Bonk

After weeks and weeks of asking for trouble, it finally found me in the form of rapidly descending baby. Look, I DO have a monitor, and I DO run to check her all the time - just this time she woke up silently, I didn't hear a peep... until.

It was around 11:00 - after her first nap. She must have been sitting up and reaching for the cat - all I heard was a "Whap!" sound. Or maybe it was more of a "Whump!" Hmmm... It was definitely the sound of a thanksgiving turkey dropped on the cement from a porch. Then, silence.

I bounded from the couch, hurtled the baby gate and tore upstairs like a cartoon catfight.

There she was, laying on her poor innocent tiny back, face frozen in Han Solo Cryptonite horror. Still no sound. I picked her up and braced myself, checking her limbs for plasticity and movement. A good 10 seconds passed before the most gigantic intake of oxygen to which I have ever borne witness rushed to her lungs. I imagine it to be similar to the sound a pelican must hear just before being sucked into a 747 engine.

Now, imagine if you will, sitting on top of a fire engine as its siren blares. With headphones on connected to a smoke detector amplified by Jimi Hendrix's distorted Marshall stack. during a thunderstorm. Ok. Thank you for imagining. It was louder than that.

Her wail was more like a proclamation than a cry. A rumpus vociferation, per se. She began on a mid octave C, rising to a crecendo at a high E or possibly G - It was hard to hear through my ruptured eardrums. This wail lasted until the last of her oxygen was expended, then was repeated four times.

After the fourth and final shriek, she abruptly stopped and pulled back from me, staring accusingly with tear streaked eyes. "I'm so sorry, baby!" I supplicated - to which she raised one finger, almost lazily, to point at my nose.

"ahh cha." she said, definitively. It was a demand.

"ok," I said. and gave her my best fake sneeze.

up until this point in my life I have never heard the triple inhaled sob breath interrupted by a giggle.

but then again, I've never been a dad before.

Dramamine

Somewhere around 1996 I heard a song called Dramamine by modest mouse. I was sitting on the floor of a dorm room in Berkeley and a kid had a copy of the song on 7" vinyl. I remember that this was one of the defining musical moments of my life. The song was a beautiful revolution. It was a hydra, a cerberus. At the time, I wasn't able to articulate what it was that was so incredibly profound about the song, so instead I just stole the record. Amen.







Then, earlier this year I came across this Sun Kil Moon album called "tiny cities." It features eleven songs - all of which are modest mouse covers. The folked down version of dramamine took me back to the floor of that dorm room, waiting for the tenant's attention to wane, and slipping the cool black disc under my shirt. I still have it, no sleeve, no liner, just a scratched up copy of a brilliant song. Thanks dude, I hope you didn't miss it too much.

The year was 1973

The man, Bill Withers.

This song is a live version - It's ridiculous.

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone"

Her smile lights up city blocks
and she only has four teeth
she's finicky and aloof
like a cat
but hides her face in my shirt
and calls me kitty
which is kidspeak
for superfather

I feel like the worlds biggest ass
then
as I drop her off
with some bottles
and a pathetic wave
"bye baby"
I say

"kitty"
she says.

this time it means
the sun stops shining
for the next 8 hours
hurry up before your
chlorophyll heart shrivels

I'll be here when you get back
to hide my face in your shirt
and breathe some sunshine
back into your chest

dada

Get By

Talib Kweli is widely acknowledged as being an underrated and under appreciated emcee, who despite attempts to break into the mainstream on MTV, the Chappelle show, and even basketball commercials, remains an underground staple. Or, perhaps, stapled to the underground.

My favorite song of his (barring the whole Black Star album) is "Get By" from 2002. The song was produced by Kanye West years before he was the vuitton backpack sporting mogul he is today - and he used the best piano sample I have ever heard on a song.

It's been 7 years and I still can't get the song out of my head.

You can't save them all

This post is dedicated to Oscar Grant.

This night let us toast the memory
of a young father
with shattered champagne glass windows
and burning tires

Let us honor his last words
uttered with such force
for his four year old daughter
they painted the grey cement pink where he lay

With kicked in windshields
47 dollars
from a laundromat register
and a thizzelle dance
atop a honda civic

Who the fuck
do you think you are
Oakland

dont you see your children
watching?
little minds making connections
violence makes violence

when a people feel powerless
they steal it from among themselves
transferring oppression
through pathetic violence

The panthers would be sick
to see
we're teaching their kids
the language of victim

Your wallet is a gun
we say
treat it as such

Your life is expendable
we say
treat it as such

Tourette's 09

Tonight's show was one of the better shows I've seen at the new Metro in Oakland (3rd and Jefferson). The poets were few and all good, the Freestyle battle didn't have a horribly wack rapper in it, and I didn't get anything thrown at me. Fucking excellent.

