January 28, 2010

Who is Paul Shirley again?

First, some SSP — you can now find “The Morning Jones” at the iTunes Store. If you haven’t heard the new show, I think you should get on it. It ain’t bad. Now, moving on…

From what I can tell, many of you are very upset with Paul Shirley. You’re upset because of this blog post he wrote on Haiti.

Then there’s the rest of you — those that have no idea who in the world Paul Shirley is. That proportion of you is large, and there are certainly more of you than those who are incensed. Shirley played professional basketball, a fact I would not have known had he not been a contributor to a Web site I’ve done a lot of work for.

As a basketball player, he’s nobody. As a thinker, he’s nobody. His writing, at least what I’ve read, has centered around the life of a basketball nobody. Subsequently, given that he has zero influence or power over the public discourse, he’s a nobody when it comes to talking about Haiti. Were I not killing time as we try to repair technical difficulties related to this morning’s show, I wouldn’t have the time to talk about him.

I don’t say that to insult Shirley. But I only know, literally, one person that gives a damn about Paul Shirley. The rest of you are just wasting time with him.

Why be mad at Paul Shirley? He spoke about something he knew absolutely nothing about. The crux of his ideology certainly isn’t unique. It’s basic, “bootstraps” stuff that we hear all the time, that many of you happen to agree with. I know this because these same arguments are consistently raised when discussing the American poor. Shirley just brought it up in the aftermath of a tragedy (which is usually when these arguments are mentioned about the American poor).

I understand being annoyed by the condescending tone. However, that’s typically what happens when people write about things they don’t know about (which usually happens when discussing the American poor). In his mind, the question is simple — if Haiti’s so messed up, why don’t you leave (which sounds like what’s said about…)?

Right, because no one ever thought of that one before. In fact, someone did.

Paul Shirley passed a Sam Kinison routine off as food for thought. How could I stay mad at that? Look how funny Sam was (and really, that route it hiiiii-larious).

(Oh, BTW, ask Bill Clinton about the Haitians that DID try to move somewhere else.)

What he wrote wasn’t hateful. It was just really, really stupid. And if stupid got me riled up all the time, I’d have to find another job. Hosting sports talk would send me to an early grave if I didn’t have a certain patience for the uninformed among us.

But enough about Shirley. Pop quiz — how many of us are truly less ignorant than he is?

He was too stupid to be quiet. I’ve made that mistake a few times. The rest of you know what answers you should and shouldn’t give at a time like this.

That said, do you understand why Haiti’s so poor? Do you get why the country was so ill-equipped to handle such a disaster?

If you don’t, then the only thing that makes you better than Paul Shirley is silence. Except for the fact that doesn’t really make you much better.

If you’re short on answers, here’s a good place to start. Tyler Duffy also contributed a great post to The Big Lead.

Shirley raised some interesting questions about the obligation the more fortunate do and don’t have to donate, and the concerns that come from donating money and not knowing where it’s going. Truth be told, if you’re donating money and have no concern to where it’s going, then you’re not donating the money to help. You’re donating it because it makes you feel good to say you did your part. Like Shirley — I assume, at least, he feels this way — I’m not impressed by that. If you’re giving, do it for them. Not for your conscience or the vision you have of yourself, but for the people that need the help. Otherwise, what you’re doing is masturbatory, at best.

He also addressed the tricky question of rebuilding a place that is constantly at risk of being the victim of natural disaster. I raised this exact same question about New Orleans five years ago, and I said the city should not be rebuilt.

I wouldn’t say that now. What I didn’t consider at the time was the value of culture and the value of being home. I’ve never felt a “home sweet home” to any of the places that I’ve lived, and I generally believe all these places around the world are, essentially, the same. City really ain’t much bigger than the friendly people that you meet, Bill Withers said. I think he’s right.

But it’s really easy for me to say they shouldn’t rebuild somebody else’s city. It’s really easy for me to say that people should jet out from a bad location just because it’s bad. There’s something, clearly, that keeps people in these places, and that something isn’t stupidity. It isn’t my place to spell it out, nor do I find that necessary. The bottom line is that home is home, being Haitian is being Haitian, and it’s hard to do either one from Miami.

The point I’m trying to make — Shirley did give us some things worth considering and discussing, especially if he’s speaking as someone whose money may go toward these efforts. Too bad that got obscured by his abject lack of a clue.

But mad at Paul Shirley? He’s a hooper and a writer. I’ve worked in sports media for years, and I only know who he is because we have a mutual friend.

He’s not worth my blood pressure. Yours either. I just recommend making sure there’s not more Paul Shirley in you than you recognize.

