What’s good, good people. I have been on a full sprint for the past month or so. Full on, high steppin’, walk on water sprint-job. Needless to say that when you are trying to stay afloat by running on water you can’t really carry a load. All peripherals fall wayward, the blood leaves your extremities and actively supports your core. There is a strange satisfaction I get from setting goals, achieving them and starting anew. I believe that is the base currency of my happiness in life. These goals are not always professional or project oriented. Often times they are more relationship-facing or parental. Either way I feel certain that the trick to getting by with a reliable smile on your face is by challenging and achieving.

Similar to dancing, hustling hard and running full speed can leave you looking physically ridiculous to a spectator. When your eyes are transfixed on the prize it is sometimes hard to notice that your arms are flailing about. That being said I am going to propose a new slang term for when we are on our extreme hustle. The next time I am juggling three or four projects and training for a half marathon I am going to say “I’ve gone Basset Hound“. Why? See below.

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“He’s a pretty serious guy but once you get to know him, he’s a real kid at heart“. You ever take the time to think about what the hell being a kid at heart actually means? It seems the phrase is tossed into the description of someone like a consolation prize for being pretty dickish. Besides, the heart is where all our painful and powerful yearning takes place whereas our brain is where all our hair-brained, risk-taking, double-rainbow appreciating takes place. So what good is being young at heart when your mind and body is toiling away and being a dickish grown-up yearning to see the world through young eyes again? I say if your going to commit to full maturation and trade in your big wheel of the imagination for the highest rated ergonomic office desk chair of the rest of your life then good riddance. The rest of us will grow old in the yearning and be forever young in the mind.

Speaking of young of the mind, check out this incredibly funny photo set by art director Florian Schmucker, photographer Paul Ripke, and producer called POP where the heads of parents and their kids are swapped. Take note that the project paid special attention to flipping the proportions of the head to body size ratio. I could write a whole post about my bewilderment of the size of a baby’s head compared to its body. A newborn baby comes out with a head that is 25% of its height!!! A three year old’s dome is  95% of their fully grown adult diameter!!! Badabooooooom!

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My Mom posted a link to an article on CNN that was written by a Dad who detailed, “Why I’m raising my son to be a nerd“. At a glance I thought this guy had the same approach to parenting as I did which got me all giddy for a minute. The author is clearly a good Dad with a hearty conviction for celebrating good grades and academic achievement. I did however take issue with his alignment of “good grades” with “nerdiness”. Let’s get things straight here. Kids who get good grades are bright, capable and sometimes quite talented…. but not necessarily nerds.

My parental approach to schooling is that good grades are the norm. They are not to be celebrated like a touchdown. They are the baseline, the expectation. So, if good grades aren’t involved in “nerdiness”, what do I mean by “I’m going to raise my daughters to be nerds”? I’m referring to the social aspect of nerdiness. The art club, indulging in creative expression, challenging the expectations of society, intimately investigating the uncharted, exploring their colorful uniqueness without the shame of ‘fitting in’. Grades may measure scholastic aptitude but they do not measure the the character of their cultural identity. And in the end it is the creative, cultural and relationship-oriented challenges that define how much we enjoy our time on this earth.

Nerds are loyal. Nerds are creative. Nerds tackle passion and skillfully watch it evolve. Nerds have amazing, life-long friends. Nerds define the shape of their own slot. Peel back the PR saturated, heavily marketing-influenced facade of almost every successful person (musicians, businessman, artists, entrepeneurs, etc) and you will find a hardcore nerd. Ironically, nerdiness is cool as all-hell!

Even though I will expect good grades as the baseline, when all is said and done, grades are just grades. Tackling passion is happiness. And happiness is the whole point of this crazy thing, right?

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Everyone talks about how “dialed-in” we are as a culture and how increasingly difficult it is to “unplug”. As technology has evolved it is always the “next big thing” that will be the undoing of life as we know it rendering the old ways irrelevant. Each new development being demonized by the paternal attachments to the innovations that defined the generation previous. I consider myself someone who is extremely plugged-in. Between my time spent online, checking emails, social networking, text messaging, checking-in, researching, blogging, reading feeds, managing my calendar AGHHHH! It’s a lot. It is amazing how heavy a digital existence can feel. 

I went to the Outer Banks last week with the family and my phone got terrible reception. It was beautiful. You know what filled the void? A book. Yep, with a spine, paper pages and everything.  It was beautiful.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have no issue with technology or the submersion of our contemporary culture into the many social networks that have acted as foster friendships for the hustlers. It just feels good to cut off and chill out.

Since we are speaking about the ubiquitous advancement of digital media I figure it’s a good opportunity to share this incredible site “Dear Photograph“. This incredibly endearing site allows people to assemble printed photos from the past and hybrid them with the modern day scenery. The concept is cool but it is sealed with a kiss by tagging each photo with a short message to our photos past. I love it. Check it out.

Dear Photograph,
Dad never took a picture of me, ever. Then I noticed his reflection in the glass.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
Anonymous

Dear Photograph,
I drained 3’s all day!
Janet

Dear Photograph,
Me and my first bike. The bike I have now goes a little bit faster.
@bizaaron

Dear Photograph,
Oh, to be young again.
Wizemark

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Life is all about the journey, right? I talk a lot about the “path”. Finding the path, uncovering the path, looking back on the path, baby got path, pathamatics… Unfortunately the path we take is one that can only be traced back with the help from our fleeting memory. We don’t leave a tactile trail and even if we did our paths would be crissed and crossed by the millions of other paths that are left behind as people grind on making it virtually impossible to rediscover the trail. We are congenitally nomadic creatures so we continue to forge forward valuing every moment as best as we can. Yukon ho’ beotch.

This airplane photo collection created by the long exposure night photography of Flickr users Terence Chang, Luis Rosa, Sam Chul allow us a brief glimpse into how beautiful the path left behind can be when the moments have passed and the light doesn’t fade.

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Life is hard and can be incredibly unfair. Bound to the dirt of this earth by gravity, our troubles seem to drag around behind us like rusty tin cans tied to strings around our feet. No matter how fast or how far you run the rambling noise of your troubles will persevere. The only way to properly move forward is to stop, sit down and pay the proper attention to the complexities of the knots. With a delicate touch and white-knuckle focus each binding wind needs to be unwound. It is quite hard for us to pay this kind of attention to the things that anchor us down. Our species are adapters. As long as we face away from the problem and adapt to the constant ‘clanking’ that our troubles make we feel like progress is being made. But this is not progress and we are not meant to be a vessel for negativity. It is high time to pay intimate attention to the negativity that we carry with us and address it honestly. Only then will we be able to lift up from the confines of this world and fly.

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The year is 1718 and you have just celebrated your 23rd birthday on the main deck of Queen Anne’s Revenge. You have been living in your parents clay hovel rent-free with the agreement that you would help fix the thatched roof over the summer. Needless to say you spent the majority of your days recovering from long nights drinking ginger beer and imported bourbon while your nights were choc-full-o karaoke night at the local tavern singing “Soldier, Soldier Will You Marry Me“. Before you knew it, your folks have thrown you out and your only option was joining up with Blackbeard to get your plunder on. After nine month at sea you start noticing some nasty wounds opening up on your belly and your teeth start falling out. Bed-ridden to your swinging hammock in the cargo hold you need medical attention and you need it quick. Luckily for you the last ship you plundered in St. Lucia had a Barber-Chirurgeon (Barber Surgeon) that you took captive. Lucky for the Barber-Chirurgeon part of the bounty you scored in Antigua included a collection of anatomical flap books for his reference. Subsequently, it is unfortunate for you that almost every illness in the 1700′s is treated by bloodletting, leeching and amputation. Not to worry though, the anatomical flip books will provide you with hours of entertainment as the Barber-Chirurgeon gives you a quick trim before mysteriously slipping you an out-of-time-and-space piece of Halls Defense with Vitamic C miraculously curing your undiagnosed case of scurvy while simultaneously condemning this mysterious time traveler to the condemnation of practicing witchcraft and black magic.

Fast-forward 293 years to the present day in the Duke University Library where they are going to be featuring a lineage of the (preposterously prefaced) Anatomical Flap Books. These dynamically rendered and fascinatingly intricate printed texts and illustrations acted as a surgical assistant allowing early medical practitioners to partake in virtual autopsies by meticulously flipping through the anatomy of the illustrated body. This collection dates back to the 1500′s and will be on display in the Perkins Gallery within the Perkins Library at Duke University from April to July 2011. Check out a sample of the showing and click here for more details.

