Bag Fries

I try to stay away from fast foods as much as possible. But I'll be damned if I don't get a hankering for some McNuggets every now and then. And what is a trip to your local fast food restaurant (McDonalds, Burger King, Wendy's..pick your poison) without fries to compliment your main dish? McDonald's has long been the torch bearer of fry taste, but BK and Wendy's have followed close behind as both have made some changes to their recipe to make the taste more comparable. Alas, I am not here to talk about taste. Reaching a definitive settlement to that debate is just as difficult as determining if Biggie was better than Tupac. Or vice versa. At the end of the day, it's all about what you prefer. But no matter who you choose as your favorite processed food factory, you can always appreciate a phenomenon known as bag fries.

Bag fries (aside from being little miracles) are the by-product of fast food employees' haste in bagging orders. When you have several people in line or in the drive-thru, there is absolutely no time to ensure safe placement of fries in the bag. Often, your entire order is bagged into an inappropriately-sized bag. However, since fries are typically served in a very awkwardly-shaped container, they don't really settle into any bag properly, regardless of size. Consequently, bag fries are especially prominent during the lunch or dinner rush (sad that there is even such a thing for any of these restaurants, but I digress).

Today during lunch I made a trip to Burger King. Against the wishes of my girlfriend, or anyone who cares about my health and well-being for that matter, I decided to indulge. Two bacon cheeseburgers and a "Value Fry." I ate what I thought was all my fries in the car on the trip back, but the burgers made it back up to my desk. But soft, what is this at the bottom of my grease-soaked bag? More fries! Despite being colder and not quite as crispy, these fries tasted better than the hot ones. Because they were unexpected. Money won is twice as sweet as money earned, right? I know I'll pay for it later, but in the dimly-lit environment that is my job, these little bastards definitely brought some sunshine my way. Here's to precariously-placed fries.

I've learned to appreciate the little things in life.

Radio-logy

I think it begins and ends with what we subject ourselves to. For example, Baltimore really only has one radio station that caters primarily towards a young “Urban” demographic, 92Q. So what happens when the majority of this radio station’s rotation is music you’d hear on 106th and Park? Taking nothing away from BET and its programming...yet (that's another post for another day), all of their Top 10 isn’t necessarily something I’d want my kids listening to. Think about it: you’re dropping your 7 year old off at school to the soundtrack of “Birthday Sex.” Is that appropriate? Also, what we hear is a very small glimpse of what Black musicians can offer. Maybe there should be more of a focus on different styles of music, or even local talent. The focus should be to build up the “Q-munity,” right? Sure, one may suggest simply turning the radio off, but how would that be saving others who choose not to take that route? Also, what is that saying about our community? There isn’t really any other alternative in Baltimore for young Urban listeners. Sure we could tune into the DC stations, but if you live in the sticks like I do, reception doesn't come too easy. Is this a lot for one radio station to take on? Maybe. So what is the solution? I have nothing definitive, however I’m thinking we should begin to take more accountability for what we listen to – and what we allow to be heard.

From the Sidelines

I know what it's like to be a quarterback watching your defense struggle. I understand how it must feel to sit on the sidelines, and watch your team throw a game away. You've done your part; you've been accurate, called audibles when you see blitz, and executed a masterful drive to eventually hit paydirt. That's kinda what it's like being me (minus, of course, the millions of dollars in salary and endorsements). One of the hardest parts about being a musician is having to listen to what some deem popular these days. I mean, part of being good at anything is knowing what you're up against. Watching tape. Understanding the trends. Knowing how to interpret different factors that play into your area of interest and expertise. It can, at times, even be discouraging...but not withstanding, you're prepared. I'm not naive enough to think that there isn't any good music out there. I know better. It's just sad to think how deep you'd have to dig to find it.