January 24, 2010

Conan, I feel you

Well, I’m back home from Toronto. I can’t tell you how tired I am. Part of it is the two hour adventure I had with customs, but the other part is not going to sleep until about 1 a.m., knowing good and damn well I had to be up at 5 or 6 or something to leave for the airport. But how could I go to sleep on the Conan finale?

I don’t watch much late night TV — or TV in at any time, really — but Conan’s always been hilarious to me. It’s a hilarious that’s difficult to explain, and one that you can’t expect anyone else to get. He’s just one of those guys.

Generally, that isn’t the description of a mainstream star, so it’s perfectly understandable that The Tonight Show didn’t work for him. His funny just isn’t for everyone. Can’t fault the masses because they prefer easy to quirky. If the masses were into quirky like that, we wouldn’t call it “quirky,” would we?

Anyway, Conan got canned. Canned with eight figs in his pocket, but canned all the same. And while the parting gift certainly helped, getting fired doesn’t feel great. Doesn’t matter who’s fault it is or who’s behind it. Fired is fired is fired, and it stings. Been there a few times myself.

And having been there, I can’t say how much respect I have for Conan, how he handled his departure, and how he went out — like a grown man.

When you work on an open mic, it’s rare that you get to say goodbye on air. For good reason, bosses are a little reluctant to turn their airwaves over to someone with nothing to lose. Folks have a tendency to just let shit off their chests in those situations, and it often causes problems and, potentially a fine from the FCC.

But you know what? Why would you wanna buck on the way out? Doing a daily show is such a personal thing. You don’t do the show for your bosses. You do it for yourself and the people that are into what you’re doing. Day after day after day, you and those people interact. In television, the interaction isn’t nearly as personal as when you do local radio, but it’s still about you and your audience. And the second that last show wraps, it’s over. Sure, people can catch up with you and you can read the nice things they say about you, but that connection is gone. Outside of the checks, that connection is the best thing you can possibly get from working in these media.

So why would you rather take shots at people doing their jobs, what they must do or what they think is best, when you could talk to the people that made it great, the people that you won’t be with again for a long time?

Parting shots are for punks. Period. If it’s really like that, then go in your boss’ office and ream him out right there. Man up. Give him the chance to fire you on the spot, punch you, whatever. But what does anyone get from showing out in public?

This game is about the people that watch you, that listen to you, that allow you into their homes. What Conan got in the last few weeks was something I was fortunate enough to receive — genuine verification that what he’d been doing the last two decades really did affect people. Was it enough people to keep him on the air?

Who cares? It was enough people that he could hear them. And if you’ve got one person that has let you into their lives and says that your work has made them better in any sort of way, that you’re winning.

And that victory means so much more than ripping into your boss or the people at your company, the majority of whom were probably wonderful to him.

Conan got that. I almost cried when he almost cried because I damn sure nearly cried in a similar situation. It’s hard to explain to people how hard that moment was. It’s not crying about the job. Conan knew what was going to happen to him well in advance, the same way that I did. You make peace with that early.

What you can’t make sense of is the loss. Not the job. The people, the audience, the folks that have helped you put something like that together and the relationships with all of them. One day, they’re just gone. Not all of those things have to change, but they do. That’s just how it is.

And Conan trucked through it like a grown, incredibly dignified man. He thanked NBC for his 20 years there. He thanked his staff. He pulled back the curtain to say he was allowed to say anything he wanted…but wouldn’t. He had the chance that so many people dream of — to let loose on those above them — and chose to speak to the people that stood with him.

That, to me, is how we all should be. To quote Big Boi, “hate ain’t even in my lifestyle.” It seems not to be in Conan’s, either. He made that day about him and his folks, which is certainly something I think we can all take with us.

And then there’s the classic bit of television we got at the end — “Freebird.”

I can’t lie — I spent more time worrying about getting my finale right than I did worrying about finding a job. If I was gonna walk, I was gonna go how I wanted to go. That was the gift I wanted to give myself. Forget snappin’ on someone. If this was gonna end, and me and my people were gonna kick it one last time, then we were gonna do it right. Those that heard it can give you their opinions, but I couldn’t think of any better way to walk away than how I did — laughter with a parable attache.

The difference between me and Conan, of course, was I could just pull Randy Watson and Tyrone Green off YouTube. He could actually call Billy Friggin’ Gibbons.

Seriously, how cool is this — on his last show, Conan played guitar on “Freebird” with Max Weinberg, Billy Gibbons, Beck and Ben Harper??? With Will Ferrell doing Will Ferrell stuff, removing any hint of melodrama? And Gibbons, Beck and Harper fell back so CONAN O’BRIEN could take a solo until the end? Are you kidding me?