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Check out the ‘fresh-off-the-press’ interview I was blessed with at The Daily Single. The interview was conducted by my friend Nene Kalu who hooked it up proper. The format of this online publication is pretty interesting and innovative. It looks to be a dynamic player in the sometimes-awkward transition from print media to digital. I have been very intrigued at the contemporary bridges that are being made. There is a lot of play that can be found within the boundaries of a standard magazine format including iApps, page-turning software and (my personal favorite) video integration. Daily Single takes a slightly different approach featuring one person everyday and leveraging the pipelines of social media integration. See for yourself and tell em’ what you think.

*side note: My 5 year old daughter and partner in crime, Nina Simone, took the cover shot they used. win.

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All across the planet people just can’t resist discount marketplace mayhem. I was checking out this BBC video that details the annual fishing raid of the sacred Antogo waters. I couldn’t help help but notice the similarities between this cultural commodity custom and our own Black Friday craze. It is amazing to watch…. just as long you aren’t one of them Antogo fishies or a Tickle-me-Elmo.

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As we aesthetically stroll into the 20teens’ expect to see more of less. Many of you may have noticed, Comedy Central has launched a dramatically different new look for their identity system. During the late 90′s and throughout the 0′s Comedy Central established its brand by leveraging big, colorful, paint-splattery motion graphics that adopted an urban spray-paint kaleidoscope mix of in-your-face fun and cutting edge animation. Unfortunately “cutting-edge” has a very short shelf life and the programming and influence that Comedy Central now holds has far outgrown the playful letter-form adorned atop a cartoon city & globe logo.

Like many, my initial reaction was one of unfamiliarity and distrust, however I am also aware that I am a human and that is how we approach all forms of change. After thinking on it a bit I came to the assumption that this will be the aesthetic trend moving forward into the 20teens. Corporate and social art & design trends have always seemed to reflect the temperament of our culture so pairing down, tightening up, saying more with less and simplifying everything in general will be the new black. Funny or not, that’s my bet.

Check out this experimental identity project done by design consultancy Antrepo that minimizes the package design of a handful of well-known contemporary brands. Less is more no doubt.

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Painting in New York City was a complete pain in the ass. The city was so oversaturated with writers that it was very hard to make a name. Day-spots were the rarest commodity. Every corner of the city has been explored and scouted which left very little to be truly discovered. Most places that were safe enough to paint during the day were well known by the cops which made it that much more difficult. One of the greatest day-spots to paint in Brooklyn was the old abandoned Maccarren Park Pool which was a massive public pool structure that spanned the entire stretch of a city block fully equipped with a three-story watch tower. It was created in 1936 during the New Deal with a capacity to hold 6,800 sweaty Brooklynites looking to cool off by submerging themselves into a luke-warm, liquid-smog communal bath tub. Sounds yummy. Local shares in chlorine companies shot through the roof I’m sure.  After closing it’s doors in 1984 due to construction issues the pool was left to decompose and decay, ie. turned over to homeless folks, junkies and graffiti writers.

The pool was a common destination for me and friends during the late 90′s and early 0′s. It was an incredible site to sneak into, explore, drink in, paint on and generally hang out within. However, it was not for the faint-hearted. There was only one reliable exit which was quite difficult to access and could easily be blocked, effectively trapping you inside a Mad Max style environment. I witnessed junkies in action, a kid in full police uniform rolling up on us painting, fist fights, makeshift housing units, men dueling with long swords, writers lighting up the walls, 30ft tall trees growing from the base of the diving pool, and the watch tower was perfect for catching a soccer game in the adjacent field while taking in the sunset behind the World Trade Center sporting NYC skyline.  I loved and feared that pool like an unhealthy relationship and similarly so, the pool has moved on with its life. It was converted to a concert venue in ’06 to the chagrin of the community organizations that were pushing for the pool to reopen for its originally intended purpose. It looks like these hard-pressing folks may get what the want coming up this summer. The revised plans call for a new pool, an ice-skating rink, a cafe, community center, performance area and an exhibition center. I haven’t been back to the pool since any of the revitalization but I’m betting the feeling will be similar to meeting up with your college drinking buddy 15 years after graduation only to find him married, functional and dry. Still a great guy….. but I liked him way better grimy.

This photo was taken by my close friend and former roommate Patrick Malloy during my last visit to the pool. In the third frame down you can see me chilling on a chair with another good friend Ben Mcclellan. Good times right there.

In memory of the old pool I wanted to share a photo set from artist/photgrapher Gigi Cifali who documented the abandoned public pools built in the thirtees throughout the United Kingdom. The beautiful decay.

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We are such fickle, fearful and destructive creatures. What we don’t know, we fear. What we fear, we hate. The socio-economic gap continues to grow ensuring that people from different walks of life will not cross paths therefore ensuring people will not truly get an opportunity to know each other. Ensuring fear. Fostering hate. Segregation is sown through our economic and schooling structures roping off proper opportunity. It is a broken structure of community that is built to create massive gaps and manufacture insurmountable obstacles for those born into a system that reminds them every day that they will have to work twice as hard for half as much with little to no say in the matter.

Rev. Martin Luther King would have celebrated his 82nd birthday today. The Civil Rights movement took place only 43 years ago. And get this, slavery was abolished only 146 years ago! That is only two old people ago! That means that there are people alive today who had grandparents that were slaves. In the societal scheme of things, that is just a tiny blip on our time-line and the damages and wounds that come with such an monstrous trauma will ripple through countless generations.

I was not alive to see or hear Dr. King in person yet I do feel as though I miss him. I miss his ability to see through the clutter and illuminate the path toward clarity. It is this illuminated clarity that allows each of us to see each one another without the societal filter that blurs and disassembles our god-given ability to connect with one another regardless of our vast differences. We were created to connect and to build. Let’s turn our backs on our fears and walk towards that which we don’t know. It is our responsibilty to connect, embrace and care for one another, walk miles and miles in each other shoes and generate a valuable currency of empathy. It is in our nature. Let’s do the damn thing, people.

Happy birthday Dr. King. We miss you terribly.

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Take some time tonight and check out the short documentary, “Citizen King“, Produced, Directed and Written by Orlando Bagwell W. Noland Walker for PBS.

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Joy is the peak of emotional bliss. Ultimately, every move we make in every single day revolves around the pursuit of it. The end game is to create a life that elicits the most joy possible. People may say, “Sean, reproduction and survival are the key drivers for all things in life”, to which I would politely reply, “Because they bring you joy dip-shit”. I digress.

I am regularly amused at the path the pursuit of joy takes in the human experience. Because we are such crafty little creatures we often invent and create products, machines and trinkets that try to plant and harvest as much joy as possible. Sometimes the joy-crop flips the script and ends up trying to consume us all together. I mean, if it doesn’t require consistent consumption it doesn’t really have a place in our capitalist consumer culture. We can’t have any of those socialist-joy crops spreading their poison seed on our new shipment of Obama Chia-Heads (Made in China)… I DIGRESS!!!

There have been a few of these little joy machines that I have noticed ‘cropping up’ around the internet. Knowing how much hard work is involved in inventing, creating and manufacturing anything in todays economy I am more than impressed that these items have made it through the full cycle and are available for us to get our joy fix from.

The Man-Made Rainbow Machine

With the flip of a switch College professor and artist Michael Jones McKean can bring the full spectrum to your front doorstep. Leprechaun and Pot-O-Gold machine soon to come.

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Juicebox Cameras

Sure, it’s an analog toss-away camera in a custom shell but it sure is cute. I challenge you not to smile when I whip this bad-boy out at the club.

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Interactive Urinal Games

Sorry ladies, unless you are willing to strap on some sort of phallic urinating contraption (don’t knock it till you tried it) this one is just for the gentlemen. I’m shocked that this isn’t in every bathroom in every bar in every city in America. Let’s get’r'done people!

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The Facebook Like/Dislike Stamp

If your like me the line between the real world and online world can be a fuzzy one. Aside from an undo button or an away message I’d like to sport a set of these stamps. Just make sure you bring your A-game when your chilling with me or your getting slammed.

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The reality is that there is a world of joy waiting to be taken advantage of. The trick is getting your ass up, looking at things differently and owning it. Why not?