And it's not like it's not out there. There's good music to be heard. So I ask myself what A&Rs and record companies look for when they're recruiting artists and trying to find the next "big thing." It seems like the talent pool (or at least the representation thereof) gets increasingly worse as time progresses. Especially those who appeal primarily to the young urban demographic (read: Black kids). I'd really hate to pick on Jamie Foxx; I've always considered him to be a highly underrated overall entertainer. He's a talented pianist and vocalist and has accomplished himself as a more than credible actor. However only recently has his music taken on more of a mainstream sound, teaming up with the likes of The Dream and T-Pain (oh good Lord). I just think he has a lot to offer, and his talent can be much better used. For someone who has a voice like his (it's a rarity these days), it's a shame to hear him do an entire song in Autotune. It's like Chris Rock said, "and you know they can do it...you mean to tell me they can't make an El Dorado where the bumper don't fall off?" But that's just one example. Jamie's still cool with me. I guess my sister put it best while we were watching the BET Awards (don't ask why), "He knows better."

I guess all I'm saying is, music is one of those things that people will never get tired of. It's not like VCRs or slap bracelets. It'll never go away. Sure it goes through changes and adapts, but I'm afraid it may be changing for the worse. As artists like Soulja Boy become increasingly popular, what we know as music is becoming increasingly more disgusting. The other team is marching down the field. Crank Dat comes out...they just crossed midfield. Ooooh shit, there's a dance to it...these bastards are in field goal range. Did you check the sunglasses? Red Zone. Maybe I'm old fashioned...maybe I'm just not being progressive enough...or maybe I'm just confused about what music should be. I'm just hoping musicians like myself don't lose. We've had the lead the whole game.

Back to Basics

Let's back up a bit. I love music. I love Black heritage. I talk about both a lot - every day, for sure - and even throughout this very blog. I make a lot of jokes about various "artists" (I use the term very loosely), and how they reflect upon our culture, but I often jest. Call me optimistic, or call me just plain naive, but I thought it was going to get better. Now I'm realizing that these clowns are serious. So I'm gonna get serious for a while.

My first point, however abundant, can be summed up in as little as one word.

Really???

I'm not going to get as in depth as I would like to because I feel like it's a waste of my time...but I know it's not. I have two main issues here with today's music, and without going into the "this is what music used to be" lecture I'd get from my parents, I'm going to dedicate the next couple posts to articulating them to the best of my abilities...more to come on that.

The Damned Chicken Craze

I hate Oprah for giving away free chicken.

I hate CNN for interviewing a lady from Baltimore.

http://www.cnn.com/2009/LIVING/05/08/oprah.kfc.coupon/index.html

My favorite part:
"'I'm a big girl,' Shannon Edwards told CNN affiliate WBAL-TV in Baltimore, Maryland, on Thursday after she was turned away from a KFC. 'I like to eat. So I'm kind of disappointed I have to go to McDonald's now.'"

I mean...eat a salad maybe?

One Fell Swoopo

I need to figure out a way to make money doing nothing. I know how to make money doing something, but I'm just about tired of that. Today I was introduced to swoopo.com. I guess it's a fairly new website; at least to me. I just want to talk for a minute about how this works.

Let's use eBay as a point of reference. Everyone knows how it works: You have an item, and a set amount of time to bid on it. If no one else bids, the item is yours. If you do get outbid, enter a higher price or kiss it goodbye. Often times, even with shipping and handling, you can get a pretty good deal on eBay. Sometimes, however, you're better off going to the store. Basically it's an online auction. Pretty simple, right?

Now here comes swoopo. Let me break this down for you before I get to my point. So the basic concept is, you have an item. Before I go on, I just want to be clear that I am not talking about a pair of Chucks or a fitted hat. I'm talking 47" LCD TVs, PlayStation 3s, HD cameras - the good stuff. OK back on track. Let's say the item starts at $0.01. Yes, one penny. In a sense, it works the same way eBay does. You bid and hope no one else bids higher than you. If you're the last bidder when the time runs out for that item, you win that item, and most likely at a deeeeeeeply discounted price. I've seen a 40" Sony Bravia LCD TV go for $3. At this point you're thinking it probably can't be legit, right?

