November 30, 2009

The Tiger Woods FAQ

Got questions about what happened to Tiger Woods?  Me, too.  Here they are, as they came to me, and the best I — or anyone else — could come up with, given that Tiger won’t tell me anything.  Or much of anyone else.

Friday

Where did Tiger and Elin go for Thanksgiving?

After Thanksgiving, an unofficial poll conducted by this writer found 90 percent of Americans were stuffed and passed out by 9:30. What good’s a billion dollars if you don’t throw down on Thanksgiving?

Should Tiger look into a Volvo?

Backing out of the driveway in his Escalade and hitting a hydrant gave Woods facial lacerations? 20 years ago, Volvos handled crashing monster trucks better than that. One time for Swedish engineering!

What’s that smell?

Not sure, but something stinks.

Saturday

Has Tiger ever actually owned a Buick?

If he went to the Caddy at 2 a.m., I’m skeptical. Buick gave us the Regal. They know something about getaway cars.

Is an Escalade a long par-4 or a short par-5?

According to msnbc.com, Elin teed off with a 7-iron to break Tiger’s back windshield, making it one expensive par-3.

Where was Tiger going?

Out. That’s where.

Where was OnStar?

Forget about the 911 call. In the commercials, no such call would be necessary. Tiger doesn’t have the base package, does he?

Is this the best thing to ever happen to Tiger?

No matter what the truth proves to be, everything points to something most men can relate to. Who could say they related to Woods in any way before this? His name’s Tiger, but he’s human, something that’s easy to lose sight of but, now, is impossible to ignore. Worse things you can call a man than a “person.”

Since when does The Law reschedule?

When diplomatic immunity is involved. Don’t forget — we’re talking about the King of Cablinasia.

Was Tiger cheating on his wife?

If he was, his grill got cracked and his ride got busted. If he wasn’t, his grill got cracked and his ride got busted. Next question.

Has Tony Dungy been contacted?

Maybe, but this sounds more like a sitchie for Lionel Richie. Or maybe a séance to speak with Johnnie Taylor?

Sunday

What’s a “Kobe Special?”

A great way for Tiger to ruin the kinship with the common man he’d developed.

Why did Tiger release a statement remarkably similar to the story no one believed?

Because, if the cops can’t get him to talk, neither can you.

November 20, 2009

Are y’all still jockin Britney Spears?

Many of you know I’m a Twitter fiend.  It’s the greatest invention ever for someone that talks to much and likes to work while distracted (and, coincidentally, the wonderfullest SSP device of all-time).

If you’re unfamiliar, a problem with Twitter is spam bots.  Yanno, folks that follow you and look to send you stuff that they know you dont’ really want.  But, just in case you might, they’re gonna hit you up.  Lots of them are pr0n.  That always humors me because the guy that cares that much about pr0n already knows where to look.  He didn’t need a suggestion.

Today, I’ve had to zap about three said bots.  But what got me was what they had in common…

They all advertised the chance to see Britney Spears in the act.

Yo, it’s 2009.  Damn near 2010 or, put differently, 10 years since that schoolgirl video.  Who are the people STILL trying to get a glimpse of Britney Spears?  It was weird enough when she wasn’t legal and cats were counting down the days.  Now?  I mean…y’all haven’t found something better?

Now, I don’t take the bots as an indicator of the world’s tastes, but they picked the person they think will be most likely to get you to click.  And they still think that’s Britney Spears.

Nobody new?  What about that Gisele lady that Tom Brady’s married to?  One of Derek Jeter’s acquaintances, perhaps?  Serena?  Anyone else?

Where’s the creativity, pr0n bots?

And if you’re still clicking for Britney, what is your problem?  Get a calendar or a time machine or something, man.

November 18, 2009

Five unspoken drawbacks to unemployment

Clearly, I’ve got too much time to think.  Maybe that would be drawback No. 6.