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When I think about the odds of winning the Lottery I also think about the balance in life that divvies out what I call the “Reverse Lottery”. When a friend tells me a story about suffering unbelievably bad luck I shake their hand with congratulations informing them that they just won the Reverse Lottery! At present the odds of winning the New York Lottery are 1 in 45,057,474.00. There has got to be some god-forsaken horrible situation that is equally awful under those same odds. For me? My goal is landing somewhere in the middle. If I can maintain the balance then I figure I win.

Another thing…..I often hear people getting upset if they find out that they were conceived “by accident“. What what WHAT?! My reply is always, “WE ARE ALL ACCIDENTS!! Ask the 110,999,999 other sperm how they feel about the deal you got. Considering that 1 in 7 people in the US are living in poverty and almost half the world (over three billion people) live on less than $2.50 a day….. your ass is one luck-ass ass, you ass! When you start understanding how tipped the scales are you will start understanding why we have very little to be complaining about. Check out this incredible ad campaign created by advertising agency Lowe Brindfors in Sweden to promote awareness for Save the Children whose mission is to help create a world in which every child attains the right to survival, protection, development and participation. The campaign does an excellent job of speaking for itself. Check it out…. and don’t ever let me hear you complaining about being an accident.

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It is common for people to dehumanize others in order to rationalize our ill behavior toward one another. We take this one step further when dealing with animals and negate their ability to feel things. We render all kinds of ill crazy shit upon our animals brothers and sisters at astonishing numbers under the rationale that they are unable to feel in the same manner we are. Time magazine has written a solid feature recently (and in ’93 and 99′ ) about animals and their cognitive ability to not only feel deeply but analytically think as well. I figure that our ability to dehumanize and render other animals emotionless must come from an evolutionary piece that allowed us to hunt, kill and eat everything from the woolly mammoth to Bambi’s mom. It seems apparent that as our species evolves and our scientific and emotional understanding of animals grow, our ability to empathize with grow proportionately. It is my hope that our ability to wield empathy will become as agile and powerful as our ability to wield a sword and only then will we be truly empowered as a species. Woof.

I am in the business of utilizing visuals to communicate a message more clearly. It seems to work. The National geographic channel put together an incredible program called “In the Womb” that takes us on an internal journey inside the wombs of three other mammals – an elephant, dog and dolphin (with a penguin thrown in to boot). When looking at the images taken from the show below it is hard to not find an immediate connection to ourselves. This kind of visual association that can assist with building a strong empathy with out fellow critters. If their growth in the womb looks so similar to our own why do we separate their path from our own once outside the womb?  Check it out.

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Thanksgiving is a bit of a strange holiday. Traditionally it is a celebration feast showing thanks for a bountiful harvest. It is also a bit of a social mixer historically pairing the (let’s show the savages our new sporks) Pilgrim settlers of Plymouth, Massachusetts and (hey, this spork looks like it was made from sacred White Bison) members of the Native American Patuxet tribe. This was also the traditional birth of the awkward silence in the dinner conversation, inter-table arguments and the drunken-uncle effect. I’m hoping that the inaugurate Thanksgiving liquor cabinet was stocked with a full bottle of Dark Honey Seagrams Seven. Our was. Feathers flew.

Properly giving thanks or even showing thanks is a tough concept. As humans we process possessions, blessings and opportunity as an entitlement. Even those who rise from meager beginnings to lavish wealth struggle with social gratitude and the few who “remember where they came from” are cheered as inspirations. At the end of the day we are all blessed to varying degrees and feeling thankful is critical. But each time I hear “being thankful” I don’t really know what that means and how to best feel it and express it. Expressing it verbally seems most common. I could stand up at the table, raise my glass and announce, “I just want everyone here to know how thankful I am for every one of you”. That seems special. I’m pretty sure it makes everyone at the table feel warm and fuzzy but does it ensure that I am thankful just by announcing it? Not really. I think true thankfulness is expressed in the unsaid thanklessness good that is done for others. Giving without the pretense of receiving. Being open and honest. Genuinely trying to understand what it is like to live in the shoes of others. An unquestionable practice of empathy.

I’m not sure if I’m on target here but I’m pretty sure it’s a good place to start. So as the year unfolds and we continually remind ourselves to show thanks what we really need to be accessing is humbleness and empathy. Let’s do the damn thing people.

One of the many jobs of an artist is to open us up to these emotions. The Telegraph has posted a sample from an incredible photography project titled, “Where Children Sleep” that connects us with the international faces of children and a portrait of where they sleep. These photos by photographer James Mollison (you need to check out his site) are part of a larger collection from a book set to be published later this year by Chris Boot. The Telegraph website has a  short bio of each of the children that provides a little more insight beyond the visual. You will be hard-pressed to avoid a hard reflection and feeling a sense of thankfulness after a look through these.

The book can be purchased here.

James Mollison: Where Children Sleep

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Imagine you are plucked out of your New York City apartment rooftop by a giant hand from the heavens and placed in a dark box. Suddenly the box opens 1,200 miles away on a random side street in Omaha Nebraska. Now walk home. And do it fast. Don’t think that’s possible? I got some city pigeon friends that can serve it up….. In yo’ face!

You can take the bird out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the bird. Seriously. They will find their way back. Pigeons are an incredibly underrated little critter often referred to as “flying rats” or “gutter birds ” while possessing uncanny navigational abilities and have been absolutely critical to early social networking and information delivery services for humans. These birds placed in unfamiliar environments up to 1,200 miles away can reliably find their way to their home nest, and quite romantically, to their mate. Dating back 3000 years the ancient Egyptians, Persians and Romans all used pigeons to deliver information. They have delivered sensitive documentation during war time, were integral in forming the first air-mail service (stamps included) and informed Noah that he could climb out of that zoo of an ark he had been cooped up in for over a year. These birds were charged with proclaiming the winner of the early Olympic games, declaring stock prices between Brussels and Aachen for a young Mr. Reuter and identifying and helping to save people stranded at sea. Unfortunately for these loyal hard working birds, something called “the interweb” took their last paying job and put them out of business in 2002.

Like most champions reliving their former glory, homing pigeons have small but loyal caretaking community that continues to lovingly care for and encourage competition with other homing pigeons. Metropolitan environments have dominantly become the choice environment for pigeons to nest so naturally these urban rooftops have become home base for these amazing feathered phenoms. The only thing more phenomenal than their navigational talent is the effect the birds have on their caretakers. For some, these birds are their sole source of companionship, loyalty as well as being a rewarding source of emotional gratification. You give to them and they give back to you.

Keep an eye out for a show dropping in 2011 on Animal Planet titled “Taking on Tyson“. The show focuses on the former champ, his love of pigeons and his amateur foray into competitive pigeon racing.  I’m not missing this one.

I have collected a handful of images and some video to further illustrate how engaging and interesting the world of pigeon racing is at present. I’m taken by it really.

A collection of photos featured in a New York Times article, “Look Homeward, Angels“. Good read. Check it out.

These astounding animals are capable of much more than most of us are capable of. They can take flight, save lives, deliver mail, battle in war, help Noah, bob their head uncontrollably cool, run stock quotes, and can’t get lost. So the next time you are in the city and they are grossing you out, I’m hoping it will be more from jealousy than from being “gutter-birds”.

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The Motown Sound organized and incorporated into the Motown Record Corporation 40 years ago exporting the work of incredible artists such as Marvin Gaye, Diana Ross, Smokey Robinson, Stevie Wonder (check the drum solo) and Michael Jackson. This sound shaped the audible aesthetic for an entire generation and gave the world an intimate look at life in the American City. It was also critical in the racial integration of our American musical culture. It was the first label owned by an African American (Barry Gordy, Jr.) to push African-American artists & music that topped the charts for over a decade with crossover success.

To this day I am amazed at the longevity of the music, its ability to continually relate to our developing culture and how a song with that Motown Sound can still get you off the wall. As a kid who grew up in Detroit, Motown also represents a source hometown pride and gives me hope that if a brand of music born in Detroit during such troubled times can prevail for so long, Detroit as a city can prevail as well.

As time passes I am perplexed why people haven’t attempted to borrow or duplicate that legendary formula for outputting soulful music that crosses through pop culture. If “Please Mr. Postman“, “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg” or “The Tears of a Clown” still moves me, why isn’t there a musician or label who is still hustling this vibe?

