I was very excited last week when I opened the package sent to me containing the Sonos Play:3 HiFi System and Bridge for review. The last time I was this excited about a speaker was when I opened the box to the original Bose Sound Dock for my iPod (I never purchased any more after that). The time before then was right after I graduated high school and purchased a Kenwood receiver and a set of JBL speakers with money I received in gifts.

Initially, I wasn't on the Sonos bandwagon. Firstly, when Sonos made it's debut I don't think I totally understood what being able to stream music wirelessly even meant. I was an apartment dweller and had forgotten the audio needs that come with being an audiophile and living in a house. Secondly, I didn't trust the sound when I listened to it at stores like Target and Best Buy because, well, everything sounds loud there if you turn it up loud enough.

But eventually I began to come around after an in depth review by tech evangelist, BrothaTech. And by the time of his review not only did I have a full understanding of streaming music wirelessly, I once again became a home dweller and entered a state of reluctant acceptance of the flat and inadequate sounds coming stylish sound docks.

For the purposes of my review I'm not going to go super-tech on you, but rather I'm going to speak to the experience of living with a Sonos Play:3 HiFi System.

It's a Speaker

The Sonos Play:3 isn't a sound dock designed to look nice (or not so nice) in conjunction with the rest of the visible stuff in your living space. No, it's a speaker. Weighty, solid, clearly packed with magnets with the emphasis on style being placed on it's minimalist wedge shape. To me it seems as if it was designed to hide in plain sight or not be seen at all either in a corner or under a chair. There is nothing like a solid state piece of equipment. It doesn't do anything more than what it's intended to do, but it does well what it has been designed to do. The manufacturer describes it as "compact, all-in-one Sonos player with 3 integrated speakers and 3 digital amps for big HiFi sound. Horizontal or vertical. Black or white." A tie isn't capable of accomplishing any of this.

Fill Your House With Music

Once I went through the simple process of setting up the device, especially simple if you're one of the initiated: a sad soul who had to set up a wireless router before your cable provider began doing it for you. I downloaded the Sonos app for my iPhone and loaded it on my desktop so I could stream music from either device. The beauty of the Sonos software is that it although it suggests you set up playlists on Sonos, it gives you the option to connect with all the music sources you normally interact with daily. So if you're on Pandora all you have to do is simply select it from the Music menu, log on inside the Sonos app and boom! You can play all your favorites and play it with all the appropriate bass, midrange sounds and highs. You'll be able to hear how wonderful the sounds you normally pack into earbuds and headphones sound when free to bounce off your walls, floors and ceilings. A tie can't fill your house with music.




With two kids, the televisions are on a lot. My daughter with her pre-teen shows and my son with all his sports. A curious thing has begun to take place since my test Sonos system moved in. The more the music is on, the more the television is off. We're spending more time communally in the living room, singing along or moving with the beats, while talking, eating together, reading and just lazing around (a la white noise). It reminds that home is a place meant to be enjoyed and lounged in, not simply force-fed information from led screens.





Functionality

The Sonos App is the merely the end of the functionality of the Sonos system. In my opinion, the strength of this wireless speaker system lies in a little product called the Sonos Bridge, a little white box that again, can hide easily enough in plain sight beside your wireless router (see the two Vines above). And again the Bridge does exactly what it's name suggests. First, it allows you to set your Play:3 in any room (where there's an outlet) without it being connected directly to your router (this will need to happen without the Bridge) and wait for it: it acts a router for multiple Sonos components. If you want you can have a speaker in every room, eliminating the need to take your speaker from room to room. You can even put two speakers together to create left and right stereo channels. You can also set each speaker's equalization settings to work in the rooms where they are situated and you can play different music in each room or have them all play the same thing --- which is great for entertaining a houseful of people. A tie can't entertain a houseful of people.

Want to Buy A Sonos Wireless HiFi System?

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In the past I have written about celebrity deaths. Michael Jackson's death turned out to be more painful for me than I anticipated. Teena Marie was a shocker and I didn't really know where to begin so I just wrote what came to mind. But Donna Summer? Like Michael (Jackson) this entertainer was particularly integral to my experience growing up in Chicago where House Music ruled the eighties and in some circles still does.

My mother owned the album, the vinyl 331/3 record for the original motion picture soundtrack, Last Dance. It was the first time I heard Donna Summer. I would eventually learn it was her breakout hit that introduced her to the mainstream world. It also introduced me to one of my favorite actors, Jeff Goldblum. The funny thing about all those singers back in the late Seventies is that they would be singing like their lives depended on it, but when you saw them on shows such as Soul Train, they were dressed like school teachers on Sunday and barely moving. But back then I guess that's all they needed. The power was in their voice and the story was in their songs. And their lives? Who really knew or cared?

After Last Dance there was Bad Girls, a song my mother didn't want me to really listen to too tough for fear that my perceptive mind would begin to hear past the police whistle and the chanting to understand what she was really talking about: the pained lives of ladies of the night. But who can forget that intro to Solid Gold? That's right, Solid Gold.

