Friday, May 02, 2008


Sitting at the doctor's office is never a good thing. The decor is stark and completely lacking any personality, specifically designed to be able to clean thoroughly. They have those chairs that are massed produced and specifically designed for the strictly utilitarian purpose of letting me sit while I wait all damn day for them to get to us. While I can appreciate both reason, I don't enjoy either very much.

Luckily my wife and I didn't have to wait too long and we ushered back to the ultrasound room. That is if you don't consider 45 minutes in an uncomfortable chair too long. Two women sitting in front of the ultrasound machine greeted us with unusual happiness. They prepped my wife and greased up her..shall I say...pleasantly plump pregnant belly. I'm sitting beside her dumbly looking at the whole process wondering what the hell am I supposed to be doing.

One of the ladies, perhaps after noticing my confusion, goes into a well rehearsed speech about what she's going to do and what's going on. She clicks on the machine and tell us we can check out the tv monitor and see everything that's happening. She rubs the ultrasound handheld thing all around in the grease and blurs of white and grey dance across the blank, black tv screen like a kaleidoscope. She whirls it around back and forth. Suddenly I saw something. Random parts of what was unmistakably a little person.

As I looked at the gray impression of a child playing blissfully in the womb I was swept up in a sense of love I've never felt before. As much as I love my wife and love my family and friends, this was not even close. It was the most extreme feeling. It was unexplainable. The women moved the little sensor thing around suddenly the smiling face was there curled up and helpless. Everything in my life has built up to this and I felt her more than I've ever felt anyone in my life (I say her because the baby's legs were closed so they couldn't tell what it was but until I see a "wee-wee" it's a girl). I wanted to scream at her that I was here and I'll always be here. That for the rest of my life I'll be trying against all odds to move heaven and earth to make sure she's happy. Everything I do will be motivated by very breath she takes. Everything I make will hopefully create a legacy of love that will only begin to show how special she is to me. Ours soul's will find each other in the endless darkness of life and always be connected.

The sonographer (is that a word?) continued to map to geography of my little miracle love child. 2 legs. 2 arms. A big ol head (I feel sorry for my wife's body, I really do). 10 fingers moving in random motions. A little baby belly. A strong little heart. All revealed to me in splendid black, white and grey. There was the person that will make my life worth living on my lowest days. My greatest achievement by far. My greatest joy. I'm a proud father already.

Friday, April 25, 2008


It has taken me several years of experimentation to realize that the sausage biscuit is the best quick breakfast. Two delicious Jimmy Dean sausage patties cooked to perfection nested in a buttery Grands biscuit. Taken with a tall glass of OJ and you've got three of the major food groups read to go.

I'm getting ready to head out the door this morning and spend the day wasting my life at the J-O-B. Right when I'm about to get in the car and go, the sausage drops out of my sausage biscuit. I don't remember my reaction to this travesty exactly. I can see myself doing the slow motion yell as the sausage makes it's trip into the dirt, crashing loudly on my new sneakers leaving a greasy sausage print, before thundering to the Earth.

My day was ruined. How can I be expected to have a "good day" with this as a foundation? What good can happen when I can't even enjoy the simple pleasure of a sausage biscuit? This singular event has set the stage for a flood of horrible things to deluge me for the next 24 hours. I began to see images of the tragedies to come. I spend 2 hours making my 25 minute commute to work. My car overheats two blocks away from the job and during my walk the rest of the way to work I step on a nail. My boss throws drawing back on my desk telling me that they looked like trash and cost the company a huge contract. As I carried a torn cardboard boxes away with a pink slip sitting neatly on top of my personal possession, a bird shit lands on my shoulder. While the disgusting gooey shit streams down my shirt, it starts raining... while the sun is out. It's actually sprinklers coming on at the worse possible time.