1.  Unemployment is expensive.  You don’t think about it, but work saves you a lot of money.  Yeah, you gotta pay to get there, but it’s gravy after that.  Hours and hours using someone else’s electricity.  Social interaction.  Coffee.  AND they give you money.

Unemployment?  What is there to do that doesn’t cost money?  Name one thing.  Did the road trip thing, but those gas prices are a monster.  Moral of the story — nothing costs more money than not having a way to go get it.

2.  Everyone asks the same question…the one you can’t answer.  What have I heard the most in the last two and a half weeks?

“Well, what’s your plan?  When can I hear you on the air again?”  If you’ve got those answers, you’re not unemployed.  You’re, literally, between jobs.  If you can answer “so, what’s the plan?”, then there’s no reason to ask, especially since thinking about the lack of said plan gets old mighty fast.  Something to consider.

3.  There’s no one to hang out with.  Well, that’s if your friends have jobs.  Mine do.  And the ones that don’t?  They don’t have gas money, either.

4.  You wind up with a slew of unattractive options, none of which get done.  Like right now, for example, I’m debating whether to clean my house or go get a haircut.  The answer, clearly, is blogging.  See what I mean?

5.  You better meet a woman BEFORE you lose your job.  Went to a bar the other night with a friend that came to town.  As most of you know, I rarely drink, so I don’t do the bar thing much.  I tipped back a couple on Friday and played wingman (my rap doesn’t work very well screaming over speakers).  Sat and talked to a woman, and she asked what I did for a living.  I said I used to host a radio show.  That translates directly, in femalese, to “he ain’t got no job,” and her facial expression made that abundantly clear.  I was just the wingman, so no biggie, but yeah…you better have yours lined up before the last check.  And earn your keep in a non-monetary way.

So yeah, that’s it.  And for those that don’t know, no need to worry about me.  I just figure this is something lots of people deal with and, unlike most, I’m not ashamed in the least of it.  So let’s just laugh about it.

November 18, 2009

Adventures at the Brookstone

So I snuck a little more funemployment in yesterday.  Twas the last guaranteed day of golf weather, so I went out.  Shot 102, my best round ever, which is an especially big deal when you spent four months hitting everything — and I mean everything — to the right.

Only one way to wrap up a day like that — with a massage.  At the Brookstone Spa, of course.

That’s right.  From time to time, I go to the mall and spend as long as I can in the massage chairs at Brookstone.  Some of you are probably thinking, “Bomani, don’t you worry about people knowing who you are when you do something so incontrovertibly bootleg?”

The answer — nope.  Anyone that knows me would be anything but surprised that I’d do that.  In fact, I’ve always hoped that being known would encourage someone to go get me a drink or something.  I’m saying…maybe the salespeople liked the show, yanno?

So I sit down in my usual chair and start to get comfy.  Next thing I know, someone on the clock comes up and recommends I try the chair on the other end.  He says it’s the “Cadillac” of their chairs.  I mean, I like Cadillacs.  Why not?

Switched chairs, and it was the bestest.  The only thing, however, was this cat was really, really trying to sell me this chair.  Now, I must admit that I hate when salespeople assume I’ve no plan of buying something, or that I can’t afford something, and then don’t come over and help me.  This time, however, I had no plan of buying anything, and I do NOT have $3,000 for a chair, whether it gives massages or anything else.  Please leave me alone so I can relax and think about my round of golf.

Dude wasn’t going anywhere, I tell you.  Anywhere.  But he messed up and told me that you could plug an iPod into the chair, and the massage would be synced with the beat.  Coincidentally, I had my iPod in my pocket.

Man, you haven’t lived until you’ve gotten a massage synced to the first five tracks of Bob Marley’s “Kaya.”  It plays in speakers near your year, and the massage goes with the bass.  Man, great great living.  I just sat there and wondered how wonderful the world was.  Just greatness.

Until this cat comes BACK talking about their myriad payment options.  He really, really thought I was about to buy this chair.  No idea how none of his co-workers told him, “he be in here all the time…he ain’t buying shit.”  But he came.  Like he couldn’t hear me listening to reggae.

