My father gave me a can of shave cream last weekend while he was here. There are a few things I've learned directly from him and some I've copied. I taught myself how to shave the proper way by watching him for many years. Without going into all the boring details, it is a laborious, but rewarding activity that produces the perfect shave 9 times out of 10 (this isn't scientific by any means).

Since the baby was born I got out of the habit of shaving like this. I began to buy shaving cream in the aerosol can from Target and everywhere else and even put up a mirror in the shower to quicken the experience in order to get in and out the bathroom as quickly as possible. Never mind the fact that I was walking out of the house at 9 in the morning with a 5 o'clock shadow or racing stripes of hair on my cheeks, under my chin or by my neck. It became a chore, like everything else in my life.

Two days ago, I looked at the can of shaving cream sitting on my kitchen counter (where I left it when my father gave it to me) and took it into the bathroom, I found my shaving brush, pre-shave oil, aftershave, etc., etc., etc. and gave myself a nice, good old fashioned shave. My skin burned when I was done, but it was perfect, like they used to be when I gave a damn about myself. I've taken the time to shave this way every day since and I appear different to myself --- fresh faced and not haggard.

• Take the time to do for you, because no one else will.
• Don't dismiss the little things.
• The little things define you just as much as the big ones.

Before I begin...for those of you out there who watch The Real Housewives of Atlanta...what in the HELL was that episode about last night? There is so much material to rip regarding this show I'd have to dedicate this entire blog to it. I must shamefully admit, however, I find NeNe to be the most entertaining out of the bunch.

Blech!

Today my quest for happiness began. I came into work with a chip on my shoulder, angered, but empowered by my desire to let no one steal my joy. Ensuring this involved honestly airing out my grievances to the top person on the food chain regarding a petty, but humiliating experience I endured in the office. My words were polite, but harsh in their certainty. And I had no fear or worry in expressing them. I'm not sure what the outcome will be, but I honestly don't care. I got to speak my mind, first. Since it's not wise to blog about work. I'll leave it at that.

The larger point is, why would I not expect my path not to fill up with land mines after I proclaimed to the world that I'm going to reclaim my joy? The second you decide you want better for yourself the only certainty that follows is that all hell breaks loose. This can take a variety of forms - a brazen, unexpected argument with a close friend or relative, the loss of a job, coming to your car and finding your windows shattered. Anything that can come along to steer you off course, keep you stuck at start, pissed off at yourself and the world --- will come along.

Be prepared for it, recognize it and cut it off at the knees before it has a chance to attack you. Or if you're not into violence, simply walk away and allow cooler heads to prevail.

Election day is 6 days away...

How many times have you heard, "I'm just biding my time," or "When something better comes along, I'll..."?

Human beings are settlers in every sense of the word. We settle land, we settle down, and we settle for everything. Anyone who reads MMWH knows I make fun of the rut I'm in, but the truth is I am in a rut and I've been here for a while. A long string of harmless, but awful decisions have me living in a closet instead of a home and chained to a desk in Manhattan wasting away from 9 to 5. I'm not enjoying life the way I'd like to as a man who will be exiting his thirties in a few years.

But am I actually chained to my desk? Am I, are any of us, chained to anything?

Unless you're in jail we live in prisons of our own creation. Mine is the belief that I have to make sure everyone else in my life is taken care before I can take care of myself. This very common, harmless and selfless belief has been the bane of my existence for the past 4 years, if not longer.

There was a time when I cast care to the wind. There was a time when I had faith. There was a time when no matter what happened, I shrugged it off, because in the end I knew I would not fail.

It wasn't that I was young or stupid. I simply believed. And I was fierce in my belief.

Ripped straight from the Bible, or the Matrix (if you choose not to believe in God) you are defined by your beliefs. Mr. Obama believed he could be President, he concocted a plan, and no matter what happens on November 4th, the unthinkable has occured --- one of the most viable races ever for the highest office by an African American. He's almost on his way to do what I only thought I would see on shows like FOX's 24 (Dennis Haysbert as President of the U.S.). How many others though walk this path. Michael Jordan, Nobel scientists, your favorite musician, your pastor. Although very human they either busted out of their jails or never allowed shortsightedness to imprison them in the first place.

This past weekend I spent a lot of time searching my soul and I've decided I want more for myself. More than what I've been accepting in recent years. How many of us have drowned in awful relationships waiting for "something better" to come along. How many of us (in this situation) have admired that friend for kicking some jackass (male or female) to the curb and being single (and happy) until something better comes along. And because they get better, what happens? Someone better does come along.