I can’t think of anything better. And given the way Conan handled that hour of television, I can’t think anyone that deserved it more.

I’m certainly speaking from a very personal place, so I have no idea if anyone else saw what I saw or gets what I get from it. But I’m not sure the last time I saw anything that personal or genuine on television. And even if Conan’s comedy doesn’t do it for you, give it up for Conan’s heart. That show was harder than it looked.

And a little harder for me to watch than I’d care to admit.

January 24, 2010

All-white basketball?

You may have heard of the All-American Basketball Alliance. It’s the proposed all-white hoops league that wrasslin’ promoter Don “Moose” Lewis says he wants to start in the southern United States. Yeah, you read that correctly.

We did an interview with him Friday. It will air Monday on “The Morning Jones,” but it’s available now on podcast at Hardcore Sports Radio.

Here’s the interview. I’ll just tell you this — his version of “I have black friends” was to say he’s doing business with the Nigerian government.

You read that right. Enjoy.

January 20, 2010

The Canadian Chronicles, Vol. 1 — Finding a Barbershop

Greetings from the Great White North. I’ve been told that I brought the warmth with me. Today’s high — 27. Fahrenheit. Luckily, I brought coats, too.

So the other day, I had one of the worst predicaments a man can have — looking for a barbershop out of town. Out of the country, no less.

Now, the last time I had to Google a barbershop was in Raleigh, when I had a TV appearance sprung upon me. All I could do was go in the phone book and look for the first shop that sounded like it was run by black people. What resulted was a trip to a strip mall, and the barbershop was comfortably nestled between a check cashing joint and a laundromat, with plenty of teenagers keeping watch. At 1 p.m. On a Wednesday. Had to decide whether Outside the Lines was worth getting jacked.

This time, the folks at my office were kind enough to help. A gentleman, without me asking, found one on Google. No disrespect to him, but I asked Sacha, since he was more likely to actually frequent the establishment in question. Found one he said was decent.

(On a related note, Sacha was glad that I was there to explain to Pizzo that, no, I wouldn’t let a white man cut my hair. I think Pizzo thought that was a bit racist. If only that dude knew the questions from white people I’ve had to answer about my hair, and mine’s actually fairly straight. Plus, if dude were to mess up my hair cuz he’d never seen anything like it…I’d hate to hear what might come out. You don’t mess up a man’s haircut, man. Ever. No refund can correct the trauma.)

So I get there. I came in the door, and there were steps to go down. Then a door. Then, if I recall, another door. I thought I needed to know the handshake to get in.

I don’t like going through all of that at a barbershop, given the preponderance of crooked behavior at barbershops. It’s not a stereotype. It’s common sense. Seriously, where do you think these cats learn to cut hair? A barbershop with no ex-cons on the payroll is either run by an old man in a small town, or it costs more than I’m willing to pay.

So when you’ve got me going downstairs through the labyrinth, forgive me for asking myself if this is the place to be.

But hey, ain’t like they’d be the first set of crooks I’ve been around. It was, however, the first time I saw a barber with A SHAG. In 2010. A SHAG.

His shag was right, mind you. Supposing you’re into such things, of course. However, I’m not jumping in a barber chair to get a cut by a guy that looks like he jumped out of a time machine. At least it wasn’t curly and/or juicy, but still.

I walk in, and a chair was open. Now, the open chair is one the dilemmas that keeps popping up. I don’t have time to wait for cuts, but the open chair is usually open for a reason. Last open-chair cut I got was from some dude that just went around my head, turned me toward the mirror, and asked if that was straight. No, not a hand mirror. The big mirror. I told dude it was straight, thinking he meant the level. No, after like 7 minutes, dude was done.

Again, he was the OPEN CHAIR. He had time to perfect things if he wanted to. But no no no. I guess his dad was the principle of the barber college. Or, he was only in for a misdemeanor. Either way, it would have been felonious if I walked out with the cut he tried to give me. As I’ve said before — no haircut >>> bad haircut. No haircut can look rugged. A bad haircut, no matter what, looks f’n ridiculous.

So now, I’m looking at the open chair. In Canada. Errrr…

But I had a TV appearance, so I needed a cut and I needed it then. Luckily, my barber was in a hurry, too, cuz he just started moving the clippers over my head. He used as much precision on the first strokes as someone raking pine needles. Guess he figured he’d get the rest right at the end.

Not a word of conversation. None. He listened to Shag Daddy — he appeared to be the ringleader — and said nothing to me.

So you know that made me nervous, right? I got the open chair, dude’s acting like he doesn’t care, and he isn’t even bothering to ask me how long I’ve been in town (trust, they can make me for an American from a mile away).