And then there was Love To Love You --- all 10+ minutes of it. Legend has the actual studio recording at 17 minutes. I was in high school and hanging out with friends who were DJs. They were fast becoming the music historians of my time. One in particular had recently snatched up a treasure in the form of a single on vinyl that was nearly ten years old. He payed a pretty penny for it and was beside himself when he showed it to me while I was over his house one day.

"Have you heard the uncut version of this?" he asked.

I read the label and saw that it was "Love to Love You" and shook my head.

If I recall correctly he cursed joyfully at me, as most boys do while growing up, and followed with something like, "Wait 'til you hear this!"

He excitedly slipped the record out of the sleeve and placed it on one of the two Technics 1200 turntables connected to his Numark mixer and turned up the volume as high as what wouldn't get the cops called on us. And then I heard: The intro of slow strokes on guitar strings followed by a slow, rolling moan that sounded too real to be contrived. Then Donna sang in a high pitched tease and a low gurgle that let you know she meant it when she said, "…do it to me again and again…" I will never forget that sound and that experience. Bad Girls and Hot Stuff was great but it was then that I understood what this woman was truly capable of. I felt my flesh melting off of me and my heart began to race. She wasn't singing to me, she was singing through me, telling me, "When you lay here so close to me, there's no place that I'd rather you be than with me - e - ooohhhh….."



Even though the song was released a decade before I actually heard it in it's entirety, I thought I knew what I was supposed to know about the fairer sex. Donna Summer quickly alerted me to the fact that I knew nothing. That there were women out there able to render men helpless and hopeless with nothing more than a song. Since then she became a patch in the quilt that is my life. When I hear her music I claim her as mine, not personally but for the music she created, the music that I loved and that I would eventually spin as a DJ for pleasure rather than profit. Since the rise of the iPod listening to her was just as potent but not nearly as intimate because I couldn't hold her in my hands the way I once did as a young'n. I couldn't slow her down or speed her up based on the song before and the song I wanted to play afterwards while mixing. She's been duplicated numerous times via samples and covers. Performers such as Beyoncé, God bless her soul, doesn't even come close.

Donna Summer's achievements include:

• 5 Grammy Awards
• 6 American Music Awards
• The #1 Disco artist during the disco era of 1976-1979
• She wrote and co-wrote most of her songs, like Michael Jackson and Madonna.

RIP Donna Summer (1948-2012). The Queen of Soul

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Thanks for reading! To learn more about me, you can read my story.

From my brother and my friend, SPEECH. He's breaking it down about...everything --- these days and times, fatherhood, staying relevant and really knowing what's up.

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Thanks for reading! To learn more about me, you can read my story.

Tray Chaney from The Wire "goes in" on #fatherhood dropping science like they used to back in the day...

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I heart Adele...tremendously. She's pure, raw, unfiltered and stays out of the limelight. On the evening of July 7th she performed at the iTunes Festival in London. Here's a clip featuring her hit: Rolling in the Deep.





E.Payne is the author of DAD: As Easy As A, B, C! and I Didn't Invented Sex. For the past 3 years he has posted 600+ articles about fatherhood, marriage and everything in between here at Makes Me Wanna Holler.com. To learn more, click here.

Anyone who has been to Brazil for Carnival knows first-hand the powerful hypnotic rhythms of Samba and the explosion of colors so intense it's absolutely intoxicating (if not unbelievable) to the eyes.

From the makers of the hit ICE AGE series comes RIO, a comedy adventure about taking a walk on the wild side. Blu is a domesticated Macaw who never learned to fly, living a comfortable life with his owner and best friend Linda in the small town of Moose Lake, Minnesota. Blu and Linda think he’s the last of his kind, but when they learn about another Macaw who lives in Rio de Janeiro, they head to the faraway and exotic land to find Jewel, Blu’s female counterpart. Not long after they arrive, Blu and Jewel are kidnapped by a group of bungling animal smugglers.

You'll have to take the family to the movies to find out if and how Blu & Jewel escape and who they meet along the way.


If you're a parent, and even if you're not, you may have noticed in the last few years that soundtracks from animated movies are better than most of the music currently being spit out. And I do mean spit. Most of these albums include music the entire family can jam to. The soundtrack for Rio The Movie is no different. Especially if you can dig samba rhythms like I do.

In advance of the April 15th debut of Rio The Movie, Makes Me Wanna Holler.com readers will have the chance to enter to win the original motion picture soundtrack. This CD covers the range of Brazilian music featuring tracks by Bibel Gilberto and Carolinhos Brown, Jermaine Clement (Flight of the Conchords), Latino sensation, Taio Cruz, Jamie Foxx and multi-platinum artist Will.i.am.

CONTEST RULES
One (1) winner will be selected at random from three (3) drawings held on Thursday, March 24, Tuesday, March 29, and Tuesday, April 5, 2011 beginning at 10 am EST. Only (1) "Like" per contestant will be allowed on each drawing day. Only one (1) CD will be allowed per winner. Winner will be selected within 24 hours of each drawing. Winner will be selected via Random.org. Winners have 48 hours to claim their prize after being selected. The RIO Official Movie Soundtrack will be distributed by Big Honcho Media after the conclusion of the final drawing and once the product becomes available to ship. Contestants must be over the age of 18 and have a valid Continental U.S. mailing address.

