She-Her III

By request, I was asked to write about her again. She's always on my mind, so expressing my thoughts about her through words is easy.

Over the last couple of months, she and I have continued to become close. I see her almost everyday, and if I don't, she's always on my mind. I can count on her when I need her and when she needs me, I'm there. Many times, without saying a word, I can look at her and know what she's thinking. Her demeanor and facial expressions say it all. She calls it "boo-like." I tend to agree with her. She has learned my tendencies. They have become familiar to her.

She and I connect on many levels. Whether it's just the look she gives me, or a kiss I give her. When she smiles I smile. When I look into her eyes, she has me. I know what type of mood she's in as soon as I hear her voice on the other end of the line.

Who is she? Wouldn't you like to know. Many think they know her, but really have no idea who she is. If you were to meet her, you'd realize she's as wonderful and my word describe her as. Until then, you have to use your imagination about her, or wonder if she even exists...

390 million reasons to smile

I grew up in what most would consider an upper middle class family. We weren't rich, but we were fortunate enough to not struggle. Even though this was the case, I was always taught to value the dollar. I had to get a part-time job and I worked throughout my high school years. So, I had an appreciation of how hard it is to make money and how quickly that money can disappear.

As I got older and entered the real world, I had to take on more responsibilities financially. Rent, phone and cable bills and recently, a car note. Naturally, not having to deal or think about such things for so long made the transition somewhat difficult. I had to now budget and take into account bills and groceries and saving money for emergency situations. I was on my own.

I always wondered how things would be if I were rich. And my rich, I'm not talking living in a cul-de-sac rich, I'm talking NBA, Fortune 500, Diddy and Donald Trump rich. Rich enough where you don't even have to think twice about how much you spend and when income is constantly coming in.

For the common, everyday person such as you a I, being financially stable such as those mentioned above, boggles the mind. We can't fathom it. We dream, but the reality is while Jay-Z is rising around in the Phantom, we're still thinking we're in a phantom.

So, I had to smile the other weekend when a New Jersey couple won the $390 million jackpot. By all accounts, these were "regular" people whose lives were instantly changed forever and they went to a higher tax bracket in a matter of minutes. I can't imagine what it was like for them to, one day be working hard for money, to the next, not having to work ever again. I wonder will the money change them. I wonder how well they will manage it. Whatever happens, they must be able to smile by lookinig at their bank account.

Why you mad?

I love black women. At an early age, I was taught by my dad, grandfather and uncles to honor and respect our women. It was not so much what they said to me, but rather how I saw my mother and other females in my family treated. Other than the normal marital spats and arguments, I never saw any female relative of mine hit or physically abused in any way. Yes, everything was not always smooth and there were times when conversation was minimal and looks that were given were less than desirable, but overall the good outweighed the bed and there was a lot of love our households.

I recognize I was fortunate. I have heard stories from friends and associates about having to grow up in a household where domestic violence was the norm. Where it wasn't uncommon for them to see their mom physically abused by her husband or boyfriend or their dad physically abuse his wife or girl. Naturally, I couldn't comprehend it because it was something I hadn't experienced myself. It would be much later on in life before I even saw domestic violence first hand, so I wasn't even exposed to it outside of my household.

Anyways, this past Sunday, I was cruising the mean streets of Gun-wavin' New Haven. I, along with four friends, was stirring over the preached word we heard at church and on the way to get some food. This particular Sunday afternoon, there was a lot of extra traffic due to the unusually planned, St. Patrick's Day parade. So we were in stop-n-go traffic the entire 5 or so miles. I was always taught by my dad to be aware of what's going on around you, no matter how minor it is. For the most part, I do. I never want to be in a situation where I'm not prepared.

There was a couple driving in front of us on Sunday and they looked very animated to say the least. I didn't think much of it, because I've argued in a car before so, oh well. But as we crept along, the argument became a bit more "animated" complete with neck rolling and arm gestures. At this point, the ladies in my car became a bit more intrigued, upset and scared for the young lady, who was driving. I didn't think much of it, that is, until this brother hit the dashboard which resulted in the bottom of the windshield shattering. He, obviously still mad, then hit the top of the windshield, causing another crack. I was genuinely nervous, hoping I wouldn't be a witness to a beat down.

Then, the car stopped.

Oh shit.

He got out.