Could this all be about to happen? I know I'm exaggerating because my job doesn't even have sprinklers outside, which is besides the point. Did I just receive my first warning of this downward spiral that my life is about to become? Did the sausage.. (bear with me a second)... did the sausage waiting deliciously in my biscuit somehow catch the front end of a wave of disaster sweeping into my life and get thrown to the ground as an omen of sorts? Will the reverberations become more and more obvious as they progressively worsen thanks to the pending catastrophy? Should I be preparing for the worse? If there is a storm building destined to obliterate the happiness I've built for myself? Who will take care of my wife and child? Now that I've been fore warned by the metaphysical "falling sausage" how can I in good conscious stay here and destroy the life of this precious child I'm bringing in the world? Will my son/daughter hate me for cursing them with a life laid bare by my own personal crisis? My own FINAL CRISIS?!!

Nah. That couldn't possibly be the case. I must be projecting my anxiety about parenthood onto a biscuit. That's pretty silly, right?

I think I'm just hungry.

Friday, July 20, 2007

The Appeasement Initiative

Q: Mr. Solomon what is the Appeasement Initiative?

A: Good question. I don't get asked this question often because the Initiative works so well.

Sometime ago, way back in the day, the founder of the company I work for sat down with his other high ranking managers. Many of whom he, more than likely, considered great, loyal employees and maybe even friends.

The company was in an upswing but he had envisioned the day when his company which he had started in his garage would gross roughly $16 million or more every year. The problem was with all the new employees he would have to bring on to handle such a work load he couldn't possibly afford to pay them as generously as his good friends. Naturally they'd have to be moderately underpaid to protect his profits. Severely underpaying them would be a terrible, terrible thing to do.

The men sat around and talked about ways to fool their underlings into forgetting that they are underpaid and lull them into a sense of complacency. Keep them happy, appeased if you will, despite their situation while they can continue to make millions off their hard word. So began the Appeasement Initiative. It includes a whole host of things. but have 2 major parts. Fun & Games and Incremental Bonuses.

By fun and games I'm talking about things like the "employee lunches" and "spring fling". Once a quarter spend $200 on some chick-fil-a nugget platters, about $50 on can sodas and chips, let them eat and not have to clock out for break. Once a year put together a little after work cookout, let the employees bring the kids out, play a little music. This works on underpaid employees like salve on a fresh burn. Fast soothing relief. "ooh child We had fun at work today."

Part 2 you go to the bank get a big ol stack of $100 bills. Give one to each and every employee after a big staged company meeting. Right out in the open, hand them a $100 bill in front of everybody. Shake the employee's hand and basically blow thick, billowing smoke right up their asses. They walk around feeling good because let's face it getting a $100 bill for any reason makes for a great day. Maybe a great couple of days depending on the person. The bosses can sit back and do the math. Employee gets under paid at minimum $2-5 per hour times 40 hours a week 51 weeks a year (does not include holidays), add $100 to an extremely underwhelming salary and another $300 for "end-of-year" bonus (which is another issue considering the "end-of-year" bonus is based on the performance of the department). All that times 150-175 employees. Estimate savings hundreds of thousands of dollars per year.

The Initiative is the gift that keeps on giving. Those same employees go home to their families and tell the story about cookouts and bosses making it rain $100 bills, the most common response will be "Wow they gave you $100! You got a good job, girl" "they don't do that at my job". That makes them feel special like "yeah I got a good job" and you really don't. Your job is actually stealing you life away. Steadily and slowly killing you. It sucks because I see people working the same job, same position for 15 years struggling the whole time still thinking "I got a good job. I can't go anywhere else and get what they give me". Not even considering how much they're getting played. When the do start getting a little suspicious of the bosses week long vacations or new cars in the parking lot, it's about time for another perfectly scheduled lunch.It's a trap my friend.

I hope that answers your question.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

I Ain't Mad at 'Cha

The hilarity of life continues.

The NAACP is putting all their donations to good use by unleashing an all out campaign against white 20 year old college students. I suppose I'm the only one totally confused by the new racism battlefield.

Some how a bunch of college students dressed in big baggy clothes and bandannas, drinking malt liquor and waving toy guns around is not what the NAACP should be focusing on. They're making a fuss about a girl padding her pants with pillows to have a big butt.