HOW TO ENTER
"Like" the above image on each day of the drawing on the Makes Me Wanna Holler Facebook Page. Contests will launch between 10 am and noon on each contest day. Valid entries can only be made within 24 hours of the posting of the drawing on each contest day as listed in the Contest Rules. In order to enter you must be a member of the Makes Me Wanna Holler Facebook Page.

Any entries not in compliance with the above will not be considered. This giveaway ends April 6, 2011 at 10:00am EST - the projected conclusion of the 24 hour time frame of the final April 5th contest.


E.Payne is the author of Investing In An Emotional Letdown and I Didn't Invented Sex. For the past 3 years he has posted 600+ articles about fatherhood, marriage and everything in between here at Makes Me Wanna Holler.com. To learn more, click here.

RIO FLYS INTO THEATERS APRIL 15!

RIO on YouTube
RIO on Facebook
RIO Official Website

Synopsis
From the makers of the hit ICE AGE series comes RIO, a comedy adventure about taking a walk on the wild side. Blu is a domesticated Macaw who never learned to fly, living a comfortable life with his owner and best friend Linda in the small town of Moose Lake, Minnesota. Blu and Linda think he’s the last of his kind, but when they learn about another Macaw who lives in Rio de Janeiro, they head to the faraway and exotic land to find Jewel, Blu’s female counterpart. Not long after they arrive, Blu and Jewel are kidnapped by a group of bungling animal smugglers. With the help of street smart Jewel, and a group of wise-cracking and smooth-talking city birds, Blu escapes. Now, with his new friends by his side, Blu will have to find the courage to learn to fly, thwart the kidnappers who are hot on their trail, and return to Linda, the best friend a bird ever had.

Disclosure: This is a press post.

Anyone who regularly uses a computer should now know that Teena Marie a.k.a Lady T passed away on Sunday, the day after Christmas and if the facts are correct, her daughter's birthday. She sent out an ominous Tweet the day before. But for her maybe it wasn't so ominous. Maybe she felt it coming considering she had had a pretty severe grand mal seizure about a month earlier. Only she, God and Rick James know now.

I don't have anything profound to state about my first memories of her music. Like MJ, her music was always there at some relative's party, along with Rick James and Millie Jackson (wasn't allowed to listen to her though). I do recall being in love with her Teena for a little while (I think it was before I set eyes on Apollonia). But I also recall NOT making it a point that she wasn't African American (other than to argue to the death with other kids that she wasn't). My single one time thought on the matter was, That white girl can sang! And that was the end of it.

As a wanna-be DJ running around behind real DJs while in high school the joint below is the one that did it for me and sealed her music in my heart forever --- more than Square Biz or Portuguese Love or that other one that EVERYONE knows and loves. When the beat drops on this song (intro not available in the version below), my heart explodes every single time as if I'm hearing it for the first time.



And then of course there is the Gold Standard for duets (and temperamental love):



And if you should happen to have no idea who I'm talking about and/or have the time to sink your teeth into some good old R&B history the following video is for you:



Another great has been removed from the equation creating a lot more space for I don't know what.

Rest In Peace Teena Marie.

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As I continue to roll through my birthday week I've decided to follow up my Unconquerable Soul post with an absolutely ridiculous one.

Sometimes a man (and a woman) needs a good laugh. Wayne Brady has got some serious skills. Tyson...ehhhh...not so much. But all of it is hilarious.


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My Achilles Heel is a woman who rolls her R's --- Puerto Rican, Colombian, Dominican, Panamanian --- women of the Latina persuasion. But I've also dated Guatamalen, Ecaudorian and some I don't know because I never bothered to ask. People who know me know that I was stung during my junior year of college by a Puerto Rican freshman or sophomore (I can't remember) from another college where I was visiting fraternity brothers. I remember how she stared into my eyes while we danced at some party and when our time together was over she wrote her number in lipstick on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to me through the window of my car before sauntering off. She knew my eyes were following her movement away from me.

Her name was Loida. I remember vividly how her name rolled, literally, off her tongue and across her full and plump lips when she said it. The way she laughed with a flavor I had never before heard. She looked like me, but didn't talk like me and was different in every way I could ever imagine. Back then I learned I had a penchant for the different/exotic. It was then that I also learned that a woman could be talking to me about taking a dump, but if she did it with a Spanish accent or simply spoke it in Spanish, I became a blubbering fool.

Back to the girl...

Two weeks I was hooked.

Two weeks after that I was in love.

Four weeks after this I was completely strung out, hopeless and desperate.

A couple years later after I picked up the pieces, I realized she was some sort of demonic siren-temptress, something straight out of Greek mythology. She nearly ruined my life, or at the very least the remaining years of my undergraduate career. But I don't know many men who are men who haven't been knocked sideways by that one woman who seems to exist outside the realm of normalcy. That woman who can have her way with any man she wants is not the stuff of movies, she is VERY real. Watch out! Men, you know what I'm talking about...