In the past few years I have taken note of a few artists who are without question on the mission of answering that question. The sound isn’t a complete duplication or rip-off but it is heavily and sometimes heavenly inspired by the Barry Gordy Motown machine.

If you like the sound, support the sound.

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Cee-Lo Green – Georgia
Georgia (purchase mp3)

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Reflection Eternal feat. Estelle – Midnight Hour
Revolutions Per Minute (purchase album mp3)

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Gnarls Barkley – Going On
The Odd Couple (purchase album mp3)
I really love this song and the video is incredible.

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Rafael Saadiq – 100 Yard Dash
The Way I See It (purchase album mp3)

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Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings – “100 Days, 100 Nights”
100 Days, 100 Nights (purchase album mp3) $9

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Janell Monae – Tightrope
The ArchAndroid (purchase album MP3) – $5

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And as a special treat, I give you Smokey Robinson & The Roots performing “Tears of a Clown”.
(Don’t say I never gave you anything)

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We as a people are defined by our differences. The more detached and disassociated, the more defined. It seems to be part of our chemical makeup as a species. I often wonder if it a leftover defensive mechanism from our early days. Maybe it helped keep us alive when the shit got hot. Maybe it helped us identify potential threats. Who the fuck knows. Unfortunately, when we lay our vision of the world based on separations we are desperately neglecting our greatest source of progressive strength, our connections.

I am not referencing an idealistic, super-liberal, ideological view of a peace-on-earth uniting of mankind kind of thing. I am purely talking about the mechanics of leveraging what makes us perform at our best.

Each division we have made has been based on fear and identifying threats to our health and/or happiness. Geographic boundaries ensure that you know who you belong to and where you don’t belong. It’s all nonsense really. We posses the land as much as a butterfly possesses the wind that passes between it’s wings. These are man-made divisions based primarily and maintained specifically to continue the never-ending cycle of division, fear and aggression.

These three elements are the true axis of evil. As soon as one enters into the party, the other two are blazing a path right behind the other. They work so seamlessly and effectively as a unit and form a cycle of behavior and activity that we have been unable to extinguish. Like a spark that is followed by the fire, fear will spark division and division will spark aggression and aggression will feed the fear and the fear will gorge gluttonously on division.

On the other hand, if connections are valued like the priceless resource that they truly are, growth, progress, hope and love will rule the path our lives will take. Have you ever come across people that operate without the presence of aggression, fear or division? These are empowered mutherfuckers. Free, fun, progressive and attractive, albeit not always physically attractive, but severely attractive to be around none-the-less. Evolved.

We have been blessed with the tools, talent and ability to form connections from our neighbors to strangers on the other side of the world. These connections are the nucleus for the complex universe of love, happiness and growth that we have at our very fingertips. Harness your connections and water them daily. When any element of fear, division or aggression enters into your system, destroy it with compassion, patience, empathy and positivity. Destroy it fast. These elements know the fastest route to our undoing and if you allow them in and allow them to colonize, they will undo you. And if they undo you, they will undo us all.

NOW GO ENJOY YOUR TUESDAY GODDAMNIT!

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I know the Dad hustle very intimately. At present I have a day gig, freelance at night, hustle an art career ripe with shows and events but I always block off time that is untouchable to anyone but my little critters. It is critical to secure this into your daily routine.

In a best case scenario, a working parent will be sewn up in a nine-to-five job from 8:30am to 5:30pm. By the time you get home and get settled in were looking at 6:00 (best case scenario). Once dinner is finished and cleaned up were looking at around 7pm (best case scenario). This allows for roughly two to three hours of time that can be spent at leisure to bond with your kids. BEST CASE SCENARIO! This is not enough. Your majority of your young kids life will be spent sans-Dad. This is why I feel it is so important for Dads (and working Moms) to pack their kids lunch everyday. The critical element of this process is inserting a note, drawing, photo or anything you can think of to let your kid know that Dad is thinking of them all the time….. even when they can’t be nearby. I have been blessed with the ability to come up with creative solutions to problems so I am able to create custom drawings on napkins. But creativity isn’t completely necessary. For all you Dads (and working Moms) who think you are completely creatively inept, a simple note on a napkin stating “I <3 U”, “You are amazing” or “Thinking about you” should do the trick just fine.

So, have at it my parental warriors! Get out to your grocery stores, think creatively and pack a lunch that is nutritious for the body and a note that will provide nutrition for the relationship you have with your little critters.

Your heart (and theirs) will thank you.

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I have always been Sean but since 2006 I have been, and always will be Daddy. There is nothing in this world that can hold the water that Fatherhood holds for me. It is in its truest form a blessing. But with all things in life, including blessings, there is the cold balance that keeps all happiness and sorrow deeply in check.

Last week I went on a cruise with the family. My mother in law was generous enough to take us all on a trip that would visit St. Maartin, Puerto Rico and Haiti while sailing on an enormous cruise ship that departed from Miami. We all enjoyed the trip but my two girls seemed to enjoy themselves in a way that was fulfilling just to watch. They spent the majority of their time engaging and playing with  other children from a surprising variety of nationalities and cultures regardless of language barriers. The played in pools, hot tubs, play areas, arcades, everywhere.

We started our trip on Sunday. On Wednesday Makayla got sick. She got so sick that during a formal dinner she threw up all over me (in my suit) which led me to run wild through the posh restaurant dodging and weaving through other guests formally dipped in suits, tuxedos and gowns trying to make my way to the bathroom. We attributed the illness to overexposure to the sun and let her rest for the next few days. On Friday we docked in Haiti and Malaya’s spirits seemed to be normal enough to take her out to hang out at the beach. Withing twenty minutes she was asking me to pick her up and quickly thereafter wanted to lay down. A few seconds later she has passed out.

Fuck.

Ann Marie was able to flag some help and I jumped on board a small John Deere Gator type vehicle and zipped back to the ship with her precious body limp in my arms. We re-boarded the ship quickly and hustled down to the ship infirmary. At this point Makayla had begun to come-to and was acting extremely irritable and uncooperative with the doctor. After a brief check-up the doctor determined that she probably had a slight ear infection and gave her some antibiotics. Since her behavior had improved so rapidly we were all feeling very relieved. We docked back in the States on Sunday and headed back home.

Makayla’s behavior was very strange through the next week. She would have small fits of feeling very ill, showing a fever and getting nauseous. On a rare occasion she would seem to fall asleep rapidly.  She was brought to the pediatrician often with each visit lacking a clear diagnosis due to her quick recovery and seemingly normal, healthy behavior thereafter. On Friday she passed out again. This time she fell out hard, her eyes were rolling back in her head and the color in her face was changing. Luckily Ann had already decided to bring her to the pediatrician when things started turning really bad. An ambulance was called and  Makayala was rushed to Wake Med Children’s Hospital.

When I arrived at the emergency room straight from work I didn’t know what to expect. When I burst open the door I saw my Kayla-birdy looking up at me, reaching out with her little arms. As bad as she looked to me, I was assured that she looked a world better than she had just twenty minutes before-hand. She was admitted and quickly began a wide array of tests and scans to try and pinpoint what she was suffering from. As the hours passed, Makayla began to be affectionately referred to as “Our Little Mystery” from the variety of doctors, residents and pediatricians that came through to see her. I wasn’t really down with that nickname. As each test came back in we knew no more than we did on that stressful day in Haiti. Her demeanor and personality slowly began to rise to the surface and after a few days in the hospital she was back to her normal, goofy self. The neurologist and doctors that were in charge had deduced that she probably contracted a nasty virus from another country and her immune system wasn’t equipped enough to fight it properly. But they weren‘t completely sure and we would probably never know what had caused this sudden and extreme illness. We would have to keep a close eye and take careful note of any strange behavior and if she passed out again we would call 911 and start over again.

Guh.

So, that was stressful. Worrying is wrenching. She is looking and acting like her normal self although she had behaved this way in between the last few spells. I am crossing my fingers and keeping a close and attentive eye on my girl.  As a parent I feel I should be providing relief, reassurance and affection to my girls when they are in need. In the end it was Makayla that had proven to be the most resilient and was the primary source of laughter, comfort and hope while bearing the responsibility of being a three year old sick patient in the hospital.

Makayla is an amazing bird and there is nothing more gratifying than seeing her fly around at home with her sister, laughing and playing. She is going to have to give her old man a few flying lessons. I’m starting to forget a little.

