Black in White (house)

I am so proud to be an American today. Really and truly. I loved this country all my life, but never have I felt so connected to it's spirit, or so inspired by it's resolve. Today, this country became more than words, or Pledges of Allegiance. Today, the people of this country made manifest the nobility of our nation's collective dreams.

Yes, we are still a people of divided beliefs, and of partisan support, but the election of Barack Obama as our country's next president shows that more people are being guided by their hearts and minds, than their eyes. We just took a major step toward Dr. King's Dream.

Amen, America!

A Time for America

It's almost here - the moment for America to prove itself worthy of the virtuous words, and the "streets of Gold" dreams we inspire in so many across the world. A chance to return to the post-911 America, where we united together despite of color, creed or culture. A time for us to be simply human beings, standing together in protection of our fundamental beliefs and most basic rights.

People First.

Are they for real?

Do Republicans really believe that McCain and Palin are the best choice for America? I suspect that there is a lot of hand-wringing and heavy drinking being done in Good Old Boy country clubs across the nation. For starters, the right wing, conservative approach took a big hit during the Bush administration, so the McCain-Pain ticket is already at a disadvantage.

Americans should be equally disconcerted about the selection of Sarah Palin as VP candidate. I am not going to question her years of experience. Being a leader at any level is hard work. The more disturbing issue is that her political acumen and readiness for this type of role is seriously in doubt. What originally looked like a radical, dare I say - Maverick move by John McCain and the Republicans, now just looks desperate and insane.

This woman is just not that bright.

Big Game Team

The Giants 21-14 beat the Pittsburgh Steelers on Sunday night. Big Game, Big Blue!

For Love of the Game

Nowhere is the humanity, passion, and pain of mankind expressed more clearly than in our moments as a fan. Year after year, and season after season we endure through the victories and defeats, waiting for those rare, yet seminal moments when our fanhood is rewarded. The chance to be the best, raise the trophy and yell.

The fans of the Philadelphia Phillies have there moment tonight. Congrats!

Ebb & Flow

I often find myself suddenly amazed by simple and familiar things. I was in the car the other day, driving home on the turnpike. After about an hour on the road, I realized that I was riding at a fast rate of speed - inside of a vehicle. I know what you are thinking: duh. After about 30 seconds I was calling myself an idiot - but still, it is pretty interesting.

Really think about it. Dozens of vehicles moving together in relative harmony. Fast moving cars, trucks, and motorcycles gliding forward and sideways over the roadways like so many friends roller skating. Occasionally, we slip into a kind of subconscious autopilot and just cruise. We settle into our seat with music and the wind, and somehow find ourselves pulling into our driveway moments later.

That fact that all of this is not only possible, but also normal enough for us to think of it as dull or redundant is a testament to many things. From the power of our central nervous systems to coordinate our actions, to the creativity of human intellect to build more efficient modes of travel than our own two feet. Mostly, I am impressed by the ability of people to move together. It's not coordinated or anything - we will never ever even speak to 99.9% of the drivers we encounter on the road. Nevertheless, we find ourselves traversing highways and byways together everyday, in every corner of the globe. Yes, it's simple, but it is so very elegant as well.

flip side.

On the very same day of my epiphany, on the very same road - I found myself in traffic. The cars in front of me came to an abrupt stop; nothing but tail lights and exhaust for as far as I could see. For the next few minutes, the two lanes of herded vehicles plodded along slowly. Windows began rolling down, and heads were being poked out of windows to survey the landscape ahead. Eventually, we happened upon an accident scene. On the other side of the road. I could see vehicles pulled over to the side, then a firetruck, then police cars holding the oncoming cars at bay. The first vehicle in the fray was a small car. Its rear end was smashed in, the trunk crumpled like a finished beer can. The second vehicle was a semi - it was pretty much in tact.

The herd moved slowly passed the scene. Like mourners at a funeral, the long procession of autos took their turn at the ceremony. Not so much for sentiment, though, as for intrigue. Each driver surveyed the scene for clues to what happened, and what had become of those involved. They gave themselves a moments to take in the carnage. This behavior is called gaper delay, and the reason that it occurs is simple. Conflict is almost as addictive as crack-cocaine, and may be just an iota behind in raw destruction.