Last thing you wanna be during a haircut is nervous. Trust me.

It went OK. Not like my man Andre in Cali — who I STILL ask to cut my hair when I go to Cali, the man that gave me the best haircut and lineup of my life — but he did the job. You can trust a barber in Toronto. I just wanted to share.

And I just wanted to blog. More on the Canadian adventures — and the start of the show, which has gone better than I ever dreamed it would — shortly after I return to NC.

January 14, 2010

So why’s today’s music not the same?

Greetings from the Great White North. It’s actually not that cold. I didn’t wear long johns today, and I didn’t lose it. I also haven’t been outdoors, so I could be totally wrong.

I’m on the Twitter machine, and I saw a few people going back and forth about whether today’s music can hold a candle to yesteryear’s. The answer to that is an incontrovertible “nope.”

What I don’t hear much discussion of, though, is why that’s the case.

(What will follow will be one of the economic analyses of music. It seems weird to write about this stuff in such clinical terms, but what we’re dealing with are market conditions as much as anything else. I think I spoke enough English for those of you fortunate enough to not have taken a lot of economics to comprehend.)

I fully understand I could sound like one of those people that years for music like what I listened to when I was a kid. I always swore I’d never be that guy. That said, I haven’t had a desire to turn on FM radio in months. The new records I listen to are by people I listened to in high school and college.

But here’s the thing — I don’t want the music I used to listen to. I’ve never sat around waiting for another OutKast. But I do want someone as creative as Kast, and that’s hard to find.

Then again, there have never been a lot of Kast’s.

We’ve got to be fair. We can’t get mad because this generation doesn’t have a Stevie Wonder. That’s like a baseball fan saying the game isn’t as good because there isn’t a Willie Mays. There wasn’t a Willie Mays before him, either.

Listening to the dusties stations also skews our recollections of the past. We act like every song in the ’70s was as good as the ones they keep playing. Nope. There was a lot of drivel coming out then, too. Some of that drivel was made by people we now think are incredible (yes, I’m talking about you, Aretha Franklin).

That said, it’s hard not to say that today’s music isn’t as good as what came out before it. It’s not because there isn’t as much talent. There’s no reason why the quantity of available talent would decrease, especially as it becomes easier and easier for people to make music.

But if we’re going to say there has been an overall decline in quality, it stands to reason there must be some systemic force behind it. But what’s the force? It’s not like there’s some boogieman orchestrating a conspiracy to make music wack. However, something has happened.

Just what? I’ve got a couple of hypotheses.

1. Here’s the thing about popular music — it’s always been at its best when it reflected the struggles of the underclass in visceral ways. Well, you kinda have to be a member of the underclass to do that.

Well, if you’re in the underclass, how are you exposed to music? Probably in the church. But where do you learn about the deeper, more technical aspects of music?

Really, where?

In a different time, public schools had a greater emphasis on music education. Now, VH1 has to have fundraisers to raise dough for stuff like that. As public schools have become more poorly funded, music education has been cut all over the place.

I believe that would explain quite a bit.

2. The old days were about vocal groups and bands. Today’s a lot more about the one-man band. One man is one perspective, one set of ideas. A band is a drummer thinking like a drummer, a bassist thinking like a bassist, etc. If nothing else, the band allows for the specialization of labor, which makes a lot more sense.

Now, here’s something I’m curious to see. The money in the music game isn’t what it was. Those looking for quick paydays will need to find another hustle, because the labels can’t make but a couple of people rich these days. Once you do that, you weed out a lot of people that make music but don’t particularly love it. You get rid of folks that figure they know the formula and will ride it to the bank, because those people will no longer get what they’re looking for. Could that then increase the level of talent, because the talented and passionate will be a greater proportion of who’s making music?

It could.

Argue away on this one. I’m just throwing some thoughts out there that I’ve had in my head for a long time. Might as well share and get some feedback.

January 10, 2010

The Morning Jones starts MONDAY

Business…please check out my new radio show, “The Morning Jones,” on Hardcore Sports Radio, Sirius Channel 98. We’ll be live Monday through Friday from 7-10 a.m. ET. You can also listen live at the station’s site, www.hardcoresportsradio.com.

I’m in tropical Toronto, where the station is based, for the first couple of weeks of the show, then I’ll be based in Durham. Yes, like the rest of the fun trips I’ve taken the last six years, there will be blog posts about it. This has been interesting.

Love to say more, but it’s been a crazy hectic week. But check out the show, really. It’s probably the most exciting professional endeavor I’ve embarked on, and it’s a chance to keep this going with greater support than I’ve ever received. Only way this doesn’t work is if I blow it. I doubt that will happen.