How is that racism unless we are saying malt liquor is the official beverage of black people? Are they saying no white people drink malt liquor? Is it offensive for a white people to gather en masse and drink 40's? Are we announcing our pride in the portrayal of black people as "thug ganstas"? Do only black people have the exclusive right to dress in baggy clothes and bandannas?

I don't consider that to be what black people are about, so I'm not as outraged as I would be as say... if 2 white officers arrested a pregnant African woman and took her to jail despite her pleading with them that she was bleeding and may be having a miscarriage. (that same woman after spending 12 hours in jail did in fact have a miscarriage and lost her baby). That would be an assault on the basic rights entitled to all people. That would show a cold, callous lack of respect for another human being. That is an outrage and worthy of a protest or march.

A couple of drunken white fools doing what, quite frankly, we promote as our "culture", our "way of life" doesn't really get me going. We can't revel in the image of thuggery and gang banging and drinking and smoking and get mad when someone else does it. As if they, the mighty white offspring, should live high on their golden hills and never debase themselves in such a fashion as to dress and act the way the negroes do. If its wrong to get together drink malt liquor with guns, weed and women with phat asses then a lot of black people need some harassment. I can say with certainty that somewhere in America that same day (perhaps at the same time) there was a real gansta party going on with real bitches, real blunts and real brew.

Nobody was made at that.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

The Lamest

Yesterday I think I would have been better off in Malibu watching my 5 million dollar mansion burn to the ground than be in the Apache Cafe watching this lame ass artist talk. It wasn't lame because of the Apache Cafe by no means. They have a decent spot and their events are usually between decent and very good. It was Dude. I refuse to give his name because I can't bring myself to advertise for such a lame ass artist.

First of all it was Dude's work. I'll describe it nicely as expressive. Take a crayon hand it to a 3 year old and tell him to draw his daddy. Then waste a little ink on it and try to wipe it off with a dirty rag. Then take that another crayon and write spanish and english words on it with your non-dominate hand. As a free thinker different styles of art don't usually bother me. I was fine with it until Dude starting talking. Rather not talking.

Dude gets up on stage. The black chick that organizes Art Mondays at Apache starts of the talk by simply asking him to say something about his show. I'm waiting anxiously for insights to his creative process. I'm always fascinated with the thought that lead to art work. He holds the mic like he's scared of it. Nothing suspicious about that, public speaking is one of the most common fears people have.
"Well uh this is my work and its real personal. Its my passion. I don't like to uh explain what the work means because I like to leave it open to interpretation by the viewer to interpret it."

What the f@*#?!

The black chick is probrably used to artists not know how to talk about there art. She keeps right on going. Like me she was thinking maybe he needs to start with something specific. She says, "You use words a lot in your work. In particular there are a lot of spanish words. What meaning do they hold in your work?" To which Dude replies,"I like to look at words. I'm trying to teach myself spanish so that's why they in there."

What the f@*#?!

I'm thinking this guy can't be serious. He must be drunk or something. No one can really be passionate about art and then have nothing to say about not just art but his own art. What followed was the lamest conversation between two people I've ever had to pay and listen to. She (the black chick) grew increasingly frustrated with his non-answers and ramblings began to antagonize and goad him to say something. Dude mumbled and bumbled and did little to represent himself well. I zoned out and began to have my own interview with myself about myself and how lame Dude on stage is right now.

Continued to kinda talk for several minute. What spewed from his mouth was an assortment of weird lame ass statement. Among my favorites were:

When asked about if he what if any training he received- "I had a scholarship to go art college. I went up in there and they wanted me to draw water. So I dropped out."

When asked about one of his pictures- "That uh piece right there, I worked on that for 24 hours. Yeah that took me all day, right there." (note he said nothing else about the piece.)

When asked about what else he was doing to promote himself- "Well I don't know a lot about uh computers. I was kicked of ebay."

