Some Of My Best Friends Are White!

I just got back from a much needed vacation. The wife and I usually go outside the States but this recession is a mutha so we decided to go somewhere we would blend in easily—Miami. Plus we have good friends down there: my homie Jerome and her BFF Adriana. The one night I decide to drink and get buzzed I end up saying something offensive or so they tell me. It was Adri, Priscilla (my wife’s Cali BFF), Oz (Pris’ hubby and a Marine; salute ya bastids), and Adri’s bf Jerry. Along with them were two of Adri’s new Miami amigas; one of them was a Caucasian and once I threw back an Irish car bomb I quickly reminded her of it.

You see, her blanquita friend took salsa dancing classes. I was intrigued to find out why she was attracted to our culture. Jerry chimed in and said it was because of all the Latin man meat, pause, in Miami. I do remember asking her the aforementioned question but not being offensive. The next day driving to a mall, Adri scolds me like her stepchild. She tells me that I shouldn’t have grilled her friend because I just met her. As sweat trickled down my cheeks (on my face) I was a little taken aback but I stood my ground. She then felt bad and offered me a water bottle with dirt on it. I rejected it and she called me an asshole (back to normal). She did make me think that I do say things, at times, that make my wife crawl under a table. I just can’t fake the funk; if you’re an asshole, pause, chances are I won’t talk to you. Plus some of my best friends are blancos! (Right, Jerome?)

Uno,

Jesus

Just Shoot Me, Already

I had my first photo shoot today. No, really, I did. The J-O is making me into a “star blogger” when we re-launch later this year and since I am on my way to be a “star” then I need my press shots. But seriously, the J-O made me do it. It was a bit awkward for a guy who’s been at photo shoots with rappers and models but never been in one. I felt a lil’ dbag-ish but I went along with it. The photog’s name was Juan (a co-worker) and he took shots of me sporting everything my wife doesn’t want me to wear anymore. (Note: T-shirts with dead rappers are big no-no in her book. Apparently adults don’t wear those. Pfft!)

I had on a Willie Colon t-shirt on with a Mets cap, sunglasses and saggy jeans. It was pretty much the garb I wore when I was 18. Along with the gear I also brought some props: CDs and my iPod since I am the music blogger it makes sense. As the minutes ticked I got more into it: I tipped my cap, did the no-smile look numerous times and even through some CDs. On our way back from the site (it was a rooftop) he took pics of me walking in Midtown Manhattan, which totally made me look like a dbag. It looked like I paid a guy to take pics of me. But it is New York City so as long as I wasn’t murdering puppies, people can give two shits.

Uno,

Jesus

Don’t Worry I Won’t Fart On You

For last couple of months I finally have gotten serious about my health again. I've been hitting the gym with the homie Carl and even got myself a trainer. Throughout my life I've been pleasantly plump (with skinny periods in kindergarten and a brief stint as a creatine-drinking college student) and always went on diets only to gain the weight back. Having a trainer now is extremely helpful; when my fat ass thinks I can't do one more rep she calls me a bitch and threatens to rape me with a dumbbell, pause. Her name is Maria (insert Jesus/Maria joke here) and she’s a good teacher. I'm at the stabilizing stage which is code for losing the fat.

In the past I've been used to doing regular routines but with Maria, well, she’s the creative type. She has me doing lunges like crazy, go up and down stairs with dumbbells, balance myself on one leg and lift a midget. The leg exercises are usually the most painful and adventure-filled. Adventure I say because I always fear I might push to hard and my ass becomes Willie Colon or for the non-Latins Miles Davis. I'm sure she's gotten farted on and even quiffed on before but I don't want to feed into the “fat guy” stereotype. Not all chubbsters fart at will. All in all it's going great. I'm losing inches, pause, and gaining stamina. Plus, I always make sure not to eat any beans (force of habit) before I my training session. Have you ever had a personal trainer?

Uno,

Jesus

Bow Wow Needs Bodyguards (Word to Gang Starr)

Standing outside my wife's job (Clear Channel) I notice a little boy stroll by with ginormous earrings. When I take a closer look I notice it's Bow Wow accompanied by some brolic dude (suckas need bodyguards). He must be here to be interviewed at Power 105, I think to myself. My second thought is I could kick the snot out of this kid. He was so tiny that my little bro-in-law Chris could kick his ass.

