Excuse the brevity and scattered nature of what you’re about to read. It’s late/early. The sun has not yet come up.  These are the moments I must salvage to be creative – I’m up editing a documentary and planning for the website and my plan was to also edit the three (count them: 3) new baby blogs that were all unfinished because the baby has been sick.

This being our first baby and our first sickness we work in our strengths. My wife does everything and l look worried and ask what can I do.

Since I don’t have the body full of milk and the hairier face I am the legs of the family. The “could you get me the…”  guy  I’m also the “oh and don’t forget the…” guy and more often the  “did you remember to…” dude.

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the following are excerpts and  selections from my 7 month old son’s first manuscript, entitled “the early months: a retrospective on my first year.”
- note to self: mommy nipple nutritious daddy nipple not so much
- I need to find out who is hitting me in the head and pulling my hair when I’m trying to sleep. 9 to 1 my money is on the other guy in bed.
- I’m studying them. I take time when I’m nursing to get a feel for the food filled one that I have lovingly nicknamed TOBY. As for the hairy faced one, I used my poop as a Rorschach test to observe his reaction. My analysis is that he seems a bit eager to please and heavy handed …dude you’re not washing a car they are called towelettes have some class, point your pinky up when you wipe.
- My Umi has yet to tell me to “shine my light on the world”
- I really need to get over these past life issues. These poor people think I’m crying for no reason.
- My feet taste delicious, I really think I’ve found my vice
- These cheeks are garnering me too much attention they are like cleavage on my face. Perhaps if I try to stick my entire fist in my mouth folks will lose interest.
- Note about the one called “Daddy” : This guy is funny …the way he shakes those keys is hilarious like Dane Cook but with more of a point to his jokes.
- I keep trying to tell people what I’m thinking but it all comes out as screams and grunts. My secondary plans to code it in my feces have been thwarted. Every time I put together a message they just fold it up and toss it.
- Today I have seen the face of god and his name is “chicken dance elmo” [Read more]

Hey …so
Its been a while
You know
Not since I’ve blogged but a while since …I mean
It happens
There’s this younger dude in my bed with a lot more hair than me that boldly looks up at me smiling with my wife’s breast in his mouth. Some times he doesn’t even eat he just lets it run down his neck. Really. What a JERK. He turned my wife’s tits into teats.
You never think that someone you’ve known for less time than your sneakers can make you change how you act with your wife.
We don’t kiss the same. I’ve always thought my wife was cute but never have I ever kissed her 40 times in one spot on her cheek while humming. Now it’s a force of habit. It’s happened to her too, like when she has to specify who she’s talking to when she walks in a room and says some one looks “cute” or when she says “hey baby”
That one is hard.
Speaking of which. It’s night time and tonight we are in grown up mode (all parents and people who raised us please stop reading here, all you need to know is that we sleep in separate beds with a clock and lamp between us and we wear full head to toe 3 piece pajamas with a hat…every one else read on)
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Its late on a  Friday night at the Oyin warehouse, deep in the cut of east Baltimore. Our building sits at the crossroads of gentrification and the HOOD as popularized on tv and movies. We are literally on the other side of the tracks as a train runs directly behind our building.

I’ve been very conscious  of what music I get into my child’s rhythm and I recently realized I haven’t really listened to Gnarls Barkley’s new album. I mean I’ve played it but I really haven’t sat with it. So I make the decision that that’s the sound track to our ride home tonight. He’s up and in a particularly laughy  mood.

I put it on random. The first song was WOULD BE KILLER.

We lock the gate and drive off…  almost immediately I see the most brilliant sparkling lights in the rear view

They are coming from a very unassuming minivan

I drive on for like half a block before I realize it was me they wanted.

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Today, my baby snatched my glasses off, grabbed my beard and screamed/laughed half an inch from my face. First thought that went into my mind was, oh my God, what if he’s a jerk? Maybe he is a jerk. Maybe, I’m the father of jerk.

Or maybe he’s a drunkard. Clearly he likes to drink and hasn’t stopped a day in his short life.

Last time I changed him he peed on me then smiled … maybe he’s a freak?
Maybe he likes to be naked in front of guys.
Maybe he’s gay. …And that’s fine…
Oh no – now do I sound like I’m belittling his life choice?
Now he’s going to be a poet & I’m going to be the subject of all his awful poetry: “If he/she can’t use the comb don’t bring her/him home.”
Oh damn now he’s racist and a hairist.
Maybe he’ll fall in love with a dark Indian with straight hair that actually can’t use the comb. Or perhaps she has no arms…oh wait what if she’s bald because of chemo?
God, now I hate me. He brings over his armless bald Indian girlfriend recovering from cancer to meet the parents and what do I do. I judge.
Even I want to write a poem about how much I hate me.
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I am a DJ.
I know what music is and what music does to the soul of people. I’ve seen it. I’ve spun gigs where in the middle of a set I’ll play song from the eletric company or the WIZ or even in the middle of a dance set throw a slow jam on and watch the mood just transform into love and recognition. To see a room full of sweaty dancers pause and sing a slow song at the top of their lungs – gestures and all – is a wonderful feeling. I remember going to record stores and seeing SOUL  as a section and that where you found all the black folks. It was like the back of the bus at some record stores: everybody black was there regardless of actual genre, but in a strange way it felt good to me. SOUL was just such an amazing word to describe the music I grew up on.
I remember before hip hop. I remember how much it meant when it came out and gave voice to a voiceless minority. It was the last true alternative music movement, and sadly, as the music that helped propagate the culture grew into a corporate entity, i watched it slowly lose its soul. (Now for those purists out there I’m not saying you cant find good hip hop music but its still rare. And it’s not the point of this post.)
My issue in it becoming the mainstream and not the alternative  is my same issue with most things when they become corporate. It becomes more about the dollar than the product. Its the same for water, healthcare, clothing, fast food and yes music, all music.
As a new parent I am very conscious of what my child consumes so imagine my surprise when we went to  the library and found among the childrens CDs  a collection called baby love lullaby that featured lullaby versions of 50 CENT & Jay- Z  songs. And this is what I mean about corporate/money driven/soul-less – i am sure that those men didn’t have the toddler demographic in mind then they made songs like “PIMP” “in DA club” “big Pimpin” and of course “Jigga my Nigga” – but all these song titles were listed on the track listing of the CDs. After cleaning the dust off my tongue and picking my jaw up off the floor I tried with all my powers of reason to be objective. The argument was “hey maybe for people who like this music it’s something they could play for their children that they would like to”