So that is the proverbial double-edged sword. On the one hand, humankind is moving forward together - towards our own personal goals, and aspirations, as well as toward those of our society at large. On the other hand, we are creatures of contest and competition. We revel in the clash of battle - sports, MMA, action movies - and anything else that fits into our Us vs Them conditioning. The history of the world is filled with large and small events where people had to choose to ride side-by-side or crash head-on. And that will be the future of our society as well.

Change is absolutely possible. We can learn to love, and to continuously fight the surge of our own vengeful impulses. But it takes work, and we all have to want it enough to do our part - even if it is just within ourselves. We have to remember that our legacy lives forever; in the memories of others and in the imprint we leave on the world. As a father, I often wonder about the world my son someday inherit. Will that brave new world truly have the courage to work for harmony, or revert to the base urges of anger, fear, pride, and jealously that have guided us since the beginning of time?

I don't know the answer to that - but I am hopeful.

Grateful in the Moment

I think back to my school daze sometimes. Not so much about the person I was then as much the person I thought I would be now. Its interesting to measure the steps of time against your vision, and see if the two overlap. How far have you moved from that naive, hopeful, invincible, and stupid You that you left in your childhood? For me, I have the mixed sense of loss & gain, the coulda, shoulda, woulda of mild regret, and in the end settle on happiness. Nothing is missing from my today. It is the result of days lived in the rhythm.

It comes down to this: appreciate life. There are a million things that can tear you down by the instant. Every day brings another opportunity to worry about something, and many times, we just can't see the forest for the trees. Traffic, gas prices, the mess your kid just made, bills, more bills, and insufficient sleep - and that's just your morning. It does get to you; and before long the wave of concerns builds momentum toward the shore and becomes a tsunami.

I try to bring a halt to the surge early. Nip it in the bud when it's still just a ripple. I don't take any enjoyment in the daily travails, but I do take pleasure in their meaning. I don't like traffic or gas, but I am grateful to have a job, and a car. I don't like bills, but it means I have a safe home, clean clothes, and warm food. I don't like cleaning my son's mess, but I love the warm glow of his smile. Perspective. It's all about perspective.

Granted, these moments are fleeting. Somebody inevitably cuts you off, and your back to the rushing tide. That's why it's so important to cherish these moments, and bring yourself back to them as much as possible. Otherwise your moments are filled with frustration and regret, and that's not very fun at all.

That Special Somebody

I remember the first time my heart got broken. Seventeen years old, walking the perilous line between naïveté and a little less naïveté. She was just a year older, but had the taste of a more vintage grape juice lingering on her lips. I was so certain of our high school romance, that I traveled all the way from the Bronx to Boston to visit her in Martha's Vineyard where she was working for the summer. Yet, something in the clean, salt-water air of the quaint island town had soured her on us, and I went back to NYC much sooner than I had planned.

When I got back to the city, I decided to go to my buddy's house rather than home. He had the attic all to himself, so there was plenty of room for me to crash, and wallow in self-pity. I suffered for days, but managed to put on a good show for the boys - toasting 40 ounce malt liquor to celebrate my return to bachelorhood. I was, according to the consensus, too young and too cool to be in love. What did they know?

Now it's not exactly the same, but that's the sensation that comes to mind when I listen to Barak Obama. I get the intellectual equivalent of butterflies in my stomache and begin to daydream those "this is the one" fantasies all over again. Despite my general idealism, I am utterly apathetic when it comes to politics and government, so it's no small feat to have me falling head over heals.

I want to believe, I truly do. I want let myself go, and give in to the allure of hope, but I am scared. I don't want to be disappointed. I don't want to wake-up one morning and realize that he is just like all the rest: a liar, a crony, an idiot with clean packaging and a good campaign strategy. I need to know that he is the real thing.

Then again, how noble can someone really be in politics? It is the very nature of the beast which forces one to compromise their principles, to make strange bedfellows, and to ultimately be corrupted by the trappings of power. I've never know a politician to do no harm - they all do something unethical, illegal, or just plain stupid.

After a while I ask myself: do I expect or even need Barack Obama to be perfect? No I don't. All I really need in a President is a person who brings the same character and honor to the Oval Office that they bring to their own home. Treat America as if it were your family. Don't cheat on your wife, don't miss your kids birthdays, and do everything in your power to make sure they are healthy, educated, and well fed. I don't think that is too much to ask.

