August 31, 2009

If I Should Die Tonight…

…please know that my last tweet probably means bupkis.  Nothing deep.  Just something I thought of right fast.  Had to let you know that before I mess around, get hit by a bus, and you guys think of putting any of that stuff on my tombstone.

After DJ AM died, I saw zillions of people talking about how “deep” his last tweet was.  That tweet reads as follows.

“New york, new york. Big city of dreams, but everything in new york aint always what it seems.”

It’s funny.  I just see Dogg Pound lyrics.  I listened to the radio on Monday, and I heard people saying that was “deep.”  Read the same thing on Twitter a few times.

Where is this depth?

Sometimes, people die.  And everything they did right before they died was their last something.  Last meal, last shower, last date, everything.  Stuff doesn’t get deep because your numbers was called.  If it’s not a suicide note, it’s just a friggin’ coincidence, in all likelihood.

As for this one?  I bet a million people go to New York and send that.  If one of my friends did, I’d silently remark how cliche that was.

If that tweet is deep, then let me offer some more wisdom from those sages from Long Beach.

“I’m dishin out blues, I’m upsetting like bad news, cutoff khakis, french braids, and house shoes.”

Call me Confucius, baby.

See, this is why you don’t say anything crucial on Twitter.  For one, if it’s crucial and you put it out there, you’re either talking too much about your business or crying out for help.  Neither is a good look.  Cut that shit out.

But there’s the other thing — Twitter can be an armchair psychologist’s dream.  I readily admit that I follow Donte’ Stallworth just to get a glimpse of what his life’s like right now, and I find it to be really interesting.  I’m not about to crack into his psyche with this, but it’s a trip to see him cheer on his teammates knowing why all he can do is tweet.  My voyeuristic side loves this stuff.

But hey man, it’s Twitter.  Let’s not get carried away.

But we’re in a world where people are delving into Michael Beasley’s tweets like they’re from his journal or something.  Is Beasley troubled?  Sounds like it.  Do his suicidal-sounding tweets mean that he was going to kill himself?  Maybe, I guess.

Or maybe he’s just the cat that overreacts.

Or maybe he’s got a really bad sense of humor.

I have no idea.

But in a world where people are so desperate for answers and quick to jump to conclusions, you better keep in mind that each tweet might be your last.

Myself, I’m comfortable with the epitaph on my headstone being this right here.

August 26, 2009

It’s International Baba Day! Let us celebrate!

I just wanted to share this e-mail I received and the story behind it.

Bo,

I just wanted to say congrats on the 1 year. Your show has been great. My son is Caleb from the golf store and he loves to listen to you. He is in school now. The other day someone said that the ydidnt like you and he said that you are great. He told them about being on the radio and you telling to never be scared to talk in front of people.

Congrats,

Les

August 23, 2009

An apology

Well, I’d first like to start by saying that I am not nearly as slick as I thought I was.  The folks at the establishment mentioned in the previous post figured out I was talking about them, and I received a very courteous apology.  Of course, while reading the e-mail, I realized I owed them an apology myself.  There was a very good reason for them to ask for identification.  Should’ve thought a little longer before posting that.

The cold coffee is something entirely different, but not enough for me to deprive myself of a great waffle.  I can get over it.

August 23, 2009

Someone lost my business this morning

Went out to breakfast this morning.  That’s typically not an expense I’m willing to incur during this here recession, but I wanted to get out of the house.  Plus, I didn’t want to wash dishes.

Went to one of my favorite spots.  Hadn’t been there in a while.  Apparently, they like it that way.  I don’t think I’ll be going back.

Here’s how to lose my business in three easy steps.

1.  Don’t refill my coffee.  A waiter or waitress has one thing to keep track of at breakfast — coffee.  If the cup’s low, fill it up.  If it’s half-full and it’s been a while, warm it up.  This isn’t complex.  Coffee’s the most heat-dependent thing you can serve other than eggs, and eggs don’t get refills.  Stay on your coffee grind.

When I have to ask someone to refill my cup, and not once all meal am I asked if I need more coffee, you’re slippin’.  The tip will reflect it.