Then came his buddies, and they started running a tag team on me to try to buy this chair.  But seeing how, in a tag team match, it’s only one person at a time, it was more like the referee turned around and I was getting jumped.  So I figured out how to weasel from this…

“Well, I actually have to talk about my wife about this.  She has to OK a purchase this.”

Some of you are thinking, “Bomani, when did you get married?”  The answer — I didn’t.  If she says she’s my wife, ask to see a picture of me in a tux.

Next thing I know, this dude is trying to give me advice on how to sell my wife on this.  I mean no disrespect to the dude, but I didn’t see him as a cat to help me with my rap.  To any woman.  About anything.  Especially not to a woman that didn’t exist.

I tell him that she’s cheap.  He comes with another strategy.  Like he knows my wife better than I do.  As if I’ve got a wife (well, he didn’t know that).

By this time, I’ve missed “Misty Morning” on the album.  Now I’m mad.  I tell dude I’m gonna step right outside and call my wife and see what she thinks.  I haven’t been back since.

Few weeks ago, they moved the massage chairs by the door.  I think the goal was to shame freeloaders.  I was born without shame.

That said, I think the adventures of the Brookstone Spa are done.  All that helpfulness has burned me out.

Psssh…whatever.  I’ll just start going to the one at another mall.  I work too hard to not get massages just because they cost money.

But the least I can do — check out the chairs at the Brookstone Spa.  They’re great.  Try ‘em out.

November 17, 2009

Shaniya Davis and the world we live in

Now that Shaniya Davis’ body has been found, the chorus of “what is this world coming to?” has begun.  Before you sing your part, I’ve got a quick story from my last trip to Atlanta.

I was in the barber shop, watching another rousing edition of the evening news.  I say that because Atlanta has, without question, the most depressing evening news I’ve ever seen.  It’s the big reason I’ve watched very little local news since my freshman year of college (leading to more than a few awkward conversations with local news personalities who don’t understand how I could possibly not know who the hell they are).  I do remember that great story the day the dudes tried to set it off at Chuck E. Cheese in ‘97, and thinking how mad they would have been had they got home to find they jacked up a dozen sacks of tokens.  Other than that?  Not worth it.

Home invasion here.  Murder there.  You name it — if it would mess up your mood, it was on in the first 15 minutes.

Now, this was the day of the shootings at Fort Hood…and the Atlanta news still beat that in terms of depression.

So I sat in the chair, and I said to the barber, “it seems like every time I come back here, things get wilder and wilder.”

I’ll never forget his response.

“No it’s not.  Only thing wilder is the news.”

He’s right, in large measure.  The crime rate isn’t that much different than it was before.  I have to admit that part of the reason Atlanta seems wilder to me now is that poor people that used to jack each other have started breaking into houses in my parents’ neighborhood.  That’s got a way of making things seem a lot worse.

There are some horrible things going on right now.  Know why?  Because they’re a continuation of the horrible things that have happened forever and ever and ever.  The saddest thing about what happened to Shaniya Davis is that this isn’t new.  This isn’t something to make us take inventory of modernity.  Remember — yesterday’s victims are tomorrow’s predators.  This is a cycle, not a shift.

Don’t be a fool for the 5 o’clock news.  Only thing good about the good old days is that they’re old.  This was another terrible thing to happen in a world that’s got a terrible side to it. We just know a lot more about that side than we used to.

November 16, 2009

For more information on sickle cell

One of my good friends lost his wife Saturday night.  She fought sickle cell for a long time, and this weekend was the last fight she had in her.

No need for names and particulars.  I just know I didn’t realize what a monster sickle cell was until I met this couple.  In case you, like me, didn’t get it, please check here for more information.

I spent last night listening to a totally numb man try to figure out how to explain to his four year-old that his mommy wouldn’t be coming back from the doctor.  I reckon the least we can do is click a link.

With all the scourges afflicting struggling people, I can’t help but thing their No. 1 killer is still what it always was — real life.