You are an amazing little girl. Your daddy loves you Makayla Rae.

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Sometimes the best place to hide is in your namesake.

I bet you didn’t know Saddam’s full name was Saddam Spider-Hole Hussein, now did you?

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I will be hitting the high seas for the next week and have learned that the internet is difficult to access on international waters. Barring a Titanic style departure, I will be returning to my obsessive posting next week. In the in-between time feel free to loop endlessly reliving the same posts over and over…. and over.

I’ll miss you rascals.

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Nothing excites me more than a tight body in tights…. on Wednesday afternoons, shooting webs…. with raging pectorals WAIT!.. WHAT?! Yea, somehow the comic book industry broke major social ground by unintentionally getting all of of us heterosexual males comfortable gazing at men in tights….. shooting webs…with raging pectora…GAH! Anyways, I took note of a few sites that were exploring switching the sexes of our favorite ……. super men.

SHE-MAN

Definitely one of my favorites due to the (un)fortunate placement of the always peculiar fur shorts. Wait, those are shorts right?

Iron Mandy

Someone should call customer support at Stark Industries. There is a major flaw with the protective nature of this suit. Who knows, maybe she has super powered cleavage and passed on the extra cost of protecting those assets.

She-Hulk

I know this isn’t a breakthrough gender crossover. She-Hulk has been around for years……but then I stumbled across this gem and had to toss it in the mix…

Yo Gamma Gamma

Punisher

“Damn girl, If you wanted my digits, all you had to do was ask. You got a breath mint in that utility belt? I think i just threw up in my mouth a little.”

She wins.

Ok, rapid fire from here on out.

Super Woman & Bat Woman

Ninja T(her)tles

Gambit

Dr. Manhattan

Babe Sapien

Astro Girl

Hell Girl

Darth Vader

Ok, I found a collection of oddities for a female Vader. Yea, kinda hot, kinda strange. Not sure here.

I love this reassuring hand-holding Vader. It is the kind of body language that says, “Um, ok, you were right. This was a stupid idea but were here already so lets just go inside.”

Aqua-Woman

“Ok cool. Now where is the rest of my suit honey? Huh? Wait. I’m supposed to fight evil fish people in this? You are out of your fucking mind. Go get my sports bra, NOW.”

Blanka

There is nothing hotter than a red tuft of hair right between the boobage.

Space Ghost

Magnita

Spider-Women

Many variations over time including, well, Spider-Woman. Here are just a few.

Splinter Cell

Toy Story Ladies

and last but obviously not least,

Wonder Man & Super Woman Man

I really tried to dig up for men in super-womens roles but there just wasnt a lot of info to mine. Looks like we got some work to do people.

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There have been many sources of inspiration when it comes to determination and steadfast will to carry on. They usually come in the form movie action star, injury plagued athlete and the occasional rise of a troubled youth to a fruitful life of social bliss. I think we can all agree that “overweight movie critic from the 80′s” doesn’t usually come up on our radar for hardcore, tough as nails, ‘never quit’ troopers. Roger Ebert however, the guy won’t stop.

Before the internet and before we were interested in picking up a newspaper we used to watch Siskel and Ebert talk shit about the movies we liked. My general rule was that if they hated it, I would probably like it. As a kid who rarely went to the movies I never really understood how or why anyone would complain about any movie they saw. They got to go to the movies then they got to be on TV!!! As far as I was concerned they should spend their half hour hugging each other, jumping for joy that their lives were so fucking awesome.

Time passes and perspectives change. I now understand and appreciate the critical eye. Especially when it comes to such a dynamic artform like moving pictures. Without an outspoken critical voice it would be tough for people to orient themselves and decide what was worth the 10-15 bucks it would cost to spend a few hours staring at a giant screen. It’s hard for most people, myself included, to discern quality past the trailers that market the movie to us. I mean, have you seen the trailer for new Clash of the Titans? Unfuckingbelieveable!

Anyways, Robert Ebert has weathered many nasty storms including allegedly dating Oprah Winfrey for some time. Weird but true. As troublesome as an amorous affair with Ms. Winfrey can be, his toughest battle has been with papillary thyroid cancer. Since his diagnosis in 2002, he has gone under numerous operations. Some of them successfully removing the cancer that had infected him yet other surgeries came with dire complications. These complication led to the removal of a large portion of his jaw and throat leaving him without a voice. Damn. Well, you may say, “I guess we won’t be able to hear him talk shit on movies anymore” and in a faux computer-generated robot voice I reply, “bzzzzt….HE WILL NOT BE SILENCED.”

For a little while Roger would type into a computer program that would output his commentary in a computer-generated voice. The odd thing was the voice had a distinctly British accent that he fondly referred to as “Lawrence”. After another brief stint with patriotically switching over to a good ole’ American voice named “Alex”, in stepped CereProc . The good people at CereProc had mined Mr. Eberts voice from audio commentary tracks that he recorded for DVDs like Casablanca, Citizen Kane and Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. They built a virtual verbal library that can now be utilized so friends, family and fans can hear Roger Ebert happily disassemble the dénouement of Any Given Sunday on any given Sunday. The guy won’t quit. At this rate I wouldn’t be surprised to see his head on the body of a giant, spider-slaying, movie-reviewing robot from the future.

In the 90′s you may have seen this man and watched him virtually fistfight Gene Siskel using a strange but impressively ahead of its time Sega Activator Body Ring and you may have thought, “This guy got knocked the fuck out! What a virtual puss!”  Little did you know that twenty years later he would be rolling with the mightiest punches that life can throw our way. Keep talking shit Mr Ebert. I got your back.

A clip of Ebert using the “Lawrence” voice.

The return of “The Voice of Ebert”.

In all seriousness, this guy is a true inspiration. Check out his blog and read up on his story. He is the definition of never ever letting anything stop you from chasing your dreams. In the face of death Roger has decided to let things unfold naturally from here on out electing to have no more surgeries even if the cancer returns due to the complications from the previous surgeries. I’ll close with a journal entry of his titled, “Go Gently into That Good Night”:

I know it is coming, and I do not fear it, because I believe there is nothing on the other side of death to fear. I hope to be spared as much pain as possible on the approach path. I was perfectly content before I was born, and I think of death as the same state. What I am grateful for is the gift of intelligence, and for life, love, wonder, and laughter. You can’t say it wasn’t interesting. My lifetime’s memories are what I have brought home from the trip. I will require them for eternity no more than that little souvenir of the Eiffel Tower I brought home from Paris.

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I was a latch key kid in East Detroit with no siblings and a wild imagination during the 80′s. There was no such thing as “disposable income” so the luxuries in life came in the form of the occasional 25¢ pack of Garbage Pail Kids. For the unfortunate that may not know what a “GPK” is, allow me the honor of introducing you….

There had been a pop culture boom with the introduction of the Cabbage Patch Kid into the marketplace during the early 80′s. It was the first real “Parents Kill Each Other to get this Toy” Christmas item. They were shitty little pudgy dolls that I would love to be able to say I didn’t piss my pants to have. But I can’t. Because I did. Although remember, there was no ‘disposable cash’ so I became the adoptive parent of one “Calvin Reggie (self named)” that was a homemade variant made by my Aunt Marianne. Fine. I loved him like I love my daughters presently. No shit.

So that being said, there is always an undercurrent in popular culture that pulls you under and allows you to smell the underbelly a bit. Enter the Garbage Pail Kids. In a nutshell, they were baseball card style cards that showcased illustrations of seriously fucked up Cabbage Patch Kids with hauntingly disturbing names. Potty Scotty, Bony Tony, Hy Gene….. you get it.

On my way home from school I would stop off at the corner store. It was a hustle because He-Man started at 3:30 which only gave me a half hour to get my ass out of school and home in time. There was nothing worse than getting home, firing up the set and seeing the opening credits to General Hospital. FAIL!

Anyways, back to the point. It seems ironic that while living in such a busy, crazy neighborhood I would find my deepest adrenaline rush from opening a fresh pack of Garbage Pail Kids. I can distinctly remember the smell they would give off when freshly opened. It was similar to pack of baseball cards but with a touch of stale plastic naughty. And if I was shuffling through and saw a card that I knew I didn’t have!!!! HALLELUYAH HEAVEN!