2.  Lukewarm breakfast.  Coffee’s the big thing that must stay warm, but all breakfast food needs to start hot, right?  Not just warm, but muy caliente.  That’s especially true when you can’t depend on the coffee to give you a hand with thermoregulation.

3.  Card me for no good reason.  Time to pay for the food.  I put my debit card in the little tray with the receipt.  The card comes back, as do two copies of the receipt.  Next thing I know, the waitress is tapping me on the shoulder, asking me to take off my headphones and requesting that I show ID.

I know this isn’t standard operating procedure here.  I’ve never been carded before.  Further, if a place just cards people, they card you before they charge you.  What kind of sense does it make to ask someone for ID after the money has been drawn?  It makes none.  That’s a good Samaritan making sure that someone wasn’t getting stolen from.

And making sure I’m not a thief.

Won’t name the place because I didn’t speak with the manager.  It would be unfair to put them all the way out there without allowing them the opportunity to respond.

But if I’m paying $9.61 for a waffle, bacon, eggs and coffee in a recession, folks need to act like they want my money.  I know damn well they aren’t in a position to act like they don’t need my money.  They need it more than I need their breakfast, I know that much.  Customer service needs to be Job Numero Uno, baby.  Make me smile.  Make me happy I came.  Give me what I can’t get at home.

But you’re gonna ask me for ID on a transaction so small that some places wouldn’t even ask for a signature?  Give me a break.

August 12, 2009

The NABJ Chronicles, Part III

Well, in Parts I and II, I pretty much went through the chronology of my weekend.  The third installment is kind of like my Jerry Springer monologue, where we wade through all the insanity to find a message that all of us can take forth so we can take care of ourselves.  And each other.

I left Tampa with one question — when did cats start thinking it was cool to speak to women that are engaged in conversation with a man without saying any of the following….

1.  ”Excuse me.”

2.  ”What’s up, man?”

3.  ”My bad.”

4.  ANYTHING AT ALL Continue reading The NABJ Chronicles, Part III…

August 12, 2009

The NABJ Chronicles, Part II

Previously on the NABJ Chronicles…

Get to the Roof.  Break out the debit card.  Buddy needs me to give him my plate number, but I couldn’t remember it.  Go outside.  Come back.

“Strange, but your card’s not going through.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when the fun began.  Or started.  All depends on perspective….

So yeah, my debit card wasn’t running through.  Luckily, I’d been able to charge the Blackberry in the car, so I could check my balance.  It was low.  Real low.  Inexplicably low.

Yeah, in my infinite wisdom, I didn’t quite realize a couple uncommon occurrences were going to jack my cell phone bill up.  Cuz I’ll be damned if I can’t get a room at the fucking Red Roof Inn on the 6th of the month.  If it was like that, I’d have been started working the third shift at UPS (then, I could cut off that gym membership I don’t use).

But it’s all good, kinda.  I’ve got about $50 in cash in my pocket, more than enough for a room…

But what about gas???

What followed was one of the most complex decisions I’ve ever had to make, one that could have been, literally, the last decision I ever made.  The way I saw it, these were my options.

1.  Pay for the room in cash and get some sleep, then work out the gas part later.

Keep in mind how working things out later worked for me earlier.  It left me without a room.  It was the reason I had to make this decision in the first place.

2.  Save the dough and go find a place to park the car to catch a nap.

Yeah, I could stay in a car in Shady Tampa and catch a nap.  A dirt nap.  Hell no.  I watch the news every now and then.  How big of a mark do you think I am?  Hell no.

And, to tell the truth, getting robbed wouldn’t be the real problem.  It’s that they’d be robbing me and I didn’t really have any money.  That’s the shit the bandits really, really dislike.

3.  Just jump on 75 North and drive.

It would get me to Atlanta.  At the very least, it could get me to a rest stop after sunrise, when it would be way less likely that someone would charge me a sleep tax, if you get my drift.  Sure, I’d been up for 20 hours, and I started that stint with a four-hour drive, but I had some energy.

I used to be a road trip king, too.  Done three cross-country drives with one co-pilot and no stops.  Once did one of those drives, got out the car, and had a full day.

Know what I was then?  21.  That’s what I was.

Not 21 any more.