My answer to that side of my self is the following:
1st of all, shut up
2nd of all I’m sure that there are porno’s out there that have great music I just wouldn’t try to make it palatable for babies.

The voice now you hating on Jigga and Fiddy?

Jigga and Fiddy didn’t make these collections.  If they did, it would probably be alot better produced. Babies like good music as well as grownups, and the music on these CDs – awful sounding, dischordant plinking reproductions of these instrumentals – is not good music. This offends the DJ and the hophop fan in me, as well as the parent.

The makers of these CDs have a right to do what they do and say what they say and so do I. Instead of complaining I will make alternatives for my children and theirs. All of those children books that I have half written and half illustrated I will finish. All those songs I have I will record even if it’s just for my child. Failure is the decision that you have no alternatives, that’s a lesson hip-hop taught me. Stay tuned.

And for those of you artists and part time revolutionaries out there who have alternatives in mind, please put it out there. If you need a spiritual kick in the butt/ fire lit underneath you pick up ‘bullshit or fertilizer’  trust me I still read it.

I apologize that this is a bit more serious than the usual tone of the blog  but there are serious things at stake. Namely the minds and imagination of the next generation.  I’ll be back next week with the usual doo doo jokes and other parental insights – until then make art.

link: notradio kids mix tap volume 1

link: ‘true’ animated video, music by kwame brandt-pierce

link: ‘larry’ animated video, music by bran nu classics

For a long time my baby was NOT cute. I actually applauded my wife for feeding him. Nature’s trick seems to be that as the responsibility and complexity of this parenting gig grows, the cuteness of the kid grows, too. I’m scared because he’s getting cuter by the day and if his newly flavored farts are any indication, this changing diapers thing alone is about to go to a whole new level.

My messy diapers system is well strategized: I classify them in order from easiest to hardest. For future reference, be sure to multiply each # by about 3 to know how many baby wipes to use. [Read more]

My wife is pro cloth diapers. Part of her reasoning is that it’s better for the environment. How it works is that there is an outer layer that’s waterproof, and the inner cloth layer that gets soiled. Then you toss that soiled diaper into a special bin. A bin full of crappy diapers… in your house. Then some one comes by once a week to pick up the crappy diapers and replace them with new ones. Like a milkman but for piss and feces. I actually met this person – he seemed to be very pleasant considering his job and I’m sure there is a special place in heaven for these people right next to the dermatologists or the sick puppies section. However I didn’t shake his hand. [Read more]

There are many things that they don’t tell you when you have a child.
Here is a short list

- they have hair on their back
- they are super ugly (more about that in another blog)
- that “baby smell” that everyone loves so much is made up of one part mothers milk 2 parts mother’s arm pit.
- they can’t read
- they never quite catch up to their color at the tips of their ears
- the first words you whisper into your child’s ear should not be “you owe me”
- a infant can squirt pee up to 40 feet in a straight line before it starts to arc
- when they start to laugh they will be your best audience because at the end of the day if you have nothing else you can just jingle your keys.

here is a stand up routine for babies that you can use.
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DON’T!
Don’t you ever touch someone’s baby!
Unless given specific permission, don’t do it.
Let me be more specific.
DON’T TOUCH MY BABY!

Look, I don’t know where your hands have been. You might have just come out of a public restroom and god forbid your finger broke through the thin public restroom toilet tissue when you cleaned yourself. Assuming you do that. Then when other people are in there with you, you pretend to wash your hands but it doesn’t matter cause you touched that dirty door knob on the way out. This is the stuff that runs though my mind when your smiling face approaches wanting to touch my child.

Exception: Old women CAN touch my baby. I love when old women touch my baby. The things they say are so beautiful and wise. However …old men. YOU CAN NOT TOUCH MY BABY. Sorry, that’s just the way it is. This old man tried to touch my baby at the farmers market… I saw him coming a mile away with my newly parental super powers. It wasn’t so much that he was old but he was nasty. Like he had that old man skin disease, scaly, scabby undefined old MJ thriller S#!@ all over his forearms and he tried to smile as he was reaching in. I abruptly stared into his eyes and burned his soul then I turned the baby in the other direction. His potential grope tuned into a congratulations to which I responded with a giddy school girl “thank you.”

A friend of mine told me a horror story about when her child was small, random folks would try to kiss her. I asked, what did you do? She said she told them that the baby was sick. That seemed to work. I think I’ll just go that extra mile and tell them he has baby herpes or really bad breath.