I am counting on you, Barack. Make me a believer.

I feel better

My wife convinced me to buy the new Gnarls Barkley album. Convinced is probably too strong a term actually, since I too had been very impressed by their live performance on SNL. They did a song called Who's Gonna Save My Soul, a deep stirring ballad that seemed to be a union of Donnie Hathaway and Portishead. The performance brimmed with sincerity, despite the fact that Cee-lo donned a white tuxedo and wig (I hope it was a wig), paying homage to Sammy Davis Jr. or Elvis - the latter years.



I sampled a few more tracks on ITunes, but didn't need much more proof that the album was worth buying. Nothing quite like having new music to listen to on a road trip, especially one spanning 10hrs and over 500 miles (Phila to Toronto). The Odd Couple is a great album, far more complete and mature than their first album, St. Elsewhere - though they may never again capture the recognition they received for their first debut single Crazy off of that album. I rode the roller coaster of emotion through each track on the album and enjoyed every minute of it.

I could be writing this review about Going On, Run, Blind Mary, Neighbors, or any of the thirteen masterful tracks. For today, I am focusing on the last track on the album, A Little Better. This song has one of the simpler musical arrangements on the album, pairing Cee-lo raspy tortured voice with bass chords, drums and shaker. The lyrics speak of hope and joy in the aftermath of pain. He reveals his emotional burden from deep-seeded hurt, betrayal and loss, but expresses a commitment to overcome. I found the second verse particularly moving:

Ohhh it's probably plain to see
That I got a whole lot of pain in me
And it will always remain in me
So cold, it's a cryin shame
Yet here I am, tryin again
Cause I refuse to die in vain
The circumstances put soul in me
And there ain't no holdin me
I've got a heart made of gold in me
Hah, can you believe this is where I've been?
And when adversity comes again
I'll deal with it then

There is a distinct message of spirituality in this song. In the last verse, Cee-lo thanks the morning son, and a "friendly ghost" that cared for him. This is a new-age gospel song of sorts, testifying to the resilience and tenderness of life, and to the compassion and grace of God. It reminds me of a passage in my favorite poem, Desiderata:

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life
keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Life is tragic and beautiful, and so often we are overwhelmed by the tragedy, that we forget or miss the beauty. Here's to life in all of it's forms. Here's to rain and sunshine, plumbing problems and having home to have problems in. Here's to illness, recovery, and taking health for granted. Here's to everyday highs and lows, and to everyone brave enough to embrace them.

Cheers.

Reality Check(Point)

Ok, so blogging isn't quite as easy I thought it would be. I started off pretty strong, but have fizzled a bit over the past few weeks. Part of it is a lack of time. Between work, my son, household chores, and my unyielding obsession with Madden Football and online poker, I don't have a lot of free time for writing. I've also been lacking inspiration, not in things to write about, but in the means to convey it. Like many artists, I find inspiration in conflict, and unfortunately, I've been having a pretty good go of it as of late.

I decided to take some time off from work. I like my job, but I've been steadily approaching burnout for a few months now. I wanted travel, nothing complicated or fancy - just a little road trip to get me out of the rut. I set my eyes on Toronto, booked a room, packed my car, and left my house at 4am for the long drive. A little tired, but excited.

I crossed over the Rainbow Bridge to the Canadian checkpoint at around 2pm. It was a gorgeous spring day. There were about seven booths open, each with about five cars waiting in line. The lines moved quicker than I expected, as the booth attendants appeared to make only a perfunctory review of passports and licenses. I spotted a Canadian officer. At first his presence seemed normal, as he casually surveyed the rows of cars waiting to pass through, then I noticed him take position at the booth. Not just any booth - the booth that I was approaching.

The minivan in front of me handed their docs to the attendant in the booth. There appeared to be some brief conversation as he assessed the docs for 4 passengers. He handed back the docs and they drove off. I rolled up to the booth, and the officer - not the attendant - walks up and asks for my documents. This does not feel like a routine check. He starts asking me what I suspect are standard questions, but since they are coming from him and not the attendant, I become visibly annoyed. Why are you here? How long are you staying? Where are you going? Some of these he asked multiple times as if trying to catch me in a lie. Who do you work for? Where are you coming from? Is this car yours? He asks me for registration, and I am steaming.