Now, I ain't a bully but I ain't Mr. Softee; there are certain MCs I can see snuffin’ like Bow, Berg, Soulja...hmm pretty much any and all of those ringtone rappers. Also as much as I heart Kanye, pause, I can see him being all talk and no punch as well as Pharrell's alien ass. Which MC do you think you could go Iron Mike circa ‘88 on?

Uno,

Jesus

NY Met Fans vs. NY Yankee Fans

I try not to believe in stereotypes but when it comes to some NY Yankee fans it's hard not to. The wife scored some great seats to this past Saturday's game against Toronto. As an avid Mets fan I never gave two shits about the Bronx stadium but with this being its last year I had to touch down before it was gone. Before I went I mentioned it to Tony G. AKA my former boss AKA my mentor AKA my white papa, pause, and he offered some precautionary words of advice. Yankee fans are butt plugs, he said, or something to that effect. I've heard that before but I thought he was just saying that because he’s an orange and blue man himself.

I hate to be wrong. We get to Yankee Stadium it was, yes, great seats but unfortunately we had a dbag couple right behind us. It was the first inning and they were already drunk.

Drunken Girl: "If I wasn't here with you it would mean nothing."
Drunken Guy: "It would be fine with me...Hey Johnnnnnny!"
Drunken Girl: "The biggest problem we have is that you want a big wedding and I want something intimate."
Drunken Guy: "Hey Deeeeeerrrrrrrrrreeeekkkk!"
Drunken Girl: "But if you want a big wedding that's what we'll do."
Drunken Guy: "Who said we were getting married? Hey Aaaallllleeeeeexxxxx!"

And on and on. We couldn't take it anymore and we bounced by the bottom of the third inning. I had walked the hall where baseball (and Fania) legends once roamed and I will never set foot on it again. I might be bias because of my Mr. Met stuffed animal, pause, in the back of my car but who do you think are generally bigger anuses (pause): Mets or Yankees fans?

Uno,

Jesus

The Axis of Evil: Gossip Girl, The Hills & 90210

TV is rotting my wife’s brain. Mine too, yes, but I tend to watch more than just one type of genre. Even though she enjoys watching documentaries and NY Met games (not really) with me she is fan of privileged TV. Meaning she likes to watch the Axis of Evil: Gossip Girl, The Hills and now the new 90210. While we’re on the subject of 90210, what’s so “new” about it? Just because you add iPods and an Afro-Latino (Tristan Wilds) doesn’t make it “new.”

I come home last night and she's entrenched in 90210 which luckily had a two-hour series premiere. Oh joy! The night before she was watching GG and this past weekend The Hills were whoring it up on MTV. Aside from the fact that these shows perpetuate the power of the almighty dollar they are all three the same exact program. They all feature privileged trust fund kids who bang at will and fall ass backwards into great jobs. Alas, the wife will continue to watch her favorite shows; just don’t bother me while I watch my Diddy TV. Hey, I did say my brain was rotting also. What are some of your guilty pleasure shows?

Uno,

Jesus

Are you a good son/daughter to your parents?

How can you know you're a good son? Ever since my dad suffered a stroke a couple of years ago I've asked myself this question over and over again. The stroke completely transformed my pop from an independent street smart guy to a senior citizen in a wheelchair. He can talk clearly for the most part but he needs help to walk. The first year I was there every day living with my folks; so I washed him, attempted to do his therapeutic exercises (which he hated and lashed out at me) with him and helped him walk from room to room. Today on Labor Day (which he always used to work on) I went to see him. I initially wanted to take him out around the way. Did I? No. The image of his weakened legs giving out and falling crept in my head. Additionally the fake ass peeps who come up to him and say, "I haven't seen you in forever!" He hasn't moved dbag. Idiots!

Even though I didn't take him out I told my wife I did. I lied to make myself feel better as she accurately put it. Even though I do contribute monetarily to my parents, I know money is ish compared to quality time. I feel like another reason I don't take him out often is because I don't want random people to feel pity or gawk at him. He's not the first or the last to suffer a stroke. It sounds like selfish reasons but I guess deep down inside I still see my dad as the rugged man who would knock the taste out of anyone's mouth. I know a lil’ of that man still exists when I kiss him on his forehead and he squeezes my back. But the query still remains, am I a good son? I think I am I just need to put in more effort.

Uno,

Jesus