Even in this economy, the same goes for jobs. Get yourself right and everything else will turn right. What does this mean? This is the solvable mystery each of us must unravel in the pursuit of happiness.

I'll be unraveling mine here in the coming days and weeks. If anyone reading this is standing still, I encourage you to get going with your life. Not because you could be gone tomorrow (although you can), but rather happiness, fulfillment and the joy these both bring is too important to not experience --- not even for even one day.

Peace.

The wife is out of town for a few days and my folks are in town for a few days. A perfect scenario for me to take my time coming and going. All of my normal stress that has me looking like I'm trying to relive those OJ/Samsonite commercials from the 70's has gone bye-bye for now.

Yesterday, I opted to take Metro North home and found an available seat on one of the rear cars of the train. It was on the 3-person bench, the one that allows for you to have a space between you and the person in the window seat because almost no one chooses to sit in the middle.

A well dressed middle-aged woman in a white wool coat was sitting in the window seat sporting a rather sizable Obama button. Before sitting down, we made eye contact and she gave me one of those half-smiles of acknowledgment that New Yorkers occasionally give each other. I sat down and resumed reading the paper in my hand. I was dressed pretty swank, if I must say so. I had on an off the rack wool car coat that fits like it was tailored, a pair of burgundy cordouroys (I was teased at work) and shirt and vest combo that along with my pageboy cap gave me a thirties look. My point is, I wasn't dressed like a security guard on his way home for the day, I didn't have on an oversized, ill fitting suit with my shirttails out, I didn't have my doorag hanging out of my back pocket, I wasn't wearing headphones, rapping out loud singing along with some song, yelling, "f-everyone, b, ho," and all the rest of it. Not that I do any of that stuff anyway.

I was chillin'.

As soon as I sat down, this Obama button-wearing woman closed her purse even though I was nowhere near it and not even looking her way. Needless to say, she wasn't black like me, and in all fairness I can't say a black woman wouldn't have done the same thing. And just because she wore a button supporting a black presidential candidate there was no real reason for me to think she wouldn't be wary of me, a completely harmless black man. Obama's that ideal on television making eloquent speeches. I'm just some dude on the train headed home to the skirts of the city.

It was the end of the day and I wasn't thinking about her at all. If I was thinking about anything it was my kids and watching this week's episode of the Office coming on later that evening.

I was hurt at first. Then I smiled. And then in an audacious move, I exercised my right of choice. I left that seat and walked to the other end of the car where I sat beside an Asian man who never even noticed I was there (or at least acted that way).

Election day is November 4th.

Whatever your preference.

Make sure you get out there and vote.

About a month ago, my wife put me on to Fonzworth Bentley's video, Everybody. Styled after the Doo-wop era, Bentley, Kanye West, Andre 3000 and some other dude aspire to "make it" on an Ed Sullivan-type show. Bentley and Dre rap and Kanye sings the hook. The song at best is so-so, but the video is happy almost to the point of being silly. It's very obvious these guys aren't taking themselves seriously --- yes, even my Chi-Town brother, Mr. West.

Since downloading the video on my iPod I've watched it every morning on my way into work and I watch on my way home. It completely takes the edge off and puts a smile on my face. That's the beautiful thing about musicians and the music they make. Their creativity is such that it can touch individuals in various walks of life and can mean so many different things to so many different people at the same time.

That's a beautiful thing.

After an exciting weekend of butting heads with the wife I've nailed down four sure-fire ways for men to make themselves miserable for absolutely no reason:

1. Sit in the passenger seat of your car while she drives.
2. In the name of spending time together, go shopping with her, and have nothing to buy for yourself.
3. When she starts talking under her breath, don't ignore it. Find out exactly what she said.
4. Tell her she's being dramatic. Especially when she's being dramatic.
   

Over the past couple of weeks I've developed the Midas Touch when it comes to putting my daughter to sleep. It's a combination of rocking, bouncing and swaying a 36-pound 2 year-old. The longest it's taken me to put her down is 15 minutes. The shortest is about 90 seconds. I've gotten so good at it that she now requests my services when she is ready to knock off for the night, but is too crazed to do so on her own. This shouldn't be confused with what is commonly referred to as a sleeper hold --- the offensive move commonly and illegally used by some cops and wrestlers to make someone pass out.

Now, if I can only perfect my method so that it takes maybe 30-seconds or less and doesn't require any lifting...I'd use it on my wife when we argue and then I'd create an instruction manual and sell it to men worldwide.