From that point forward for nearly the next ten years I was hooked. I dated, related or was hit on by women of Latina descent even in the most minute degree. No one could understand it, similar to Mark Wahlberg's, Terry Hoitz's pure bafflement with Will Farrell's Allen Gamble's unassuming ability to mesmerize and attract hot chicks in The Other Guys, so too this seemed to be my effect on Latinas. Even I began to wonder what was going on with me.

This past weekend I had the pleasure of watching The Other Guys starring Will Ferrel, Mark Wahlberg and the Eva Mendes. I loved it and so did my son. My wife says we both owe her a movie. Oh well. One of the highlights of the movie was the hot little tune below that features Mendes, a woman who between her Latina sabor and her mole, leaves me feeling like my skin is melting and Cee-Lo Green, a very eccentric singer who never met a song he couldn't sing.

Happy Monday, folks! Keep it light! Enjoy your week.

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It's been a minute since I've shared any music discoveries on the blog. Today is a nice, bright sunshiny day to do such a thing. And as we all head into our Memorial Day weekend, why not take some music along for the ride?

This past Sunday while attending Sunday Service at Impact Church in Atlanta, GA I had the opportunity to hear a woman by the name of Avery Sunshine. From what I could tell she led the music ministry for the day. Her sound was smooth and cool, and strong, created moments for me that were reminiscent of Jill Scott (a woman who's voice makes my toes curl in that way that toes are supposed to curl), Me'Shell Ndegeocello, and Erykah (Badu, that is). Turns out she has an album that is a mix of both Christian and regular old alternative R&B although I'm sure she'd argue all of her music comes by Grace. My wife picked up the album and we listened to it for about two days straight.

Today, I just feel like being good to someone, even if it is someone I don't and probably will never know. Maybe it was because her son was there with her in the church backing her up on the drums. Maybe it is because I'm in a place with my Little Black Book where if I can help promote someone else, maybe a similar blessing can come back to me. Or maybe I'm just moving with my spirit and spreading benevolence as we all have been designed to do in our own unique way.

Please take a listen to these sample tracks below. The one that truly "spoke" to me out what is listed below and on her current album is the song "Ugly". There is a sensuality in her honesty that appeals to me and I hope it appeals to you.

Check out the Avery*Sunshine Webpage. And if you like what you see and hear you can follow her on Twitter, Facebook, MySpace and all that fun stuff.

Happy Thursday!









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Just as I stated in my last video post, nothing stops the movement. I'm still boxing and working out over at LA Boxing/Mamaroneck located at 300 Waverly Place in Mamaroneck, NY.

While I was thinking of all the things that go into my workout, I realized I overlooked one of the most critical components: the music. A lover of nearly everything but opera I have very specific tastes when it comes to what motivates me. Here is a sample (Click on the image to read the list clearly):
























I've added House Music, some new Hip Hop that's recently hit the airwaves and a lot more Rock to my playlist. I'm not 100% proud of some of the explicit tunes on the list, but what can I say? The beats, the rhythm, the energy of the music motivates me! And it's only heard by my ears.

What music motivates you to push your workout to the next level? What would you add to this list?


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Meant to put this up sooner, but I am on vacation after all.

The picture below is entitled, No Words. Submitted and photographed by HomeGirl Quel (Kel) In Austin.



Thanks Raquel!


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Yesterday, I had a conversation with a former colleague of mine from a job prior to my last one. She was let go approximately a year ago. It was eerie listening to what she had to say as her views --- the crumbling optimism, the sharp sarcasm, her embracing the beauty of the simplicity of life, her extreme distaste for the roller coaster ride of anticipation that comes with applying, interviewing and then being rejected again and again, or not even receiving a response at all. Word for word, she sound almost exactly like me. The only difference between she and I is that she is a middle aged Irish woman with kids in college. And I am not.

I stumbled across a song that resonated with me a little while back and is definitely resonating with me now. It's the theme music for the HBO series, How To Make It In America. I Need A Dollar, by Aloe Blacc. He sounds like he's spent a lot of time listening to Bill Withers. Or maybe he's just blessed that way.

Although things aren't as dire as Mr. Blacc paints in his song (Please note: I prefer the clip below to the official video that cuts the song off before it actually finishes), it definitely rings familiar.

To all the unemployed out there doing your best to maintain your spiritual, emotional, financial and physical well being...keep your head up. Don't give up.



To add this song to your personal collection check out the right hand column of this blog.

Peace.

I first heard this song during the outtro to Mo' Better Blues...



...and I thought to myself, What the hell is this?

As a rabid fan of rap/hip hop in the nineties, I didn't get the jazz thing. Of course jazz was the undercurrent behind many of the samples of the day but this was straight jazz, not a hook, not a loop, but just rap and jazz.

Slowly but surely Gangstarr began to grow on me and the majority of hip hop. Before long nearly everyone from Black Moon to KRS One was rhyming over some arrangement of horns, bass and saxophone.

From that point forward anytime I heard the signature sound of DJ Premier followed by the unmistakable gravelly, ever-steady monotone of GURU (Gifted Unlimited Rhymes Universal) I went crazy, bobbing my head with my eyes closed, absorbing every word and note. He was "dropping science", talking about what it meant to be a real man, a real person and society's ills; and slamming hip hop back then for what it has become today.