Therein lies the rub. Each bid costs $0.75. So every time you bid, you're spending money. And to make matters worse (or better, depending on what side of Swoopo you're on), every time you bid time is added back to the clock. So let me paint the picture. I'm bidding on that Bravia. The current price in the auction is $60. 2 seconds left. I place my bid (costs me 75 cents), and the price goes up to $60.01. Now there are 17 seconds left. Clock ticks down to 8 seconds, someone else bids. $60.02. 23 seconds left. See where this is going? Now on one hand, you may get a $1,200 TV for 60 bucks. But think about the operators of this website. If this item started at one cent, is now at $60.02 and each 1-cent bid costs 75 cents, you've already made over $4,500 on one item. Profit and then some! It's been described as "a cross between a raffle and a game of chicken."

Still with me? Now assume there's no inventory. Assume the Swoopo people - geniuses as I like to call them - collect all the money from these bids, go to bestbuy.com, order the TV and ship it to the winner's house. They can literally collect money from people trying to get a deal. Capitalism at its finest. Now let's throw some other factors in there. It's an international website. So basically if you plan on going on to Swoopo in the wee hours of the morning to catch it at an "off peak" time, no such luck. It's still lunchtime in Tokyo. Or the day's just starting in Prague. And whatever it costs to run this site, or whatever overhead they have it can't be much, at least not enough to make it unprofitable. Brilliant.

My point is this: As with any great idea, I'm mad I didn't come up with it. And don't think I won't try to come up with something better.

I really just want to be rich. That's all.

Idiots

Turn your swag on. What? I've tried my damndest (not really), yet still cannot even begin to understand the true bastardized definition of "swag" or moreover how one would go about turning it on; I was actually going to title this post "turn your swag off," but I'm not trying to get sucked in. No, nothing Soulja Boy does is catchy, entertaining or of any musical or artistic value whatsoever (and I've already expressed in an earlier post my true sentiment towards him). And as much as I'd like to isolate this epidemic downfall of an otherwise normal word ("swagger") to him, he's not alone. All I can do is hope it ends soon. At which time we'll be onto another word. In the meantime, we're stuck with "swag."

Seriously guys...stop it.

Get Rich or Die Tryin'

Watching Aladdin raised an interesting point. You get arrested and you think you're in prison pretty much for the rest of your life. At a young age, that could be a long time. You're sitting in the prison convinced you've met your demise much earlier than you'd expected, until an old man comes up to you with quite a convincing assertion of a "Cave of Wonders" where treasures stretch beyond your wildest imaginings. He proceeds to present a handful of rubies, the equivalent of which I can not even fathom (I usually roll with 20s). "What good are rubies," you may think to yourself, "if I'm stuck in this damned prison cell?" Almost as if he was reading your mind, this man takes a cane and pushes one of the stones on the wall out, and reveals an exit.

This old man has proven a few things, mainly that he has no value for his life. Show a much younger, much more able-bodied man a handful of rubies and a way out. Cue the "whoopass." Once that stone is pushed out of the way, I'm taking the cane, striking the old man (in the head most likely), and rolling out. He can figure out what happened later. All I'm saying is, Jafar was playing a risky game with how he planned to get Aladdin to the Cave of Wonders. He could've - and should've - died right then and there.

Erica...lessons learned on the steps

So one night, I was leaving my girlfriend’s house, and I saw a girl. Crying. Now when I say crying it doesn’t even begin to portray what I saw. I don’t even think words could accurately describe the sight I saw, but it may have been one of the most abhorringly upsetting scenes I’ve ever witnessed. Her eyes were bloodshot from the tears, and she was keeled over and vomiting. She had on what looked like a shower cap, hair underneath disheveled and her otherwise fair complexion was completely red.

“Sir, can you please help me? I just need some help. I feel really depressed…here’s my last $10…I’m just feeling really depressed.”

“I don’t want your money…what’s wrong?”

“I just need someone to talk to…”

Not really knowing how to react, I sat and talked to this young lady for about 30 minutes about her family. Everything from a drug addict mother to an abusive brother, both of whom take money from her. General lack of support at home. Apparently she’d forgotten to take her medication for depression (hence her current condition). She also explained her aspirations to go to college, but being held back by her family. “I don’t have money because they’re always taking it.” Her name is Erica. She’s 20.