November 13, 2009

Barnes Recruitment Like No Other

Today was the official end of Funemployment.  That’s not to say I’d like to borrow some money.  I want you to give it to me.  Stop laughing.

While not working, I did what pretty much everyone else in the 919 did — waited to see where Harrison Barnes, the top player in the recruiting class of 2010, would go to school.  I had no idea.  Coaches involved had no idea.  I got no less than three calls before 1 p.m. from people in this media business, all to compare how much we didn’t know. Continue reading Barnes Recruitment Like No Other…

November 9, 2009

Is my laptop bad for me?

As many of you know, I’m on the computer all the time. That’s partially because I’m a workaholic of sorts, but hey…I’m funemployed! Less computer time for me this week and change, and I haven’t missed it terribly.

But here’s what I noticed — I’m on that bad boy a whole lot more than when I had a desktop computer.

Right now, I’m on my mother’s desktop. What’s striking is how few other things I can do while I use it. It’s in the second room of her place, and all that’s in here are a few bins she’s using to store things, a bed, and a hodgepodge of stuff. Can’t watch TV in here, nor is eating really convenient. If you’re on the computer, that’s all you’re doing.  That’s a great way to keep your posture good.

When I get home, the first thing I do is turn on the lapper.  Either I’m cueing up music, or I’m checking what e-mail I missed on the way home, checking scores or, the most common answer, getting right back to work.  If you think I’m lying, come rub my shoulders and feel the effects.  Or, hell, even if you don’t think I am, come rub my shoulders.  I’d appreciate that greatly.

Once I got the lapper and wireless, I could do work whenever and wherever.  I take my computer to friends’ houses, and I don’t like it when they don’t have wireless themselves.  Between the hundreds of people on various buddy lists, the lapper doubles as social outlet (over the years, I’ve come to loathe the phone because there are myriad ways to get in touch with me that are less cumbersome and don’t interrupt what I’m doing).

I’m not sure any of those are good things.  Sure, it made me better at my gigs, but I doubt it made me a better person.  I hate using other people’s computers — I need everything where I want it, down to how the clicks on the keyboard sound – but this has made me less social and leaves me plopped on my couch a lot more.

Shakespeare said all the world’s a stage.  When you’ve got the lapper, the whole world’s an office.  That’s cool when you love what you do.  But no matter what you love, it can become a job.  Hell, even pR0NN stars don’t wanna go in some mornings.

Productivity is so much easier now.  But am I the only one that questions whether that’s made life a whole lot less fun?

How much less fun?  I hate not having the immediate option of getting something done or looking something up.  Life was o-bee-kay-bee before that was an option, but I can’t imagine it now.  And as simplistic as this sounds, it would not be like this if I didn’t have a laptop.

And now, I can’t imagine living without it.  Welcome to 2009, for better or worse.

November 9, 2009

Week 2 of Funemployment

The lovely Ms. Andrews coined the term “funemployment.” I like it. See, “funemployment” is the space between your last day on the gig and your first missed check. FYI — this is my last week of funemployment.

Right now, I’m at my mom’s place. Hung with her, saw my lovely niece (who’s President of her Delta chapter, which officially makes me the oldest 29 I can imagine), and other fun stuff. I haven’t been to Alabama to see my mom (not the same thing as not seeing her, btw) in so long, I forgot how to go to her office.

Funemployment — bringing families together.

Call that your word of the day, I suppose. I had a long post on relationships that was spawned from a conversation I had with my mother before she went to work, but I can’t quite put the words together right. Maybe I’ll do that this afternoon. After all, it’s FUNEMPLOYMENT, baby!

But really, I’ll try to get that post right before I leave here. Doing my best, but my brain doesn’t work properly on a PC. Dell oughta make a new model called “VHS” or something. This joint feels so antiquated, it should have a button for high-speed dubbing.