And then came Jazzmatazz --- a masterstroke that set him apart from everyone --- a 4 album series of pure live jazz produced by heavyweights such as Marsalis, Byrd, Hancock and Hayes (Isaac) and hip hop. The earlier volumes were packaged to look like Blue Note recordings. It persists as some of the best music I've ever heard and when I run across it on my iPod, I'm transported back to the time when I heard it for the first time.



GURU, born Keith Elam, passed away this past Monday from what is being reported as cancer (multiple myeloma and related respiratory issues). What I didn't know while he was alive was that he was a native of Boston, grad school educated and had a father who was a judge, nor did I know his former DJ was a native of Houston. It's amazing what you learn about a person in death. But I choose to celebrate his life and the music that will live on in me and now my son who loves DWYCK, another one of his classics with Nice and Smooth.

Rest In Peace, GURU.

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Happy Valentine's (Love) Day!

If music plays as much of a role in your life as it does mine then please enjoy the playlist below as a token of my appreciation to you. Enjoy your day with the one you love or if that's not the case in your life then please enjoy the day enjoying all the fruits and treasures in your life.

For all you lovers out there please read this, then add the playlist below.

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Max it Up - Destra

Big up Bajan and Trini massive! Cropover time in Barbados has come and gone...I wish I could've been there.

If you happen to be rhythmically inclined, just take out all the lyrics, "Max It Up," and insert, "I hate cats." If not then simply listen along and enjoy the sounds of the southern Caribbean.

As many of you know, in May of 2008 I wrote a post lamenting my wife's inability to part ways with her cat despite the fact that her husband and children all suffer from upper respiratory allergies and the steps required to function in spite of this. Annoyingly, to this day it is the number one all time most popular post on my site for reason's that escape me.

On our doctors' orders we are not to have the cat be in our sleeping areas. It's additionally troubling that every year I get a physical my lung capacity is a little less than it was the year before. And what does the doctor ask me every year?

"Still got that cat?"

To to all the 5', 4" to 6',8" 250 -380 pound, mountain women who wear organic cotton and have no friends, other than the people they work with at cat rescue centers, who have decided, a full year after I wrote I Hate Cats, to attempt to post idiotic comments ALWAYS under the name, "Anonymous" stating they feel sorry for me for hating a cat, or that I and all the commenters who have all been flabbergasted by the desire to put a partner's well-being behind that of a cat, or sending silly pics of cats beating up dogs, or without knowing me and clearly not actually reading the post, missing the comedy in the piece because of their misplaced advocacy, or passing judgment on who I am because my children and I are living under duress due to our poor indoor air quality, I'd like you to imagine two things:

1. Breathing into a Ziploc bag until you run out of air - this is what constricted breathing feels like and this condition although not brought on by cats is only exacerbated by cat dander and cat fur allergies.
   
2. Two simple and very specific words I have for you...hint, the second word is "you."
   

Despite my "hatred" for cats...

1. I feed my wife's cat.
2. I clean up my wife's cat's vomited hairballs.
3. I clean up when the cat poops outside the litter box.
4. I change the litter box (something I am under strict orders not to do due to the dust generated by kitty litter)
5. I change the cat's water daily.
6. I clean up all the hair weekly and sometimes daily that is everywhere.

My wife does about 50% of the above. Love her, but it's the truth.

If there's anything I hate...

• I hate the fact that I love my wife so much I won't put my foot down and "get rid" of the cat like everyone with a medical license and a shred of sense says I should, even with all the medication, air purifying plants and the mini-fridge lookin' air purifying machine we have in the house.
• I hate that I've tried in vain for 2 years to find a loving home for the cat instead of just leaving her at a shelter.
• And I hate that my wife, from all outward appearances, seems to be okay with this.

I'm just trying to keep it real. Best believe, I have my flaws too.

This is a blog about a man, a dad, and a husband (all the same person) and his family, not cats or dogs, although a cat and a dog can sometimes play a critical role in family as they do in mine. Everyone has their opinions, but c'mon, at least read before adding your two cents.

I imagine that this post will be so flooded with Anonymous hate that I'll have to close the comment section before the weekend is out, just as I have officially closed the comments for the most random post I've written that simply will not die. And lately, it really just makes me wanna holler...




Happy Friday Folks!


Makes Me Wanna Holler is a 2009 Black Weblog Awards Finalist!

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Remember singing, "Roxanne-Roxanne!" Now, do the same thing but sing, "Tight Pants-Tight Pants!"

Apparently, I wasn't the only one doing the spotting at Wednesday's Maxwell Concert...

I spent most of my evening in a great looking outfit that will eventually be a great fitting outfit as I continue my campaign to shed pounds (I'll post an update on my progress in about a week).

But the pants don't fit. And they didn't fit 2 or 3 months ago when my wife first bought them for me. Based on my target weight of 175 pounds they'll probably be falling off of me, but right now I have too much thigh, butt and other stuff for them. Back in the day, one of my college buddies called it the "Black Man's Disease."

But due to some wardrobe malfunctions at home and items that have gone missing from my closet (stuff was dirty, other stuff is somewhere in winter storage) I decided to venture out in these tight ass pants that I couldn't even close two months ago. This past Wednesday, I was happy to be able to close them, but the seams were being put to the test with every step I took. I kept telling my wife they were too tight and she kept telling me I looked fine.