We sat there, and waited for the police to arrive (at her request), and talked more. I refused to believe that the damages in her relationship with her family were irreparable. I refused to believe that a home could be broken beyond the bounds of love. She was otherwise convinced. I tried to imagine Erica with a smile on her face, and wondered how often it makes an appearance. And how pretty she’d be having lived a “better” life. How at such a young age these occurrences would impact the rest of her life. How far back it’d gone, and how long it would persist. How blessed I am…

Then I started to wonder in general, how strong is love? I had no doubt in my mind that her brother and mother love her. How could they not? But how far does that take you? Of course I don’t know the answer to that question, but I like to think that it takes you as far as it needs to. How far that is, of course, depends on the relationship and the people in it. Maybe I need to stop living in the clouds, thinking that love conquers all. I just find it difficult to fathom that love is, by any stretch of the imagination, finite. That two people who love each other – a mother and a daughter, two sisters or even two friends – can reach a point where an understanding or common ground is unattainable. Maybe I’m being too idealistic or old-fashioned. Not everyone responds the same to this level of optimism with no grounds or logic to support it. But I’ve seen enough and been through enough to know that you only get one family, and really good friends are hard to come by, and they can be gone with a blink of an eye. Then you’re stuck wishing you had more memories…

Robots and skateboards?

"And I'm brainless
Which means I'm headless
Like Ichabod Crane is
Or foreplay-less sex is
Which makes me stainless
With no neck left to hang the chain with
Which makes me necklace-less
Like a necklace theft
And I ain't used my headrest yet"

What?!? I just listened to Dumb it Down 4 times in a row...somehow I feel dumber and smarter all at the same time. I like Lupe, sure. He's right up there with my favorite artists. But dammit if he doesn't go a little too deep sometimes. And by a little I mean a lot. I feel like the dude on the hook. Listened to slowly with no other distractions, they're some of the sickest lyrics you'll ever hear. (Please see above). I don't want to sound ignorant or anything...I don't know, I just feel like I shouldn't have to concentrate so hard to enjoy music. But then again the alternative is Soulja Boy, who I'm pretty convinced is partially retarded.

Monday Morning

"We're all here to do what we're all here to do."

On Monday of just this week I sat around a table of middle management and up...and felt disgust. Utter disgust. I had a headache by the time it was all over. There we sat, discussing the impact of market exposure and errors on customer accounts. Managers vying to impress the big boss, whose name ironically sounds like something from a mafia movie. "This isn't me," I thought to myself. I know what I'm capable of, and it's something way beyond which error type causes the largest impact to the firm. What difference did it make? How am I helping people? How does this help me? Is this going to make me happy? My frustration grew, and for the first time in a long time - maybe in my life - I started to question where I fit. And I knew almost before I asked that it wasn't at that table.

You hear a lot of people talk about code. Something to stand for or believe in. To have a purpose. To make a difference. Thinking about the past 27 years of my life is a frustrating experience. I'm not, by any stretch of the imagination, disappointed with every second of my life. Just like everyone, there are some moments I wish I could forget and some I wish I could live forever. What I'm saying is, leading up to today, right now, I don't believe I've done what I am here to do. To make matters worse, I don't even know what that is. But I have made enough mistakes and wrong turns to know what it's not. I can't say that people don't walk around wondering what they're here for - hell, I didn't even start thinking about it until recently. But I'm sure there are individuals who live their life day-to-day, relishing the good and suffering the bad, but not putting it together to form something bigger. Not learning a lesson, and not teaching anyone else. Not playing the role of the cog in the machine. It's a strange thing to feel clear and confused at the same time. Motivated yet hampered. Living on both ends of the continuum. Constantly feeling a lump in my throat, but not knowing if tears of joy or pain will fall...or if, indeed, they'll fall at all. Even right now I wish I could write forever, to best articulate what I'm feeling. But the solace I find in this new found appreciation for life is the new found appreciation for life itself. Call it a moment of clarity...call it a fire under my ass...I honestly don't know what to call it, but I'm glad I have it, and hope I don't lose it. Does that make me better than the next person? Of course not...I'd never think that of myself.

I just wish the same for everyone.

