mind, as well as some of her soon to be classics (and current crowd favorites) A Long Walk, The Way and He Loves Me (Lyzel In E Flat). All of this, added with tracks from her recently released joint (My Love, Don’t Hate On Me and Crown Royal to name a few), made for a great set. A woman who took time to encourage the artists in the audience to follow their dreams and keep their focused on their idea of making it and not others. With the extremely well lit show… it just should have been one I could rank up with the others. No dancers, no lip syncing, no tight outfits. Just a lady, her backup singers, her band and a few thousand of her newest girlfriends. I say that because often times, I felt I was ease dropping on a Saturday afternoon conversation between two women at an outdoor café. She was real with what she said about her life, love, sex in her songs and various ad-libs.

And yet…

It wasn’t the real Jill Scott. It really wasn’t her golden voice. It was a lady, who appeared to be Ms. Scott, being drowned out at times by her small rhythm section (consisting of a Saxophone, an English Horn and a Trombone), her percussion, keyboards and drummer whose high hat sounded like a drunken nightmare. The bass drum was mixed and mic’d as such I felt there was someone was sitting in the arena bumping their 18” subwoofers. With the full band playing, the singers, Jill and her singers, were quickly drowned out as were our ears. I am not sure who was in charge of sound, but the volume for this show was waay too high. It was like listening to a radio with the squelch turned all the way to max. thus, there were times I couldn’t understand exactly what her ad-libs were much less some of the lyrics. Thankfully, a number of her songs require less in terms of music thus her melodic voice was truly able to be heard. It was truly disheartening after having been to this same arena two years before to see an excellent Maze show. Thus I will not hear of it being an acoustics issue.

I want to see the show again under better circumstances. Ms. Scott plays tonight in Houston and her tour continues through the months of February and March along the east coast.

-J

Mmm.. musically, this is the time of year I dearly dread. The same songs being trotted out it seems earlier and earlier. One local radio station has played Christmas music since the beginning of November. Through out the various stores playing older and newer versions of these once a year memories, there are certain songs which remain with me. No matter how many times they are played, I get a wee smile on my face and feel.. well, like a kid again. This is in no particular order and they’re not best or worst. These are just songs I can truly enjoy each Christmas season.


This Christmas – Donny Hathaway (ok, I can hear this song in the heat of Texas summer and still think Christmas is right around the corner)
Do They Know It’s Christmas? (Feed The World) – Band Aid (this song has supposedly been re-made a few times and yet, though instrumentally outdated, though many teens have no clue who Boy George or George Michael are, it remains the favored version on our airwaves come Christmas time.)

Silent night – Temptations (it’s my favorite version for sentimental reasons. Listening to my old man hit those low notes was pretty damn impressive looking back. Thinking back to my tone deaf self trying to sing Eddie Ruffin’s parts was not)

The Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth – David Bowie & Bing Crosby (Interesting reading about it here. I actually listen to this tune year round.as Bowie’s part makes it more universal and even though Crosby didn’t know who the hell Bowie was, the odd combo makes for such a memorable performance. It just goes to show never to judge a book by it’s cover.)

They Got It Right (Memphis Day I)

Editor's Note: This is going to be a pretty boring entry. It's the first of three days in Memphis and I chose to explain a lot in this entry. It will be wordy, it might be boring and downright sterile. I promise to make it up for it on day two. I swear!!

It was a phrase I uttered several times over the course of a recent weekend in the city of Memphis, Tenn. With the excuse of this being a road trip to test out my mother's recently purchased Infiniti FX35, we decided to wander up I-30 and I-40 for a long weekend.

It started with a 1:30a departure from my place and a nice speeding warning from the Cumby city police department (I wasn't driving and that's all I am going to say about that). As I dozed in and out, it was brought to my attention once we go out further towards Arkansas, how many more 18 wheelers there seemed to be on the road. It was like this all the way. Rigs taking over the highway and the numbers seemed to grow the closer we got to Memphis.

Friday morning saw us check in to our economy Ramada Inn in West Memphis, Ark. A brief breakfast and nap before hitting the streets. Our first stop was to be the National Civil Rights Museum. Before we touch on this, just a little note if coming from West Memphis or straight into town from the west, take I-40 into Memphis not I-55. Those who give directions make it seem quicker to take I-55 to the downtown area and in some cases that might be true. There is a curveball thrown at you when attempting to head south on 55, the highway narrows down and forces southbound traffic to exit this 25 mph, single lane exit. Remember those rigs I referred to? Guess who stacks up traffic at least half a mile to a mile back from the actual exit? If you are fortunate to be headed to Riverside (which is north bound) then you have a lot less traffic to face, but the same cloverleaf like exit faces you with yet another twist. The northbound traffic from I-55 has to enter in the same manner merging into the same lane you are exiting. Something only an Aggie could have thought up. But I digress.