Two days later and to my absolute horror...SOMEONE I DON'T KNOW RECOGNIZED ME BECAUSE OF THIS DAMN BLOG!!!!

The wife and I at NJPAC, taken by a friend who bumped into us.
I'm just as happy and fat as I want to be. At least the shirt fit.

A friend just called to let me know that some loyal readers recognized me and my wife, but were a bit perplexed by the "grab" that my pants had on front parts.

Best believe ladies, I was too, more like horrified. Especially when I went to the restroom and had to push in the bulge. If I could've torn those joints off and sat in the audience in just my shirt and my boxer briefs, I would've in a heartbeat.

Sigh.

Happy Friday.


Photo Source: Photobucket

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There's something to be said about a man who can go on for 5-6 minutes with dead certainty about all the things he wants do to a woman to leave her twisted out, begging for more. There's even more to be said when a sold out crowd comprised of mostly women of every shade and ethnicity (my wife included) is letting out blood curdling screams to affirm every word he says. Even more when a woman in the second row of the New Jersey Performing Arts Center stands up out of her seat, reaches beneath her dress, takes off her blue panties (yeah, I was watching from not too far behind) and throws throws them on stage at the man.

[Interesting to note: I knew a few people there - a college buddy who recently proclaimed herself a "Maxwell Groupie" didn't have a ticket but somehow managed to get a seat closer to the stage than I did. I just learned the panty-tosser was someone I happen to know also through the blogosphere. Several of my wife's friends were scattered throughout the theater going crazy, as well. This world is just too damn small.]

That was my night last night at NJPAC's Maxwell concert.

If you've never heard the man sing, well he can sing his a#$ off. I remember when he first hit the scene, my best friend remarked, "Why's he rollin' all around on the floor like that? He's a freak!" referring to the video for his song Ascension. I think she was in love with him two days later and has been ever since. A breakout artist from the mid-90's I've been to all his concerts and although last night was really, really good, nothing beats his first tour when I saw him at Radio City Music Hall. The show opened with Zhane (pronounced "jah-nay") and he had this staircase stage thingy going on. He began his show silhouetted with his back to the audience. I thought I was going to pass out. Not because I was in love with him (although I'm not above the occasional man-crush) but because the energy that emanated from this man before his show even began was immeasurable. Plus, the white, Paul Smith suit he was wearing was bananas, meaning insane, meaning on point, meaning if you had the balls to rock a tailored white suit, that was it.

Last night Maxwell did a couple of things that stayed with me. He kept telling everyone he loved them. He encouraged anyone in the audience who's trying to accomplish their dreams to keep trying. He also thanked everyone for being so receptive to his passion for making good music. He went on to thank us for allowing him to share it with us.

How inspiring is that?

These last few days have been very tough for me. My battle with the unemployment blues has turned ugly as this monster that faces me everyday has gotten considerably stronger and merciless in his dealings with me. It's not about money (it is, but it isn't). I'm fending off self-destructive thoughts that are beginning to tear down my self-esteem brick by brick and keep my frozen in my tracks --- depressed and unable to do any of the things I want and need to do.

Even though I wrote about Maxwell in the post, 'Til The Cops Come Knockin' over at BlackAndMarriedWithKids.com today, I decided to write about Maxwell here because about an hour ago the desire to write overcame me. My writing has never been about me. I sit down in front of a piece of paper or a keyboard and minutes later something's is down for me to edit. Beyond the physical I can't take credit for my words, the inspiration comes so fast and intense that it can only be the hand of God, my higher power, resting on my shoulder (or my bald head). There are days that I grumble that I don't make a thin dime or even a red penny off these posts that I churn out like pastries in a bakery. But it's not about me. I'm not even sure if it's about you the reader. This is one of the gifts God has given me, so while I have it, I'm honoring him by putting my best out there in this thing that I do.

I want to thank all of you who read here. Thank you for subscribing (if you subscribe here). Thank you for your comments. Thank you for allowing me to share my occasional two cents with you. I also want to encourage you. If there's something that you love to do, and even the things you don't...do it to the best of your ability and with all your strength. There's really no reason not to. It's not about that boss, coworker or ungrateful client. It's about you and what you're putting into the universe.

You're guaranteed to go nowhere half-stepping it through life, but sky's the limit when you choose otherwise.

By the way, check out some of Maxwell's music below. If you've never heard of him and crooning is your thing, you'll love this guy.

Again, thank you.


BLACKsummersnight


Maxwells Urban Hang Suite



Picture Source: Denver Post

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This one is going to be long. I wanted to post yesterday, but my Internet was down after my neighborhood was hit the day before by some kind of tornado, hailstorm, monsoon that flooded my house and had me convinced I was going to wake up in the land of Oz.

Let us begin…




Growing up I had a list of people I wanted to meet. Like many childhood daydreams, my list became one of the many bricks that was to be the foundation for my desire to be great, or at least not go by unnoticed.

Michael Jackson was in the top 5 on my list.