But the options were slim.  I wasn’t gonna call anybody at that hour if I had any other option.  And I had one.

Take that nifty I had in my pocket and turn that into enough gas and caffeine to get back to Atlanta.

So that’s what I did.

I must say, I was kinda proud of myself.  This required some real strategy.  You can’t just fill up the tank when you start because you never know what might happen, and you can’t give up all your liquidity.  Further, what if you spent all your money up front on gas, and you didn’t need all that petrol?  Then you’ve given up your ability to eat.  It’s a delicate balance of sustenance and liquidity when you’ve gotta make it work like that.

So I ran down that quarter tank I had, got out, put a dub on it and got a cup of coffee.  A friend was so kind as to talk to me as I tried to make it to sunrise.  When the sun gets up, so do I.  Once I got there, I was good.

There were a couple of moments where I got a little too, shall we say, deep in thought, but I got to sunrise.  From there, all I had to worry about was 5-0.  Thank you, cruise control.

But check this out…low on gas at the end, and the GPS on the phone said there was an accident on 285 that would hold up my trip.  I really couldn’t be wasting gas on idling.  I also wasn’t sure, however, that I could make it through their alternate route without petering out.  I couldn’t get details on how bad the traffic was.

Rolled the dice.  Went right at the accident.  Went up 285 North.

The accident was in the southbound direction.

One last 7.  Whew.

Managed to make it to the parents’ house with the needle kissing the E on the dash.  There was gumbo to be reheated. There was Blue Bell Butter Pecan in the freezer.  And I was no longer in the car.  Giddyup.

So let’s see here…by the time I went to sleep about 3 p.m., I’d been up for 30 hours.  12 of them were spent behind the wheel.  My debit card was scoffed at by a scoffworthy lodging establishment.  And — and this is a HUGE and — I spent ridiculous amounts of time in South Georgia and North Florida.

And guess what?  I haven’t been mad about a single part of it once.  That tells you how much fun I had in Part I.  The nonsense that followed just made for a great story.  If you know me, you know I’ll go through damn near anything if I’ve got a great story to tell when it’s done.

But this story isn’t done.  We must revisit my night in Tampa.  Since I’m sure we can’t have a panel discussion on it or anything, I’ll use this as a place to address one of the biggest scourges affecting the National Association of Black Journalists…

Hateriffic busters.

There were in force.  And they must be stopped.

August 11, 2009

The NABJ Chronicles, Part 1

My good friend David Steele suggested that I do a series of blog posts about my time at the NABJ Convention in Tampa.  And that was before he realized how much I’d have to tell about a 15 hour trip.  Enjoy.

Well, I’m back from vacation.  Good thing, too, for life sure got eventful upon my return.  The rest was helpful.

Of course, I’m not sure “rest” is the accurate term.  After going months and months without a road trip (and I don’t think I’d been on one in over a year), I decided to hoof it to Atlanta.  Then hoof it to Tallahassee.  Then hoof it to Tampa for the NABJ national convention.

If you’ve read this blog for a while, you know NABJ is like Christmas to me.  Given that I kinda got into this industry from my dorm rooms and apartments, I love the chance to catch up with colleagues I haven’t seen in forever (and, in many cases, never seen at all in the flesh).  Was too broke — and unemployed — to go last year, so I was gonna make it this year, even if for just one night.  Yeah, it’s that serious.

The only thing…I’m more employed, but I’m roughly as broke was I was then.  The cheap registration for this conference had long passed.  I don’t know exactly how much walk-up registration was, but I’m pretty sure there was a comma involved.  No way, Jose.  If I put a grand on something, it better have a motor.  Or get my motor to start again.  Or knock so hard it’ll set off car alarms.  Either way, didn’t have a grand for fellowship.

Especially not when you can just show up and dare someone to put you out!

The moral of this story — I’ll never get too old to enjoy mischief. Continue reading The NABJ Chronicles, Part 1…

August 4, 2009

Podcast with the Good Folks at FreeDarko

Check it out here.  I pop in around the 14 minute mark.  The other stuff is good, too, btw, but the thing is an hour long.  Don’t fault you for skipping around a bit.

And now, back to the regularly scheduled vacation.