In retrospect I can’t quite understand why these cards and drawings were so important to me. Maybe they injected me with creative  inspiration that I was otherwise lacking. I mean, these cards were pretty much my sole opportunity to purchase and inspect illustrated artwork. Come to think of it, I may owe my bright and bountiful life as an artist to the Garbage Pail Kids! God damn, will you look at that. If it weren’t for Mugged Marcus, Hot Head Harvey, Fryin’ Brian or Noel Bowl, I wouldn’t be the man I am today.

I tip my hat to you Kids…. while encouraging my armpit hair to grow so long that they begin to grow daisies.

Yes, a movie studio green lit the “Garbage Pail Kids” live action movie. This needs to be put on your netflix queue now. Seriously.

I collected a small sampling of the thousands of cards that were released. Sometimes life gives us a special treat.

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I find politics best served as finger food. There are very few of us who would feel capable of fully understanding this kind of meal as a full blown feast. It seems the Republican Party fully understands this philosophy and always seems to be the first ones out of the kitchen with the pigs in their blankets.

During the 2004 election I started using the term “one-step thinkers”. This term applies to the majority of us in one degree or another. It goes like this: If someone is talking to you about something you don’t really understand completely, your overall perception can be crafted in a clean, simple, over-arching statement. Something that can be summed up with one layer of thinking. Some good examples from the Bush admin:

“Every nation in every region now has a decision to make. Either you are with us, or you are with the terrorists.”

“I just want you to know that, when we talk about war, we’re really talking about peace.”

“The regime has longstanding and continuing ties to terrorist groups, and there are Al Qaida terrorists inside Iraq.”

These are words very easy to digest. I can imagine most people nodding their head fairly agreeably to each and every one of these statements. Unfortunately these statements are as empty as my bank account. Irregardless, if you want the American people to swing support behind a political initiative you have to sell it like it is toothpaste. This is a population sunk deep into the art of the capitalist sell. DUMB IT DOWN PEOPLE!

The hard Right has managed to convince a large majority of tax paying Americans that healthcare need not be reformed. They have convinced people that the abhorrent profits being made at the expense of pre-existing conditions and piles of denial forms is perfectly cool and extremely American. Treason!

I have fucking had it with politicians on both sides more focused on their re-election then the fucking ideals and platform we elected them to represent. You believe the American  people that bust their ass every  fucking day to pay your bullshit Senate salary deserve to be left out in the cold when it comes to healthcare? Fuck you asshole!

Universal Heathcare is a way of ensuring a strong working base. Keeping your people alive ensures the survival of a strong American nation. Managing sickness efficiently puts more capable hands back into the factories and put more liquid cash flow back into the ailing economy while strengthening our ability to ensure national security. The problem is that America isn’t really required to make money for the people in charge. This is a Global economy now. If you can’t squeeze us, you can turn and squeeze a new nation. The bottom line is what drives public policy and you and your fellow American brothers and sisters aren’t needed to pad that bottom line anymore. Fuck us.

Change happens at home. Elected officials are a bitch-made collection. Look at these Democrats running scared because they lost ONE Senate seat in Mass! Growing up if your people ran away because one of your boys got hit….. they were bitch-made…. and more importantly, they were done. Finished.

You want to make a real difference? Get involved. Inventory what you do best and put it to good use right here in your backyard. Think globally, act locally. Always know what you stand for and stand firm.

Mr. Obama, I still have love for you. I get the position your in. Just remember why Bush got re-elected for a second term. He stood firm for what believed was right and it didn’t matter who thought his agenda was shit. America loves that. Stand firm. Bully your agenda through. Fuck bipartisanship and most importantly, DUMB IT DOWN GODDAMNIT.

I’ll throw you a bone:

“The Patriotic American looks out for America and America will look out for the American Patriot.”

or maybe:

“You’ve had our back now we got yours”

DUMB IT THE FUCK DOWN!!! Say it a million times every time you are interviewed. Don’t give details that will confuse us. The American viewer is weary with a limited attention span and will look away once their bored. Done properly, it makes people want to fight for their lives for it. You know what is right. Get it done.

Lets see what you got.

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I was an only child until the age of 13. Without any siblings in the house I naturally gravitated to the warm and loving company of He-Man and his selected band of mutated freaks and nefariously furry beefcakes. The line of toys took a unique approach to how a kid would interact with the steroid injected line of action figures. They were overly literal with the naming process and would usually design a textured characteristic that work in sync with the name.For instance:  (NOTE: For some reason all men are required to sport a grass Speedo with metal man-buckle.) He-Man Big burly manly man. Mostly topless. All Man. Beast-Man A man that is, well, a beast looking man. Ram-Man A man that, well, rams things. Clawful Man with claws for hands. Pincher action on big claw hand. For the most part, awesome. Fisto Man with big fist. Spring action in arm with fist allows for easy penis punching. Stinkor Skunk man that actually smelled shitty. BEST TOY CONCEPT EVER! Ok ok ok. So you get what I’m saying. Now to the point. Superman, The Hulk, Spider Man, He-Man…everyone knew these men had super-powers because they looked strong as fuck. But the women always seem to look like some sexy chick that could be a hot teachers assistant. The only thing overgrown were their private parts. The men had bulging muscles and a strong physique while the women had giant titties and fat asses. Now don’t get me wrong, I love butts and boobies, but even as a kid I was a stickler for details. It made as much sense to me that Wonder Women was skinny as hell with big boobies-kicking ass as it would if Superman was scrawny as hell with a gigantically oversize codpiece. Knocking out cosmic level villains with a bony bicep and a raging hard-on. Refuckingdonkulous. It still irks me. So in retrospect I wanted to give a slight nod to the original lady amongst super-men; Teela. Now her physique isn’t very strong, but remember, she didn’t have any powers. What she lacked in super strength she more that made up with a thick bottom and a sporty frame. I always imagined her walking with a hard switch and picking that tight jumpsuit out of her backdoor when things got sticky. Sure, she may rock the eccentric tiara at time but she also knew how to pop a collar well before Kanye West was able wipe his own bottom (which is still in question). Teela, I thank you for setting a strong foundation for how to trigger arousal. Without you I may be turned on by fake titty-jobs, eating disorders and liposuction. Thanks to you I like thick hips, sexy lips and arms & legs that don’t bend. I hope that Man-At-Arms dick of a controlling Dad finally let loose of the leash and you were able to sow those oats with the likes of Moss Man (real men are covered in moss), Two-Bad (it’s like a three some with two sets of genitals) and Mantenna (don’t ask). You go girl.

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The man that made 2001 will always have a place to stay in Philly.

The year was 2001. The place was a railroad apartment in Greenpoint Brooklyn on Manhattan Ave. The feeling was euphoria. I know….euphoria? Really?  Yes. The Sixers had managed to slide their way through each playoff match-up through a collection of nail-biting game 7′s which led to the ultimate David & Goliath match-up vs the “undefeated-in-the-playoffs” Lakers. This journey was witnessed religiously with my people Vic, PT, Pablo and myself.

Game 1 was tough but it was ours. I hold that game embarrassingly close to my heart. I have never felt such …….. euphoria watching a game. Heh. It’s true.

It has been a tough go for the Sixers since that 2000-2001 season. This season has been particularly tough but the team has received a peculiar injection of energy. The kind of energy a wife gets when finding out her lovable but abusive husband is returning early from a trip for work. Not really sure what is going to happen but it is sure to be something.

One year contract. Let the sparks fly.

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Life goes on.

and on.

………. and on.

This is an artifact that every molecule in this entire universe shares and holds dearly. In our world life is a very tangible and delicate experience. Life is our most treasured posession. It is respected. It is cared for. And most heartbreakingly, it can be taken.

I have tried to live a life ripe with honest interactions. From time to time you bump into another person who shares this perspective. You can see it in the way they listen to a story you tell. You can hear it in the way they ask a question. You can feel it when a connection is formed.

I met Chris Psarros in the rain. It was late and the clouds had completely opened up in Jersey City. At the time I was dating his daughter, Ann Marie. She had left the light on in her car and the battery had died and she was sopposed to have the car back an hour before we realized that the car would not be starting. Chris drove a hour down to my apartment with my now mother-in-law in the pouring rain through the complicated network of urban sprawling roadways and poorly lit street signs. I was sure the meeting would be an awkward one. It wasn’t. His bigger-than-life smile with his neatly kept moustache and firm handshake laid the foundation for a connection that would last a lifetime. Chris had the kind of presence that would allow you to forget that it was raining.