Needless to say listening to this ...Dude took years off my life. I laughed quite openly at his lameness, though I have the feeling he took it as a compliment. If that ...Dude can get a show I'm pretty sure I could too. So that goes on my New Years resolution to get a show around Atlanta this year. I guarantee a better discussion than what I had to sit through.

Make sure you check out my new website.

Any comments are welcomed.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Office Policy

I wonder if they make a handbook to cover work place etiquette. I've seen books about way more obscure subjects so it's not like it's an unreasonable idea. If they can write books to tell you how to teach monkeys to teach babies how to teach monkeys how to write they can write a book to help me get through the day at my job.

My big thing for today is how many times a day do I have to say hello to the same damn people. I've been working here for about a year now. They've hired maybe 10 new people since then and got rid of Mr Stanley for pissing on the floors. Basically everybody is the same. Every damn day I walk up in here and speak to everybody when I first see them. The whole company is in one building. Depending on how much water you drink, who you have to talk to about an order, and just plain old chance you might see the same person 20 times. Take today..

8:00 I walk into the building. "Good morning", Bob says.
"Morning" I reply.
8:15 I walk by Bob in the hallway. "Hey" he says. "Hey Bob" I reply.
8:16 I forgot my order number and go back to my desk and walk back by Bob "Hey" he says. "hey" I reply awkwardly looking around to make sure he was talking to me. He was.
9:05 My desk right by the entrance to the art department and Bob walks in. He says good morning to everyone in the department (by name) including me again.
9:45 I'm in the printing room which has a half wall of windows. Bob sees me and waves. I wave back reluctantly.
10:25 I'm coming out of the bathroom and Bob walks by and says. "How you doing Solomon?"

Bob spoke to me, or rather greeted me, 10 more times today. That s#@$ is ridiculous. It's not just Bob. It's 85% of the people here. Every time I turn around I'm greeting the same people over and over and over. Once I say good morning to you the first time I see you, you should consider yourself greeted for the day. Somebody should make a rule that says once Person A has been officially and properly greeted by Person B, unless there is some other conversation to be had between the two said persons, the initial greeting should be considered upheld and applicable for every chance encounter for the duration of the work day. No further greeting is required.

It puts me in a weird situation because I interact with these people everyday. They try to build this "family" atmosphere. I can dig being nice to each other. I try to do that anyway. So when people do speak to me, I can't just not speak. I want to believe that they would have enough common sense to know that unless you tried to touch my wife or steal my car then since the last time I saw you, that I have the same friendly respect for you as the first time I saw you and greeted you. However I full well know how "people" are. So I have to speak, less I be labeled "not a team player" or "disgruntled".

It's just f#*@$in annoying.

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Dig A Hole

"Go 'head, bury yourself" -Jay Z

The most brazen balls out thing you can possibly do is tell the CEO of the company you work for to kiss your ass, walk out of the room and slam the door behind you. That's true gansta. After that you are operating in a world without boundaries. You are the master of your universe. The reality that binds us all to living in the daily drudgery of work can no longer contain the awesome force of nature you have become. All the frustrations of life can no longer affect you. You have achieved the American dream of peace and happiness.

A man so bold and brazen to accomplish such a feat would have to have another bigger and better plan lined up. Curse out your former boss at 8:45, dip out of there and start your new gig at 9:15. A man so bold as to reach out and take his life back from the wicked system that have put a price on the very hours of our lives we hold dear, surely would not be backed into a corner of mounting debt and joblessness. He would not willingly volunteer himself for unemployment and creditor harassment.

Atleast I hope not. I have the distinct feeling that a lot of negroes out there are doing just that. Impulsively bucking the system because they feel bad that day. Digging themselves into a hole because they have the presence of mind to realize a job can't determine your self worth but don't have the drive and or common sense to not put themselves in a bind and get another job first.

Shot out to everybody like me, that has a job they need, but are steadily plotting their escape.

Shot out to everybody that flipped out and quit their gig on a Tuesday because they had enough.

A real big shot out to ol' Mr Stan, who got the man's foot of his neck in the most spectacular display of niggadom I have every seen. Stay up playa.