A very disturbed young lady, visibly shaken, got out the and walked away. The guy got in the car and drove off. Just like that, it was over. I pulled off behind him wondering why we were in the position to see what we had just seen. The streets were packed, so I know everyone else saw it. The car he was driving made a left at the light, I kept straight, never to see him again. I wondered why he was so mad. As a guy, I know what it's like to get frustrated, but I never raised my fist, as he had done. I wondered where his girl walked off to, and whether they saw each other later that night. I thought about how I would've felt, after my anger wore off, to see the damaged windshield. Whose car was it? I don't know.

Admittedly, I've had temper problems in the past, but this guy made me look like an angel. What were they beefin' about? What made him so mad? Whatever it is, she didn't deserve to be treated like she did and I hope he gets some help.

Looking up

Sometimes, God has a way of getting our attention. In the midst of our everyday lives, we tend to get so wrapped up in our jobs, friends and social life, we forget to take care of the most important thing - ourselves. I'm guilty as charged. When I go, I'm moving at warp speed. And while I work out consistently, that's no substitute for good ole fashion rest and relaxation.

This past Sunday, I went to New York to see an Arena League game. Naturally, in an arena/stadium setting, I sweated a bit. I thought nothing of it, even as I walked back to the bus with no jacket on and in wind gusts upward to 15 mph. So what, I'm Superman (so I think), I can't possibly get sick.

But I did.

As you get older you're able to recognize when something's not right within. On Monday morning, it slowly began to hit me. Now, I'm not one to leave work early, especially because of a few sniffles, but I felt so bad I had no choice but to head to the crib. My body achin' and chills taking over, I made it home and got no future than the couch. I took some medicine, laid down and could barely move. All I could do was look up. Despite the fact, I hadn't been sick in a while and I had been taking reasonably good care of myself, I think God saw to the need to tap me on the shoulder and let me know he was stil there. As I curled up in my blanket, head throbbing, I got the message. I think God good a slight chuckle seeing me there curled up barely able to move. If was as if he new the message had been sent.

I'm better now, thankfully. And yes, "she" did bring some medicine by and checked up on me. But looking back, before I could get well and while I was suffering through my fever, coughs and everything else, all I could do was look up.

I needed that reminder.

Thug Love

For the last couple of weeks, I have been in the corner quietly watching the fallout of the 2007 NBA All-Star Game. Needless to say, there has been a wide array of opinions, break downs and barbershop talk about what has been unofficially dubbed Black Thanksgiving.

In case you've been sitting under a rock, the NBA All-Star game was held in Sin City a.k.a Las Vegas last month. It was the first time in history the game has been played in a non-NBA city, although Vegas has been lobbying for a team for quite some time. Any event in Vegas, sports-related or not, draws a crowd. Whether attending a show, going to the casinos or just strolling up and down the strip, Vegas is what it is - a party city. So what happens in Vegas usually stays in Vegas - until now.

For the last 8-10 years, or the post-Jordan era, the NBA has been closely associated with hip-hop and it's culture and the annual All-Star weekend has become a must-attend event among our generation. This is evident by some of the player's styles and the fan base. It's something that has brought younger fans to the game and undoubtedly has made the league tons of money because of the popularity of NBA gear in the 'hood.

The NBA-hip-hop connection has been somewhat of a gift and a curse. Yes, the popularity continues to be high among young blacks, but at the same time the league has unfairly taken on a image of being a league full of overpaid thugs. This image was only enhanced a few years ago after the infamous Pacers-Pistons brawl. While the fallout financially has been minimal, the perception of the league took a hit.

So, it didn't help when the masses came in a took over Vegas like never before. Like Scoop Jackson put it, every flight coming in looked like Soul Plane and every airport looked like the million man march. I know people who were there. The stories are true. It was a wild weekend, but the overwhelming majority of people I've spoken with enjoyed themselves while others claim it was mayhem.

The reality is, NBA All-Star weekend brought out the best or worst of people. In the midst of thousands of people partying, having a good time and enjoying themselves, there were 403 arrests and numberous other incidents that have put a damper on what was overall an enjoyable weekend.

So, because Pacman Jones decided to make it rain on some hoes, , all of a sudden, everyone's having a spasm and is scared of future All-Star games. Now I'm not condoning the behavior that went on in Vegas, however, I feel it's quite hypocritical for a league to market to a certain crowd and when things go wrong, they want to turn their backs on what has made them successful.