"Do you normally asks these question to everyone?" I asked angrily. A spirit of defiance rising within me. My heart is pounding, as the sense of fear and anger course through my veins. Yes, he replies, but that answer is a lie. Mine was the only car being investigated by an actual officer. Perhaps the question he was answering yes to was whether or not he did this to everyone who happened to be black. That I can believe.

Well, resistance and pride are not a formula for success with white male law enforcement. I know that, so I was not too surprised when he instructed me to pull over to the side, where I was greeted by a dozen or so additional officers. I overhear him giving them the backstory: "I was asking him simple questions, and he got all angry. He's acting like he has a right to be here." You mean I don't? I started to ask, but before I could a large officer stood before me just inches from my face. He wore dark shades concealing his eyes, but his body language showed how desperately he wanted me to do something stupid like take a swing at him. He asked me if I was carrying any weapons then proceeded to frisk me. Behind us, the other officers began searching my car. I wondered if they'd be relieved or disappointed when they didn't find anything illegal.

I was brought inside the station and told to take a seat. The officer with dark shades handed my docs to another officer behind a computer and whispered something. I imagine it was something to the effect of: just hold him in here while we search his car. About ten minutes passed and the officer behind the computer calls me up. "I think there has been a mistake" she says, "everything checks out". Really? You don't say? You mean they didn't find the 20 kilos of cocaine? You didn't discover my dozens of open warrants for violent crimes?

A few minutes later, the first officer from the booth comes in. He's all humble and conciliatory now, and starts trying to explain why he was initially suspicious. It had nothing to do with the fact that I am black. Apparently, my car looks like I had driven a long way. Huh?! So from fifty feet away you couldn't see that I was black, but you could see that my tires were worn down? And so what if I did drive a long way - people from Florida or Texas aren't supposed to visit Canada?

"You profiled me, bottom line" I said flatly. "You saw a black man, and you decided to investigate. I didn't see you coming up to the booth to ask any other driver any questions. Just me." "I am sorry you feel that way, sir" he said as he handed me my documents. A few of other officers still stood around my car, just finishing their fruitless search for contriband. I couldn't be sure if they shared his suspicions.

"Whatever." I got in my car and drove off. Is this what I have to expect from the rest of my trip? Suspicion, Police harassment? I was pulled over two more times while in Toronto, once for slow-rolling through a stop sign, and the other for not wearing my seatbelt. Justifiable stops perhaps, but I can't help but believe that the officers were motivated as much by my being black with out-of-country plates, as they were by the minor infractions themselves. To be fair though, neither of them gave me a ticket, and both were very polite. But still...

Despite my fair skin and hazel eyes. Despite Barack Obama, Tiger Woods, LeBron James, and Denzel Washington. Despite almost one hundred years of progress. Being black is still often a crime onto itself. In America and beyond.

Racist or Harmless?

I have gotten in the habit of listening to a lot of sports radio while driving. Like so many of my fellow iPod-ophiles, I suddenly found myself carrying an expensive paperweight with ear-plugs when after four years of blissful love, my iPod battery retired. I was left scrambling for an alternative form of audio intimacy during my drives to and from client meetings, and sports radio filled in the void quite nicely (especially during my beloved NY Giants run through the Playoffs & Superbowl). I eventually got a new battery for the iPod, but I know better than to put all my trust and devotion into it again, so it has to share my affection with sports radio.

Today, I heard an interesting story regarding the recent Vogue magazine cover that features LeBron James and Gisele Bundchen. Apparently, there is some mounting criticism suggesting the cover presents some racist undertones. The assertion is that the photo has a King Kong theme, with LeBron being the savage primate, and Gisele the white damsel in distress. There are a multitude of incidents nationwide that illustrate the very real resentment and hostility that exists between races in America. This is not one of them.