Waive Goodbye

Waive Goodbye - Patrick Kelly

You’d never see the sun setting on his mother’s love
She always tried to give him better than what she’d had coming up
He gave a life full of memories and still lived her dream
But look where he ended up
She wonders now more than ever if what she gave him was enough
(But it’s never enough)

And still she runs a close-knit family with pain in her eyes
It’s raining tears but she withstands it, though it strains her to try
He left her with an understanding; he says “mama don’t cry”
“Just give me time, I’ll make it right”
And waives his goodbye

Time doesn’t seem to be quite enough to heal her pain
And if he’s not around to grow their seed, she might find someone else who can
Gave her 6 months of memories, now speaks through her dreams
It’s not the life he had planned
Now every time she needs her father, she’s looking for the wrong man
But how could she understand?

He’d started up his own family; he’d made them his life
A baby girl who misses daddy; a great loving wife
Still trying to keep them happy, he tells them, “ladies, don’t cry”
“Just give me time, I’ll make it right”
And waives his goodbye

In spite of doing all they can
They just can’t get him out their system
Still hoping for another chance
Just to say how much they miss him
He’s smiling on the other end
He wants them all to understand
Leaves his footprints in the sand
So they know he’s walking with them

Everyone should know his story, that’s why he left them behind
Everyone should be so lucky to love somebody of his kind
And when the night is at its darkest, they’re looking for his star to shine
“You had your time, we’ll be alright…now say your goodbye”

No homo

So Kanye West. He's a special guy. Producer extraordinaire and all around dickhead. Not because he doesn't make good music. I'll admit it...I own all four of his albums. But he is an ass, in the true sense of the word. And I know by even posting this blog I am playing into exactly what he preaches against. He always talks about saying things are "gay" in a negative context. I do it all the time. It's convenient. Gay is monosyllabic, three letters, and I'd venture to say even funny. I don't have a problem with gay people; I may not agree with their lifestyle, but as long as they don't try to impose it on anyone, do what you want. I don't agree with what Muslims have to say either, but as long as they're staying out of my church and not taking bacon off my plate we're good. But back Kanye. Below is a direct quote from Mr. West taken from the March issue of Details.

". . . if it's, like, good, good, good fashion-level, design-level stuff, where it's on a higher level than the average commercial design stuff, it's, like, gay people that do that. I think that should be said as a compliment. Like, 'Dude, that's so good it's almost . . . gay.'"

Sounds a little gay to me.

I hear what you're saying - don't use "gay" in a negative connotation. Fair enough. But you want me to use it in a positive context? Anything good in my life I don't want to be gay. "This steak is gay." Nope. Doesn't sound right, read right or type right. Sincerest apologies to all steaks out there. I don't even feel right saying it.

My point is simple. I understand using "gay" may be offensive, and I can easily find another word. But Kanye is pushing it. Stick to the beats dude.

Wish for Without

Wish for Without.mp3 - Patrick Kelly

It started so well
Things were so seemingly simple
Three words can’t express all I felt
But I loved you – sweetly, completely

And I walked it alone
I soon found myself foolishly falling
And lately the nights get so long
As I’m trying to forget you in my way

Of trying to let go
But how can I ever get you off my mind
If you refuse to just tell me goodbye?
And gone are those days
So why must you hold on?
Please convince yourself I’ll be alright
Just pretend tears won’t fall from my eyes

As cold as I feel
Your most heartfelt embrace couldn’t warm me
Don’t say what we had wasn’t real
Because I still feel the burning

And my whole world’s crashing down
How did we go from dancing to dying?
I know we can’t simply turn things around
So leave me crying, relieved as I’m flying away

And trying to let go
But how can I ever get you off my mind
If you refuse to just tell me goodbye?
And gone are those days
So why must you hold on?
Please convince yourself I’ll be alright
Just pretend tears won’t fall from my eyes...

Love the criminal. Hate the crime.

Let's start out by stating the obvious: shit happens. We all like to think that life is a bunch of rainbows and lollipops but sometimes things get rough. Things will not go the way we'd like them to. Promises will get broken. People will disappoint you. Few things in this life are guaranteed, but make sure you look out for that one...