Now I’ll never meet him, except maybe in the afterlife. And that all depends on where I’m headed when I close my eyes for the last time.

Two weeks ago yesterday Michael Jackson was called Home rather abruptly. Abrupt only because humanity wasn’t prepared, as if we’re ever prepared for anyone’s death. God knew all along what the day, time and circumstances would be.

Initially, I had no reaction. I was at my son’s 8th grade graduation dinner and couldn’t be bothered with some unsubstantiated news about a man who wasn’t paying my rent.

But before dinner was over, the rumor was fact.

A brief note about the manner of his death: If the coroner’s report does in fact determine that MJ suffered from an accidental overdose, then much like Heath Ledger I won’t pity him (he was an adult after all) but only wish he hadn’t turned to the very things he once declared no one should ever touch. But I won’t judge, none of us know his personal demons, most of us barely know our own.

Everyone around me and this globe called Earth collapsed into a state of mourning I don’t believe any of us ever thought was possible. But still I remained distant, unable to acknowledge it, unable to used past tense verbs for a man who has been a part of my life all my life --- for the last thirty-two years considering my earliest memory, after the one where I woke up behind a wall of wooden bars, was nursery school --- naptime, tap dance classes, being scared to death by a puppet for my class photo, jelly sandwiches and French fries, Bert and Ernie, Chico and the Man, Mary Tyler Moore, Tom & Jerry, Mighty Mouse, Mickey Mouse, Puff the Magic Dragon and Michael Jackson.

As a young’n I didn’t understand why Michael was singing about a rat named Ben. My mother explained that it was from a movie. I spent a good amount of time singing along with ABC after that. I distinctly remember the FM transistor radio sitting (a ridiculous contraption by today’s standards) in the front of my 2nd grade class blasting This Place Is (Heartbreak Hotel). Billie Jean and MTV. There were so many songs, they just kept coming out. Say, Say, Say with Paul McCartney. I was at an aunt’s house in Midlothian (somewhere in the Midwest) when Thriller debuted as primetime feature on CBS. I didn’t get it. Why did dude make a mini-horror movie for a dance tune? At the time I wasn’t aware that creativity meant doing different things, doing new things, being a pioneer. I never got into the red zippered jacket, but I wanted that white suit he was wearing on the cover and I also wanted a baby tiger. My parents said no to both. I had to sing We Are the World (sigh) with my class at my 8th grade graduation. Man in the Mirror drove me absolutely insane. I hated that song with all my heart, probably because my church and every other Methodist church in Illinois embraced it as an anthem an bludgeoned me over the head with it for a year in church plays, on church retreats, everywhere I turned. But like all things, my interest began to fade for pop music as my interest in hip hop grew. But I always listened when a Michael Jackson song came on the radio or debuted. I marveled at the strength of his singing voice considering the timidity of his speaking one. Oh yes, and probably to the horror of many of you I didn’t and still don’t like Smooth Criminal. I was a junior in college when Remember The Time blasted its way into the mainstream. I was a new fraternity man, I was dating a Puerto Rican girl/devil spawn siren (didn’t know it at the time) at another school and I remember going with her to a party at a club that DJ Spinna was hosting with my frat. As he put Remember The Time on the wheels of steel the video came on simultaneous on a wall of televisions off from the bar. I remember dancing like there was no tomorrow that night. It just didn’t get any better than that and I remember thinking, Micheal is the f$%#'n man! Michael Jackson was there, just like he had been everywhere else at memorable points in my life. My interest truly waned as he explored different styles and formats and I turned into a complete hip hop junkie for the rest of the nineties. The easiest way to clear a dance floor back then was to put on Thriller after Biggie. When I met my wife, MJ resurfaced again in the Jackson 5 Christmas album she plays every year. A Bing Crosby-Nat King Cole type, I hated it, but eventually it grew on me especially after watching the boy who would become my son sing along gleefully with the words.

My heart progressively grew heavier in the days that led up to Michael Jackson’s memorial service this past Tuesday while become more agog over the reality that everyone on the planet Earth knew the man --- whether they loved or hated him. I began to think to myself, How is this worldwide outpouring of grief even possible? He was just a man. He wasn't Jesus.

I got my answer four days ago when I overheard an old interview with MJ where he stated his contempt with having to put his name on his music despite the fact that he did EVERYTHING to create it, arrangement, vocals, melody, etc. He went on to explain that he was merely a medium and he didn’t want to take credit for God’s work.

This drove me to the music, the source of his gifting. Past the undeniable grooves, slick moves, the grunts and unintelligible shrieks and occasional to frequent crotch grabbing, the majority of the man’s music preached love for one another, love between man and woman, working together as one, healing the world through music, giving love and care to the children of the world and above all hope for a better day.

I always knew this of course, but I don’t think I ever realized it until a few days ago. His international appeal began to crystallize for me. Where hope and opportunity is not as easily grasped as it is here in the U.S. I can only imagine what the words of his songs have done to revolutionize the hearts and minds of the downtrodden, overlooked and unloved.