This is the era of Political Correctness, but there is a big difference between correctness, anal-retentiveness, and the far more extreme brand of ignorance, Political Absurdity. In just three and half years as a pro, LeBron has established himself as one of the top 2 or 3 offensive threats in the league. Despite his size, he has the speed and agility to pass almost any defender, and because of his size, he has the strength and bulk to impose his will around the rim. At just 23 years old, he stands an impressive 6'8", 250lbs. Comparatively, NFL stud linebacker, DeMarcus Ware, who was 3rd in the league in sacks last season with 14, is 6'4", 252lbs. I don't care who you are talking to, black, white, or paisley - LeBron IS a beast!

Sidenote:
If people want to create some controversy here, I guess the better question to ask is: Why Gisele? Trouble with Tom Terrific? Is he in some kind of post-Superbowl-loss funk that has left him emotionally unavailable to her? Tough break, Tom, there's always next year. Go Blue

Becoming

I am becoming again. For many years, I just was, but something has awakened that metamorphosis again. I was hibernating in the midst of Life, waiting out the days of an endless winter. This was a fate of my own making. No oppressor, no corporate machine treading on my independence, just my own apathy and discontent slowly molding into a dull rubbery glaze. That was then.

Growth is the definition and essence of life. Like blades of grass pushing through cracks in cement, life has a way of asserting itself. I don't know what provokes it, why it abruptly rises from the crowd of time and demands recognition. I suspect there is purpose in it. For these moments of enlightenment seem far too measured to be left to chance. The cup from which we drink, and the substance therein, seem a divine treasure meant for us alone. Yet, I am again so new in understanding. I am just now becoming.

For what it's worth, I am comforted by the belief that my slumber was not too delayed. That I did not sleep through more of the tender passing of seasons than I was meant to. I am the hidden seed. Though I have laid dormant in a field of dry soil, I still am. Light and provision has brought forth my time of harvest, and I am again becoming.

Behold

All for you

I’m really giddy about the potential of this newfound maturity I’ve been nurturing, and have decided to share a few more anecdotal tales from my life. I’ll admit, part of it is ego - I mean who wouldn’t want access to the daily journal of my existence, but there’s more to it than that. This is good stuff, and I’m betting there will be a few nuggets of wisdom for you, the reader, to benefit from. And if not - humor me.

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originally posted on FaceBook - February 2, 2008

Oops!

I’ll be turning 32 in a few months, and I feel like I am just starting to understand my life. For some reason I thought this would happen a lot sooner, but I’ll take it when I can get it. It’s all starting to make sense. I tend to have a more honest response to the what, why, and how questions of life, and sometimes the answer is simply: ‘I was wrong’.

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originally posted on Facebook - January 28, 2008

The Weaker Vessel

It is a well-accepted notion that women are weaker than men. Brace yourselves: that is not entirely true. I have a lot to lose here - this post will almost certainly undermine my esteem in the Fraternity of Men, or cause me to lose my elite membership status all-together. However, I cannot concern myself with such trivial things. I am a blogger, and with that comes the responsibility to speak the truth as I see it. Plus, this post is going to score me MAJOR points with the misses!

There are certainly reasons for us to believe this untruth. We all know that much of our society is built on Jude0-Christian traditions that make men superior. We all know that men are physically stronger, and have historically been viewed as the more capable leaders in society and in the home. It's hard to argue with male's successful track record: generations of global war and strife, economic inequality, political oppression, wanton destruction and consumption of natural resources. Am I the only man who thinks that maybe being physically strong and aggressive isn't enough?

My point here is that this shouldn't be a winner-take-all conversation about superiority. Men and women are just different, and those differences are the primary reason why we are equal. It's why healthy marriages are the foundation of our society. We balance each other out, and benefit from the wise council of our mate. The whole systems goes awry when we enter our relationships, our workplace, and our politics with pre-conceived notions of gender roles. Personally, I think we need more of the compassion and empathy that are the hallmark of women's so-called weakness. Would we be fighting in Iraq, and leave Darfur and Tibet in conflict? Would AIDS, poverty and violence be such epidemics?

Here's to the women of the world, whose indomitable strength is made manifest via the constant struggle to thrive in a world that does not honor your nobility. For the homemakers, and single mothers whose work is never done. For the wives who lead with grace, patience, and tenderness. For the working women who do a little more to pierce the glass ceiling. For young girls growing up in a world that demeans and confines you. A day may come when we men are ready to loosen our tightly held grip on the reins of the world. Until then, Be Strong.