At a certain point, we come to expect so much from each other. It's the pitfall of relationships. I'm not just talking about romantic relationships, but relationships in general - between people. We begin to trust, admire and love, and somewhere along the line we place people on this pedestal of invicibility. We even become naive enough to think they'll never come down. Of course this isn't to say people don't belong there. We come into each others' lives for a reason, and everything fits together as part of some larger plan. Something we may not even be able to see at the time, but all the while still just as satisfied as if we knew the whole story. Let's take Ray Lewis for example (there's a bigger point here...this isn't a blog about keeping #52 in Baltimore). This man has literally shed blood, sweat and tears since coming to the Ravens back in'96. He's taken us to the playoffs several times, a Superbowl win once, and has become the epicenter of a perennial defensive threat in the NFL. Now he's on the brink of becoming an unrestricted free agent. Let's not get it twisted - Ray made a name for himself in Baltimore. But when he starts considering maxing out what's left in his career - which may or may not be with Baltimore - people start getting antsy. I can't lie...I'd be disappointed if Ray left. Wouldn't even hide it. But I wouldn't hate Ray. I'd hate the fact that he isn't here. I'd hate that he retires wearing a color other than purple. But that wouldn't change what he did for this city.

So onto my point. We reserve these very few spaces in our heart for very special people. We never want to believe that these are the people that will let us down. They'll never forget to put gas in the car. Never drink all the orange juice. They'll always be on time. Always be a phone call away. Always be a shoulder to cry on...and will never make us cry. But the truth of the matter is: they might. And what happens if they do? I've learned you don't hate them for who they are, but for what they did...because you told yourself they wouldn't. Moreover because you don't hate them at all. I'm not saying don't set these expectations of someone. It's good to dream, and you can always make a better story in your heart than the one you're living. But once you get to that level the bar is always high, and the price is always steep.

Sure, love is a strong word...but sometimes it's not strong enough.

Everyone's a story

I was walking through the mall today and thinking to myself how amazing we are as people. How many stories or different lifestyles or paths people can take. I saw two lesbians kissing on the escalator (or at least one of them was a lesbian). Didn't do much for me, but not something you see everyday. I also saw a man walking through the mall with a garden hose. Where he was going or coming from with that garden hose I don't know (and don't really want to know), but I'm sure it's an interesting story. Then I started thinking about my own life. I've sliced two fingers open baking a cake. A pipe burst and flooded my room the night before my 27th birthday. I've cut a piece of my hand off doing a cutlery presentation. Two of my friends from high school have been shot and killed, and we haven't even gotten to our 10 year reunion. I watched my parents' divorce eat away at my mother at the age of 6. All the decisions I regret, mistakes I've made, times I've laughed and times I've cried. Everyone has that. Each person you see...I think it's amazing how many different permutations of life are being led in this day and age. All the steps you've taken that someone else hasn't. And vice versa. It is truly phenomenal. I'll leave you with that.

The Speakeasy Will Win (cont'd)

I hate my doctor. Please refer to my earlier blog about eating healthy. This woman has now made me paranoid. She says I’m extremely healthy, but I need to eat 9 servings of fruits and vegetables a day. I told her she might see 4 or 5 tops out of me. No one eats like that. Then she tells me I have high blood pressure. That’s because this chick is stressing me out. If you had caught me before selling that foolishness about 9 fruits and vegetables BP is a lock to be quite low. Now…9 fruits and veggies…high blood pressure. I don’t have time for that. Pass the burger.

Oh, and the latest: I’m 6 pounds overweight. If anyone has ever seen me, you’d know that the words “over” and “weight” together should never be used to describe me. Now I look at myself in the mirror thinking “you fat fuck.” Ok not really but I could. And I actually lost weight since the last time I was there! So I had the potential of being 12 lbs overweight. Now I’m only 6 (phew). But what this does is it makes me think thrice about everything I eat. The Oreos I had earlier this afternoon…probably could’ve sat that one out. Mama Illardos pizza…I had two slices today, each of which may represent one less year I get to live. Fuck it. The way I see it, if my number is called in the middle of a meal, I’d much rather be eating a cheesesteak than a broccoli pop. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not going to subject my body to fat and grease and eat McDonald’s all the time…at least not in excess. Moderation is key here. But if I feel like a burger then guess what I’m going to eat…an f’ing burger. The doc can kiss my ass.

Speakeasy 2, Doctor 0.