We met the cancer on a beautifully sunny day. Chris had picked us up from the airport upon returning from a family trip to Disney. We fumbled our way out of the baggage area and into the sun where we were greeted by that smile and that handshake. That smile that will be impossible to forget in even the slightest degree. After driving us back to the house and showing us some generous work that he had done for us in the yard, he was struck dizzy. He lost his balance and almost collapsed to the floor. It was the first time I had ever seen him look afraid. Chris was a strong man. Nothing would rattle him. He was the definition of cool under pressure. But it scared me to see him look a little shook.

From that mark the cancer was in charge. The cancer decided to play out in the worst case scenario at every stage that we held out hope for. Every doctor visit, every test. Shit. Each stage more heartbreaking than the next. What was unthinkable a week before would be a stark reality the next. You begin to talk about filming video messages so my youngest daughter Makayla will see him, and hear him speak to her…. a hope that she will hold a memory of him. But the cancer was too ravenous and robbed us of even these kinds of plans. Before long and Chris wouldn’t be able to watch football games downstairs anymore. Helping him feel comfortable quickly became our only refuge. The act of sitting next to or laying down with him were moments treasured. Loved ones would visit and when it came time to leave, you would see the look and feel the hearts of people knowing this was a true goodbye. Heart. Breaking. It was an awful thing.

Chris passed with his family holding him. Literally. He was enveloped with people who would never say good-bye but had to that night. Watching and feeling someone pass is something. I don’t have a word and I’m not quite sure that one exists. I could paint a picture of the love that was present and the sorrow that had melted hot upon us all. I could describe the sounds that the family made when his final breath had passed. I could show you what my eyes look like when telling this story. But I really don’t think people have created words for that moment. It happened.

I will miss him. Often. My spiritual beliefs tend to vary but I do believe in one thing firmly. I believe that the afterlife lives on amongst the people you influenced in life. Chris lives on in my ability to chase my dreams, love life purely, find adventure, eat and live well, work hard, smile wide and shake firmly. In turn he will live on in my daughters lives for I will pass on all of my experiences and connections and lessons I shared with Chris on to my girls. And they, in turn, will pass these on to the people the interact with in this world. He will be with us forever in so many ways is impossible to calculate. But said simple, I love you Chris. And that will live on. And on……and on.

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I stumbled across a project that seems to be reserved for the super-nerds….. which I am a card carrying member of. Since I believe that the nerd-torch should be passed down to the next generation, I have indoctrinated my two daughters thoroughly with the first few Star Wars movies. They are big fans now (mwoohahahaha!) Some of the scenes are a little too scary but I am skilled at clicking the remote and skipping to the next scene without being noticed. They became fans enough to (on their own desire) dress up as C3P0 and R2D2 last year on Halloween.

Back to the project…. it is called Star Wars Uncut. They took the first movie (Episode four) and chopped it into 15 second segments. People choose a 15 second clip and recreate it themselves. Once completed you upload the video and when all the scenes are completed, they will seam the movie together with the fan-created segments. Sounds crazy but it is actually pretty damn fun to do and funny as hell to watch. Check out the trailer.

Here is our first attempt. It looks a bit rough but yo, that’s how we roll.

A few shots from last years Halloween costumes…

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I like chocolate. Most people do. We have all heard the kitchy news blips about how chocolate triggers the same sensory markers in the brain as sexual activity. I don’t know about all of that but I know that I like chocolate.

We have a little cookie jar in the office next to mine that we fill up with little mini candy. Mini-Peanut Butter Cups, mini-Rolos, mini-Krackels, mini-Hersheys, mini-Hershey Dark and mini-Mr. Goodbars. I have taken note that these little guys taste notably and consistently better than their larger counterparts. At first I figured they must have added a little extra something so that you are drawn to consume more of a little. This doesn’t really make sense from a manufacturing standpoint.

While eating a larger piece of chocolate it all made sense. When we (humans) know that we have a lot of something we, by instinct, appreciate it less. It happens without thinking. When I have one of those little mini-Mr Goodbars, I know I better enjoy every broken piece of peanut…… because that’s all I got.

I read an article in the Times yesterday about the author and his struggle with cancer and chemotherapy. He was diagnosed and went through his first round of chemo in 1999. He spoke in great detail about how through the pain and suffering, he was able to appreciate the minute details in life. The simplified beauty that lies within a single olive. Stuff like that. Once he finished chemo and was clear of the cancer, he swore that we would hold firm to this gifted vision of the world around him that he acquired during the fight for his life.

As years passed he noticed that the instinctual fog that makes it difficult for us to appreciate the particulars of life had slowly settled back down upon him. In 2004 his cancer returned and he began again with the ravenous chemotherapy. Again things became uniquely crystal clear and he was able to truly take in and appreciate all that was around him once again.

I don’t intend to draw parallels between battling cancer and enjoying a mini Mr. Goodbar but a common river does flow through the two experiences. When we know that we only have a little of something to behold, we hold it dear and inspect and enjoy it thoroughly. I’m actively trying to tap into that and trick my instincts into believing that everything is few and all is meant to be held close. And yes, that includes you – little piece of peanut in a king size Mr. Goodbar. I will appreciate you too.

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Eminem put this together for his (and my own) beloved hometown. He paid for it to run during the Final 4 on CBS. This will make my Mom cry no doubt about it. It really is well done and I am very very thankful for it. It is so spot and hits me dead center every time. Stay up Detroit.

Eminem – Detroit Final Four Commercial / NEW
Uploaded by PeteRock. – Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.

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I had to take a break from the site for a little while. After an enjoyable trip to Florida, we suffered some terrible news. I’m not going to share any details here but I will shake the tree a little and let the apples fall where they may.

When life and death hang in the balance, nothing seems worthy of your attention except grief, anxiety, love and a profound sadness. Every moment is remortgaged and time becomes your most valuable commodity. Everyone processes this kind of stress  differently. Glasses that were once half full immediately become half empty…… and vice versa, depending on your inner perspective.

I am finding an intimate solace when running alone. It helps me sort out my long thoughts and heavy feelings. The early morning runs are my favorite. During the weekend I was able to watch the sun rise on a new day. The colors seem to spill recklessly over a new blue sky and it really got me thinking about whether I preferred the sunrise or the sunset. I have thought about this for the past few days. At dusk this evening it was raining and the sky was completely overcast when I realized that I don’t care if there it is a sunrise or a sunset, as long as I am in the presence of the sun. While watching a sun spill its colors over a sky, it doesn’t matter if a day or an evening is to come next….. you have the moment.  You are guaranteed that moment. Whatever is to follow may or may not occur, but you have that moment. So, treasure every single one that you have been blessed to possess. It is worth it.

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I was thinking about how pressure has been a running negative presence in my life for quite a while. Applied pressure tends to make things grind and cause a heavy amount of friction. I have seen pressure as a foe that could be defeated with persistence, patience and hard work. It wasn’t until I held a pencil in my hand pulled the graphite across a blank sheet of paper that I realized the positive creativity that pressure and friction can build. I have been drawn to pencils, pens and paper since a young child and throughout my years it would be hard to find me without something to draw with. I found that pencils or paper weren’t always required. I would look around the table at a restaurant and draw on napkins with the pen that the waitress left with the bill. I would scrape the small white rocks that were in the lot next to my house on the hot blacktop street that was adjacent to mine. I would take my keys and grind them up against the Septa bus window that my head was resting upon. I would take a stick and drag it through a freshly poured square of sidewalk pavement. You get the idea.
As I moved my work to fit into a commercial setting I began looking to become more efficient with my markings. Quicker delivery, swift revisions and compact formatting became paramount and my art began to change. Ultimately I bought a Wacom tablet figuring that it would provide me with the ultimate convenience in transferring my markings to Photoshop. I remember resting the tablet on the table and holding the hallow plastic pen in my hand. As I attempted to draw and make my marks, the pen tip slipped and awkwardly slid around the tablet. I tried to adjust to the new feel but pressing the plastic pen tip on the plastic tablet felt like Bambi trying to get his bearings on that frozen lake bed. That evening i remember feeling strangely unsatisfied and disappointed. The more I practiced, the more I felt unfulfilled.
I say this because I have recently come to appreciate my tendency to soothe negative pressure and friction with my own controlled pressure and friction. That Wacom tablet fell short because it didn’t hold that ability to make a mark that mattered. When I grip my pencil and grind that graphite tip into that thin sheet of textured paper, it makes a mark. That mark speaks volumes about the grip, pressure and friction that weighs on my shoulders and tries to lay me down. I have to thank that pencil regularly. Without it, I wouldn’t be so pleasantly acquainted with real honest pressure and I certainly don’t know how I would make my mark.

