The fishing trip was really cool, though grueling. More on that later. In the meantime, a little social commentary.
I really get ticked off at people who talk about hwo th world’s going to hell in a handbasket because of the current generation. Like cats wasn’t messin’ up back in the day, right? But yanno, sometimes stuff happens that I don’t think would have gone down in teh olden days.
And those things make me say it again–we must convene a meeting of the G-Code Committee.
So me and the girlfriend went to breakfast on Saturday morning. The establishment was the Old Pancake House in downtown Charlotte. I feel it necessary to include this information in case you go to the place.
So we’re there, eating and all that stuff. We wound up being there for a while because one of the girlfriend’s buddies was coming to meet us and chill for a second. So I’m at the table sippin’ coffee while she finishes her omelet. Her friend shows up and joins us, and we’re all having a hunky dory time.
So now, I ask the waiter to come bring me some more coffee. Should I have had to ask for that? Of course not. But since this clown was pretty dreadful all day long–one of those cats that does his job without actually talking and asking questions– I was just happy he came over.
Buddy came over, and I pushed my cup to the edge of the table to make things easier on him. But for some reason, the dude was about to pour coffee on the middle of the table. I couldn’t figure out how in the world he could have missed the cup that badly.
Then he told me.
“I’m sorry, I was too busy looking at her.”
Now, I figure he must have been talking about the late arriving friend. After all, I’d been sitting there for almost an hour with the girlfriend. He had to know I was with her. So, he must have been looking at the other girl, right?
Wrong.
That, friends, is what we call The Blatant Disrespect, a special variety of G-Code violation. This nigga been listenin’ to too many Joe records.
By the time I realized this, nigga was gone. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have paid for the food.
When the hell did niggaz start thinkin, “my bad, I was too busy lookin at your girl,” was an acceptable thing to say AT WORK? AT WORK? Did this nigga go to the Morris Day “I Got to Be Cooler Than this Cat You’re Sittin’ With” School of Pimpin’? This nigga’s hair wasn’t as pretty as Morris’. He can’t do that. And he don’t look like he could do The Bird.
Fellas, what would you have done in that situation? I dropped the ball because it never dawned on me that was what he was gettin’ at.
Stuff like that happens, and you wonder why cats pack weapons. In ’68, he’d have got cut like deli meat.
And I’m not even the jealous type. In fact, I wouldn’t mind too much if he pulled that and I wasn’t around. She can handle such a situation as she sees fit. But in my grill? When you work on tips?
Shoulda told on him to his manager.
So yeah, if you see a wrinkly cat working at the Old Pancake House, ask for another waiter. On top of being a bad waiter, he has no respect for The G-Code.
I should have asked if he has a cousin named Rasheed.

…but watching fishing has its shortcomings. But overall, I say this–spending this morning on the water’s got me ready to stack my bread and get a boat. Or maybe a houseboat??
Can you get hi-speed internet on those things?
Anyway, I had a cool mix-and-match list thing planned for Friday and wanted to look at Jay-Z’s In My Lifetime, Vol. 1 for “Take it Back.” Then someone told me today is Friday. Thought it was Thursday. Swear to goodness.
I need sleep. I ain’t gettin’ it for a while. Oh well.
See you Monday.

So I’m in my room in Charlotte getting ready to go to the bass fishing tournament. Many people seem struck that I would do this, but I think it will be really interesting. I haven’t been around the outdoorsy type in a while, and I bet there’s a dynamic present that I’ve never experienced. Good times are a-comin’.
Plus, my room is dope! View of the city and all that. Only letdown, of course, is there’s no crocodile on my headboard. That would be pimpin’.
Anyway, here are a few observations from my last 48 hours or so.
I really love DC. I’ve never been able to really put my finger on it, but the DC metro area has always done it for me. Perhaps it’s because, after nine years of being friends with JR, it feels like home in a lot of ways. Also doesn’t hurt that there’s a healthy supply of beautiful women. Which brings me to my next point…
I now know how to tell the married men at the train station. They’re the ones walking fast and not saying a word to anyone. Walking slow and talking is a great way to wind up face first in an ethical dilemma. Goodness, man. I mean bad women e’where.
Doing talks may be the best part of this job. Didn’t have to snatch nobody up by the belt loops. In fact, talking to those kids was one of the best experiences I’ve had in a while. They seemed really interested in writing, and it seems I may have been able to help them get better at what they’re doing. ‘Tis a good feeling indeed.
Driving through Virginia can take years off your life. The police are e’where. Hiding behind pine trees and stuff. They know that ain’t right.
Nothing is scarier than a random note on your door. Pulled up to my door and saw a card on the door that wasn’t on anyone else’s. Thought The Man was coming to get me. Good thing it was a much better note than that.
Correction. Worse than a note on the door would be seeing your door butt nekkid open. My bad. Reminds me of a time I told Delaware Dave that nothing was worse than seeing your car getting towed. He said the worst is coming to your parking spot, not seeing your car, hoping it was towed, and knowing full well that it wasn’t. He was correct.
Flat tires suck. Says it all, right? They suck. The end.
I realized again that I’m getting old. I got here too late today to go on a boat, so I decided to kill time before checking in. Figured it couldn’t hurt to go to TJ Maxx. $200 bucks later–all spent on business attire, pillows, and pajamas–I left. Really, pillows? Are you–or am I–serious?
I missed my blogday. I like to recap good posts from the last year on blogday. Guess I’ll run that together with International Baba Day. Only 30 days away!
I ain’t heard from a few of y’all in a minute. BJ, Dame…where y’all at?
That’s all for now. I’m sure there will be more tomorrow.

Business…here’s a new piece on why we need football season to start pronto.
Here’s one I contributed to, where I detail how my dear, sweet mother snaked me for a baseball card back in 1990.
Heading to D.C. to speak tomorrow at Saint Albans School for Boys. I’m pretty sure my story about that will end one of two ways.
1. I must say it was a pleasure to work with such eager, inquisitive kids.
or….
2. That’s when I had to snatch him by the collar and tell him who he was dealing with.
But there is a dilemma–kids of type 2 tend to tell the best deez nuts(!!!) jokes.
Y’all know about that barbecue?