Highlights:
45+ year old Burlesque dancer who was hilarious - on purpose.
Jelly Donut making it to the finals in the Freestyle battle... dressed as a honey bee. Seriously.
Seeing a kid I used to teach (his name is Washington - I think he goes by 2dub or something) get to the semifinal bout in the Battle - and he's only 16
hearing a decent breakup poem and throwing on "take these broken wings" by Mr. Mister
playing "no rain" by Blind Melon as soon as I saw dude dressed up like a bee
The Kill Whitey game in which D silence and Dre shot the audience with nerf projectiles while "Welcome to the Terrordome" was blasting in the background.

I'm positive some of the cacophony will be youtubed so get there.

Bowie

When I woke up this morning I was singing "the man who sold the world" in my head - there's a part of the chorus that goes "oh no, not me, I never lost control." I don't really know why it was stuck in my head, but there it was.

So I wonder then, if I ever found myself face to face with the man who sold the world, would he look like Leonard Nimoy? I hope so. Then I would be able to enter my servitude with quiet contentment.

Happy Birthday tomorrow David Bowie.

Van McCoy

A man named Van McCoy would be celebrating his birthday today, that is if he wasn't dead. You should listen to his first single circa 1959: Mr. DJ



before you know that he is responsible for "the hustle."



Damn you disco. damn you to hell.

Day one. AKA back at school, chea.

Well, looks like I'm joining the blogosphere. I suppose there's no other reason than I simply need to write consistently, if I don't, I won't. Get it? This post will be divided into three subsections: SCHOOL, BABY, and MUSIC. Why? I don't know, shut up.

SCHOOL
Today was the first day back from winter break at school (school being United for Success Middle School in East Oakland). I was apprehensive as hell to get back into the grind after two weeks of doing basically nothing at all, besides watching my baby - to be discussed later. When I walked in, though, the vibe was conspicuously awesome. I was wishing all my favorite thugettes and ne'erdowells a happy new year and getting high and low fives like they grew on trees. Beautiful. In class we had soppy Christmas stories to share: "Over break, my Aunty got arrested 'cuz she ran over her boyfriend with her car!" Awww.
To make it better - Mondays are Art days, so everybody was blissfully shaping Lil Waynes and Randy Mosses out of red clay with our resident Museum of Children's Art Artist while I got to go shoot the shit with my students about whatever (my favorite thing to do). So far, I learned from Cecilia that I can "go hard" and "beast" at the same time, but only if my shoes are brand new, and since my Dunks are pretty "Bootsy" and "hurt" right now, I really need to get fitted quick. Also, I learned that Dulce de Leche candies are HELLA GOOD if they come from Mexico as a present.

Then the day went to crap. Let me sum it up like this, since I don't feel like dwelling on the negative: One kid popped an Ecstasy pill at PE and, never having done Ecstasy before, freaked out. Hard. Only, his freaking out to me, who is not looking for symptoms of Ecstasy usage at 10 AM on a monday morning in 13 year olds, took his lolling about and looking forlorn as being just "sick" as he said he was. So, I sent him on his merry way to the office with a note to call mom and go home. An hour or so later, and his mom was up at school, threatening everybody with horrible things (as would I if my kid came home on E) and trying to physically assault some other students in my class. Fun Times.

Plus I forgot my lunch and all they gave me at school for the school lunch was a corn dog with no stick and 6 french fries. I'm not kidding. I wish I was. Good lord. That's enough about school.




BABY:

My baby girl Isla is 9 months old now, and is all over the place. She doesn't quite crawl, though, she does this scuttlebug thing where she sits upright, throws her body forward, then steps with her right foot and drags her left foot under her like it has atrophied terribly and she can't quite force it to do what it should. It's cute. Cute like retarded puppies. Speaking of which, somehow our puppy, a shit huahua (literally and figuratively), can make her laugh way more than either I or my wife can... that's demeaning. Her favorite pasttimes include: calling everything kitty, eating egg yolk, eating string cheese, smearing said egg yolk and string cheese on everything, then calling it kitty, screaming for no apparent reason, then smiling when I get worried, and pooping. All kinds of pooping.
Over the break I bought her a rocking horse, a genuine 60's or 70's rocking horse with pastel pinks and blues all over it, and a really cool fire truck that makes really cool fire truck noises and screeches to a halt. She has alphabet blocks and wooden dolls and stuffed animals and rattles and all kinds of brightly colored plastic crap that I don't understand. But everytime she sits on the floor, only one thing gets her attention - the chewed rawhide dogbone. These should be cathartic moments for me, where I realize that possessions are pointless and everything, but they're not. They're just gross moments to me, where I realize that my baby daughter has soggy pieces of slobbery rawhide bone in her mouth.



MUSIC:

I've been listening to lots and lots of really good music lately. I'll save that for another post. And, after getting sucked in to the Serato Revolution for DJing, I can save my vinyl to listen to at home as well as add way more to my set when I perform.

I have two things to say about music at this moment. 1. There were like a zillion good songs recorded in Brazil from 1960-1979. 2. If Lil Wayne has three tears on his face, does that really mean he killed three folks in prison, and if so, was it because they ate his pizza pockets? This kind of stuff keeps me up at night. Good night Lil Wayne.