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Sixers Theme Song

Every season I splurge and sign up for the NBA League-Pass so I can catch some of the Sixer games. Network television rarely picks up and of their games and since the departure of Iverson…..you never see them on regular tv. That being said, I really didnt know what to expect from the Sixers this season. From the start, I was not cool with the Elton Brand pick-up and thought that Mo Cheeks was coaching on borrowed time. My instics were spot on well before the All-Star break. Elton Brand was slowing down a young, aggresive offense and was sidelined for the season with a shoulder injury. Mo Cheeks got booted and a “Tony Dileo”, who I had never heard of replaced him. Matter of fact, for a few months I was confusing him with the Crank Yanker “Tony Deloge“.

Anyways, what I’m getting at is that I really grew to love this team. When Brand went down, they got fast. Crazy fast. They were ranked in the top 3 for most of the season for fast break points. They were young too. When you get a young team with no ego, you find that players raise up and stand out. Thadeus Young, Lou Williams, Maurice Speights, these guys would ride the pine on most other teams but in Philly this season, that rose up.

I know I get a little gay at the end of each season and like to reflect but this season in particular deserved a particular nod. They not only made the playoffs but they also dropped the hammer on the #3 ranked Magic with a bonified superstar center, Dwight Howard. Minus the final game, where they looked a little like they all caught the same STD the night before, they played a solid series. Well done.

Now drop Brand, get big, stay quick and lets go!

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Wow. On my drive home from work I was figuring that I would switch back and forth from the Hurricanes/Devils Game 7 match-up and the Game 5 Sixers/Magic game. But as soon as the Canes game started up, I was barely able to get myself to check the score of the Sixers game. That Canes game was as dramatic as a sports match-up can get. The early periods were littered with big goals and giant hits. The third period was a drull of ineffectiveness while the Canes were down 3-2. By the time the clock had ticked down to about 3 minutes left, I had just about abandoned ship. And then with 1:20 left and an amazing, diving stretch to keep the puck in the blue line and a perfect pass, they score. This sends me into a frenzy that scares the shit out of my youngest daughter. I try ineffectively to explain to her that everything is ok but given the level of excitement, I am sure I just sounded even crazier to her. Once I chill out a bit and am able to focus back on the game…… they fucking score again! Wow. I mean, that kind of thing never happens, and sure as hell never happens in a game 7 on foreign ice. Bam. Best game. I’m good for a while after that one. Thank you Canes. Your the shit.

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At the start of this year, 2009, I made a commitment to myself that I would run in a dozen races this year. One a month, roughly. I am already 1/4 of the way through them and I figured now would be a good time to compile and chronicle them. So far they have been a collection of 5k’s but I will start to stretch out, throw in some 10k’s and ultimately gear up for a marathon by November. I will be running in the City of Oaks Marathon and there will be no turning back.

During this process I will be raising money for the Boys and Girls Club of Southeast Michigan. This is the sector of the organization that includes the Clubs in Detroit. I didn’t spend a ton of time at the clubs but the time that I did spend there was valuable and the organization is critical in providing a stable and constructive environment for children of the working poor and underprivileged.

The big payback. Click here to throw in a few bucks. It’s worth it.

January 11, 2009: Raleigh, NC – Annual Run for Young

This 5K “Run”was organized to honor Sadiki Young, a senior at Wakefield High who was killed as a passenger in a drunk driving car accident on January 14, 2007. The race will start at Christ Church, follow Edenton and Hillsborough Streets to the NCSU Bell Tower and then double back to finish at Christ Church.  Proceeds will benefit the Youth Endowment Fund, started in Sadiki’s honor, at Christ Church where he was an acolyte.  Proceeds will also go toward the Wakefield High “Think First” Program, an alcohol awareness program for teenagers.

February 07, 2009: Raleigh, NC – Krispy Kreme Challenge

The Krispy Kreme Challenge is an annual, student-operated race in Raleigh, North Carolina benefiting the NC Children’s Hospital. Beginning in 2004 with a mere 12 participants, the race  has grown exponentially to a whopping 3,000 runners in the 2008 race and has rapidl y become one of NC State University’s newest traditions.

Beginning at the NC State Belltower, each runner runs 2 miles to the Krispy Kreme store located on Peace St. in Raleigh. After downing a full dozen of the famous Krispy Kreme doughnuts, the runner must run the two miles back. All in one hour.

March 21, 2009: Durham, NC – 5k Great Human Race

5k Run and Community walk for local nonprofits. Serves the Durham, Raleigh and Chapel Hill area.

April 26, 2009: Chapel Hill, NC – Franklin 5000

The Franklin 5000 is supported by and benefits the Chapel Hill-Carrboro YMCA’s Strong Kids Campaign.

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I know we have all heard about how silly the concept of a “War on Terror” is but I have to vent a little.

First of all, this ridiculous war title really should be renamed what it really is… “The War On People Who Are Violently Angry With Us”. That is what terror is, right? People who are shit-blind angry and repressed and will come up with creatively devastating ways to hurt people and, more importantly, scare the shit out of the rest of us. How on Gods green earth would you win a war by fucking up and killing 45,000 to 800,000 Iraqi civilians (depending on who you ask). Civilians. Regular people like us. You can figure that each of those people had 2-10 people that loved them enough to be shit-blind angry for life about it. So angry that they would be down to get creative on the mutherfucker who did it. Humans are intensely passionate and crafty as hell. You can’t fight a war on people being mad as fuck. It is the most assinine concept the government and the American people subscribe to.

Now this is not some psuedo-intellectual super liberal complaining. This is more of a commentary on how easy it is to lead millions of good people in a direction that can go against their morals, values, hurt people and oddly enough, hurt themselves. The combined might of mass media and the inherent need for humans to follow those who lead us has time and time again brought us to a situation that leaves so many in peril and a select few reaping the gains. So I figure it goes like this:

- We need to have something/someone to follow. (God, politicians, sometimes a mix of the two)

- We believe what we hear if the source seems credible enough. The ease to gain that credibility that is also frightening. 95% of gaining that credibility is purely visual (skin color, age, sex, baldness).

-A River called Denial. Once we have committed and have begun believing in something it is strangely difficult for people to reevaluate unconditionally. So, no matter how ludicrous, how outrageous or unbelievable… we will continue to push forward and build a vision of the world that fits with the fucked up situation you have subscribed to.

It is because of these three things that I have so much trouble having faith that we will be able to band together like bees and really make some amazing progress on this planet. That iron curtain surrounds people and blinds their ability to see outside of their religion and vision of the world will always stunt growth.

It is too large a task to get the planet to take a hard look and inventory themselves regularly. An honest inventory. An inventory that is not built on the foundation of our superiority complex but an inventory based on the fact that none of us know shit about shit.

We know so little. Our thinking is so limited. We require everything to have a beginning and an end. Infinite possibilities give us the willies so we prefer to live in a teeny-tiny box with sealed windows and bark at anyone who tries to guide us outside.

I am not speaking from the pulpit where I know what the deal is. I don’t know shit about shit. I do know that an inventory is a requirement with all of us. A regular check up on our beliefs, our morals, or work, our relationships, what we eat, what we do, who we follow, how we lead, who we are. You must go against the grain of what has come pre-built inside of us. We have evolved but our instincts have not. It requires effort and awareness with a heaping helping of patience and persistence. This quality of life and the lives that have yet to be lived depend on us doing better and trying harder to do what is right. The key is figuring out what is right, right?

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Call me insensitive but I find it very difficult to feel bad for the guy who graced the front page of cnn.com with a parrot on his shoulder. I mean, it really feels like a set up for a hack joke about where he got his financial advice from. Right? Can’t you see the people who are choosing to run this front page headline on a slow news day being like “Yo, put the dude with the parrot on there! Yea, the guy who looks like a doofy- doosh getting money advice from a bird. Do it!”. Maybe I’m off on this. Seemed very funny to me.

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