November 2, 2009

The Unemployment FAQ

Seems the best way to handle this one. I’ve gotten close to a slew of e-mails, most asking the following questions. Let’s answer ‘em now, cuz it’s getting kinda weird spending four straight days talking about the same thing, even if much of it involves hearing how totally awesome I am.

1. What’s next?

Today was a day of decompression. Tomorrow will be, too. Wednesday? I’ll probably go see my daddy. Next week? My mama, I reckon. In other words — we’ll see. Those of you that have read this blog for the last five years know how I’ve done things. Grad school didn’t work? Let’s freelance for a living. Freelancing getting old? Time to angle for a contract. That doesn’t work? Let’s teach a class and do some radio. Class is over? Gotta turn this part-time radio thing into something full-time.

The full-time radio is done? Well, now it’s time to figure out what to do now. I know where I ultimately want to wind up, and I’ve been doing a nine-year apprenticeship in the media learning the landscape and taking inventory of what I can and can’t do. I’m more confident in my ability than I’ve ever been. I’m also less sure about the next move than I can recall being. Is it time to write? More radio? Satellite? TV?

Dunno.

2. What happened?

You don’t get jobs by publicly discussing what happened at your last one. The why is less than important than the what.

Things changed. I’m not angry. As Hyman Roth would tell you, this is the business I’ve chosen. If I didn’t respect the game, then you’d have legitimate reason to question the truth in the words I spoke on the air. Far as I recall, I never lied about anything.

3. How are you?

This is the best I’ve got for you…

I now know how it feels when someone has to leave college because they’ve run out of money. You move into this new world, and you get a new set of friends that, after just a few weeks, feel like you’ve known forever. Even the cats you don’t know, you get used to. They’re a part of your life.

Then, one day, it’s done. It’s nobody’s fault, but you wake up, and all those folks aren’t there. And even though you only knew them for a year, you can no longer imagine being without them.

For more than a year, I’ve talked to Joe in Raleigh six days a week. Damn near the same with Ken in Youngsville, Jack in Gibsonville, Craig in Raleigh, and a bunch of others. I’ve got hundreds of e-mails from Don and Vic and all those cats.

Do I know all those guys? No. But I’ve talked to Joe many times in person. I’ve golfed with Ken. Today, I rolled past Vic’s job to speak with him after having lunch with another listener that’s always treated me fantastically (and paid!). Whenever I see someone that listened to my shows, I find that we can talk like we’ve known each other forever. The part of this job I never expected was how personal the connection was that you can have when you talk with people on a daily basis. It’s gonna take a while to get used to being without that.

4. What about a podcast?

The Do Do Wap. It’s strong in here. And it’s coming soon.

5. Will you stay in the Triangle?

Maybe.

6. Anything else?

Friday and Saturday were probably the most humbling days of my life (yes, it can be done). I loved doing the show, and I loved interacting with people and sincerely appreciated the time they gave me. It never dawned on me, though, that people really thought this program was important. Sure, I did things to try to make this a part of their routines, but it became a part of their lives after a while.

A gentleman told me that listening to the show helped him begin to battle a heart ailment that struck him at 42. Now, he and his sons listen (well, not now, per se, but you get it). A woman called to say the show helped her deal with unemployment. Many have told me that the show spoke for them — their race, their generation, all kinds of other stuff. People found the commonality I hoped to speak to with the show, and they showed that it was even deeper than I realized or even imagined. They feel like I spoke for them.

I hoped to get past our differences and focus on what we’ve got to share. And, on my last show, a middle-aged white man called to tell me to come down to A&T’s homecoming to see Gucci Mane. Yessir.

I can’t say how good it felt to know that so many people actually got what we were doing. When you do radio, you sit in a booth, and you have no idea if something works. Maybe people laugh. Maybe they don’t. Maybe they listen close. Maybe they turn the station. From the chair, I never have any idea. Even if I found out on the way out the door, people of many stripes got it.

Before knowing that, I found this time to be the my most professional rewarding experience. Now, I’ve got no idea what to say.

Which means I’ve probably said enough.