We did take the north exit and after testing the acceleration of her SUV, mom and I came upon a park right along the Mississippi River and in the shadows of downtown. We took a moment to take in this large body of water as well as the houses on a cliff overlooking the river. Well out of the floodplain, nice idea. After a brief moment of taking this in, we drove around looking for the museum.

Based in the Lorraine Motel where Martin Luther King was slain, it covers the Struggle starting from the early days of slavery, through Reconstruction and somewhat up to present day. The primary focus of the material covered deals with the civil rights movement in the south starting in the 1930's and culminating with King's assassination. The are brief biographies of a number civil rights leaders and stories pertaining to important events. There is a vast amount of information, which is easier to take in using the audio tour offered when purchasing tickets. Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee alternate narrating the story from Harper's Ferry to Little Rock to Oxford to McComb to Chicago to Memphis and beyond.

It was a very rushed visit. There is a brief ten minute film in an auditorium which has seen better days before beginning your tour. There are actually two wings to the museum. The Civil Rights section is in the "main" wing". Here one goes through meandering through newspaper clippings, television rebroadcasts as well as mock-ups of the bus Rosa Parks sat on, the jail cell MLK wrote his infamous "Letter From Birmingham Jail" as well as other places.

The showstopper is the bedroom where MLK stayed, glassed off and the spot where he stood when he was shot from across the road. It was an awe struck moment for me as I stood and looked across. My mother wanted nothing to do with this spot and passed on entering the room. A narrative of the day of played in the background as I looked around. This was the place where they killed the Dream. I am waaay too young to truly appreciate this monument. Rather, I just tried to gain some sort of understanding, a clue as to why he had to be slain? None was forthcoming.

As I mentioned, we were short on time (arrived a little after 3:30p and the museum closed at 5p) thus we had to rush across the street to the other building. Mmm… a waste of time for me. Most of the "second wing" is dedicated to the movements of James Earl Ray the day of the assassination as well as the subsequent hunt for him afterwards. The evidence, as presented by the prosecution of this case, is also shown in various cases. The prosecutions methods for tying people in to the involvement as well as divergent conspiracy theories are presented in this newly looking built wing. Of real interest is the view from the rest room Ray allegedly shot across the street using a high-powered rifle. The view is chilling when you think of how easy it must have been to fire off a shot at a man in plain sight across the street.

However, of the 15 minutes spent in this wing, we missed some odd presentation of Civil Rights around the world as well as a chance to stop in the Museum store. I gave the whole experience an A- as it is very informative and educational. I don't feel I should say this, but I would rather have seen the money they used on the assassination information in the "second wing" go towards continued upgrades of the "main wing".

After all this walking around the corner back to the tank, we made our way to the other side of town for some supper. I did some research before heading up and the concensous pointed toward Corky's as having some of the best Q in town. I am not going to start on this subject of whose is better (though one reviewer, Russ from Texas, is about to lose their card for claiming we Texans knew Memphis has the better Q… watch yo back man!!), but I will say Corky's is a great spot to stop in when visiting. I ordered the large slab of ribs and split the kind, half wet and half dry. I'll let them explain that. It came with decent sides of slaw and baked beans. For bread lovers, the rolls served while waiting for the meal are amazing good.. and heavy!! Someone put the heavy dough in these things. Mom had the bbq chicken and was able to sub out a pork dish with grilled on a bed of pasta. The chicken was a hit, not soo sure about those shrimp. Regardless, the service was very friendly and on the spot. Easily our best service the entire weekend. Beware if going to the location on Poplar. The resturant is a bit cozy and if seated in the aisle where the staff walks, watch yourself. The space between tables is a little tight and don't be surprised if brushed by the staff as they walk by. Please don't stretch your arms out. Bad idea. Very bad.

After our dinners, we rolled out of the place trying to figure out how to kill time before looking for a reggae spot downtown I read about. Thus we drove around town taking various streets and putting a ton of trust in our built in compass. Eventually, our meandering led us back downtown and in search of said club. Now I am guilty of doing something here. As we rolled upon the spot, I noticed there were a number of people going in and coming out who appeared to be a younger and more hip hop. Yeah, I stereotyped, I'm sorry. So I pointed the car south in search of Cooper & Young.

I read about this neighborhood online and it seemed like this newly growing neighborhood. It appears to actually be an area where a few independent businesses have setup shop and student housing exists. Not sure what I was truly expecting, but the infamous deli there (Young Deli ) is not exactly a deli. It is truly more of a student hangout and a bar, which happens to have a pretty good kitchen (more on that tomorrow) We drove a lot of the area within I-240 and the Mississippi River including a failed attempt at going to Beale Street.

Our day ended around 1a with our arrival at the hotel. Let me take that back. Someone's mother found CSI: Miami and while I did my best to ignore it, I was drawn into watching that and another episode at of the show before turning in around 3a. I hate A&E!