A biblical figure, David, was a man who had God’s favor. He slew a giant as a boy, and he grew up to be a king despite repeated attempts against his life along the way. As a warrior he slew tens of thousands of enemies…he was essentially The Man. In the midst of all of David’s successes however he was a certifiable mess. He had a thing for the women, namely Bathsheba, and a whole other host of issues, but he loved God and every time he did wrong he went running through the streets of Israel screaming, dancing and ripping up his clothes in repentance. When called a fool by his wife he basically told her he’d be a fool for God any day of the week. Until his end she and every force that rose up against David met an awful end. God had His hand on him just like he did Michael Jackson. Like David, God was in his works, not his flesh.

Who among us doesn’t have demons that we wrestle with? Michael clearly had his. His overlooked and untreated sensitivity as a child evolved into a psychosis that doesn’t make any sense to most of us and makes it easier than not for the average schmuck to label him, “freak.” Through the fruits of his labor, Michael had the means and opportunity to feed his demons, most notably his body dysmorphic disorder. The only opinion I will levy is that it’s too bad that people around him enabled this because despite his manager-father chiding him about his looks, he was hands-down the best looking of the Jackson brothers and in my opinion his original looks matched his gifting in music (I truly hope he’s singing and dancing in heaven as his original self). But in 1979 he broke his nose and got corrective/cosmetic surgery and got on the sauce. In 1995 I scorched my right hand all the way down to the muscle during a cooking disaster (grease fire) and practically had to have it rebuilt. In 2001, I had a bout with eczema that turned my nose beige (I’m not beige). For weeks I walked around in dark shades with a baseball cap pulled down past my eyebrows and kept my head down or covered with a sheet of paper at work. I ignored the doctor’s measured prescription for a powerful cortisone cream and was almost drinking it. In 2005, I went under the knife again after discovering I had benign polyps in my sinuses and a nose-bone that was so crooked it was preventing me from breathing properly. It was otherwise masked by an outwardly appearing straight nose. Best believe, being a beneficiary of medical science causes you to contemplate all the other stuff you can or should “have done.” No different than one might rehab a classic car or a house.



I thought Michael was bugging out when he started his vitiligo talk, especially since my best man from my wedding has it from head to toe to the point that even his hair is white. But then I saw MJ's hands and recognized the pigmentation and splotches as being similar to that of my friend’s. Then the glove made sense and so did the bleaching to blend, but then it continued and continued and continued until masking what is a horrific skin condition for a person of color became something damn near frightening to behold.

A note on the state of Michael Jackson's blackness (whatever that means): Do I think he had a problem with being black or black people? His songs and his charitable giving suggests otherwise. Do I believe in his mind he had a problem with his personal appearance as a black man? Most definitely.

Over the years I never judged Michael, although I did laugh at the SNL skit of his hair catching on fire. And I hollered when Dave Chappelle, on his show, pretended to be a witness in the Michael Jackson trial. When the media was having a field day with him, I didn’t understand why he was reacting to it --- why he granted that Bashir interview, why he stood up on top of the limo before going into court, why he showed up to court in pajamas, why he briefly felt the need to prove to the world that he wasn't gay. To me it was obvious he wasn’t. What was equally obvious was that he didn’t want to grow up. Messing around with women, getting married and having kids is a sure sign of maturity and getting old before it’s some proof of manhood. Why have kids when you haven’t had a childhood of your own? Seems pretty straightforward to me. I occasionally ask the same of myself and did so as recently as this past July 4th. Despite the joys, marriage and family grounds and ages you, if not physically, definitely mentally and spiritually. If someone isn’t ready for that (man or woman) they shouldn’t be faulted for it. What the finger pointers should do is worry about themselves.

It’s easy to ignore MJ’s acquittal (especially since “not-guilty” doesn't exist in the court of public opinion), it’s easy to name call, it’s easy to hate. To do so means you don’t have to focus on your own flaw-filled life. Michael Jackson was a gentle, naïve soul that loved everyone and sometimes didn’t seem to understand why that love wasn’t returned in kind. His naivety and sensitivity didn’t seem to allow him to ignore jealousy and those who pass judgment from their crystal castles simply for the sake of it. Like my mother, he hurt when he saw other people hurt. As one who preached love, he lashed out, most powerfully in song and dance and most tragically in the media where his every insecurity and eccentricity was turned into fodder.

The frenzy continues in his death. Power plays are being made for the estate. There are actually talking-head laden panel discussions on the 24/7 news outlets discussing the paternity of his children (like it would even matter if he had really been white and his kids were black), AEG and the state of California are fighting in the press. And Joe Jackson is launching a record label (I wish him well in his illustrious, upcoming two and a half-year career). Despite all this foolishness Michael's daughter, Paris, shut it all down for me when she laid more claim to him more than anyone of us fans ever can or will by simply calling him, “Daddy.”

Just as in my childhood, I still do wish I could’ve met him. I think I would’ve been better for the experience even if it was only a brief 5-minute chat. But I didn’t so I’ll just take solace in the fact that the world became a better place because of him just like it has because of anyone who pours their heart and soul into whatever it is that they do --- from collecting trash as a garbage man to filling an entire world with song, after song, after song and a whole lot of dancing as the most influential music man there ever was and arguably will ever be.







R.I.P., Micheal Jackson, and Thank You. I’ll always Remember The Time.

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