It was two years ago, January 2008, that Che Grand first came to Can You Dig It? to help spread the word about some of his great new music. Amid the glut of do-it-yourself, independent hip-hop hopefuls hocking their wares on the internet, Che Grand's music stood out for its cleverness, style and production quality.
Can You Dig It? became a big fan, and along with a legion of devoted supporters online, waited and waited for the release of his full-length debut, Everything's Good Ugly. We followed his blog, Zimbabwe For The People, and saw the ups and downs of an independent artist struggling to get his music out to the people. A target release date would come and go, he'd post about his frustration, threaten to give it all up, then come back rejuvenated with more music. One song collaboration, "Hagler" with super-it-artist-of-the-moment Jay Electronica, gave Che Grand a big boost in exposure and was highlighted on Kanye West's blog last January.
As for his own solo project, Grand took matters into his own hands, started his own label, ZFTP, and released Everything's Good Ugly via iTunes and Amazon on August 18. The full album proved pre-release jams "Swing" and "Crash" weren't flukes. EGU reveals an eclectic and talented MC who is comfortable working in a range of musical styles, successfully orchestrated by up-and-coming producers and musicians, including Aeon, Brian Brizzo, Von Pea, Wale Oyejide, Benny Sings and Colin Munroe.
The album is a must-listen for fans of the kind of fun, funky hip-hop that should be all the rage.
Che Grand was gracious enough to take break from his holiday revelry to pop some champagne and sit down for an interview with Can You Dig It? in celebration of his placement on our year-end top 10 list.
Can You Dig It?: 2009 was a big year for you with the long-awaited release of your true debut album, Everything’s Good Ugly. It seems like it took a lot of hard work and patience to get it released, so looking back now five months later, was it worth it? Would you consider it a success?
Che Grand: The month of the release was a beautiful and strange time, but definitely a success. I look at it as the end of one chapter and start of something new. Even though it got hectic towards the finish, it felt great to finally reach the point I could share the project with everyone and the response was uplifting. But as I was going through the crazy last minute promo process, I realized, "Oh shit, I'm going to be promoting this album forever!" That's a win though.
CYDI?: How have things changed for you since the release? Are you on the career path you imagined?
Che Grand: Everything's still good ugly. It's weird, even though it's available for purchase I haven't really stopped working on it. Physical copies and videos are on the way. I'm building a home for my releases (and hopefully some other artist's projects) with ZFTP Label and I've started to focus on various paths I can take in the future, all music related. I have some interesting ideas up my sleeve. Stewfuzz on steroids.
CYDI?: A lot of good hip-hop albums have a short shelf-life. They’re great for about two years, then get stale and sound dated pretty quickly. What impresses me about Everything's Good Ugly is that although the songs have been around for a while waiting for the release (we’ve been listening to “Swing” and “Crash” in my house for more than two years), they still sound fresh today. What do you attribute that to?
Che Grand: I think the good energy used in creating the album over the years made tracks come out the way they did. Plus, I had all the time in the world to work on it. I'm constantly training my ear, listening to great music of all genres. If it's dope it never gets old, soon it becomes timeless. I may have been a better songwriter when I wrote those joints (laughs). They had some "hit" qualities, now I only write raps bout drugs and prostitues (laughs).
CYDI?: Another quality of a great hip-hop album is that every time you listen you pick up a new line. Just right now I listened to “Chateau Gold” and heard “Got a Swisher, got a bowl, whatchu know, Scrapper? This Dominoes got me writing bangers on the crapper.” Do you have rhyme you’re particularly proud of on the album? What’s the last good line you heard from another MC?
Che Grand: Swisha Hause! Ha! I'm glad you dig that line. It was really just some random shit I was actually doing in real-time; writing raps on the toilet. I have a bunch on the album that I'll personally always love - "more than one or two screws loose in my brain, it looks like Home Depot got hit by a hurricane."
I've heard way too many crazy lines this year... Danny! Lupe Fiasco, Blu, Elzhi, just heard one from Phonte "Nigga I'm black, I was born in financial crisis!" The whole Lessondary has too many. And this one shook up the world: "Call me Jay Elec-Hanukkah, Jay Elec-Yamulke, Jay Elect-Ramadaan Muhammad Asalaamica RaSoulAllah Supana watallah through your monitor." WTF?
CYDI?: Let’s just clear this up right now. In your first verse for “Walking Under Ladders,” you say, “For anonymous fans of mine, you aint got hide, you aint got to buy, you aint got to lie,” and then either “Greg” or “Craig.” If it’s “Greg,” I just want to confirm that it's some other dude, because I’m not an anonymous fan and I did buy, albeit on Amazon cause it was a little cheaper than iTunes. If it’s “Craig,” then that guy’s a jerk.
Che Grand: "For anonymous fans of mine you aint got to hide. You aint got it, you aint got to buy. You aint got to lie, Craig"
If you've ever seen the movie Friday (I assumed everyone on the planet had as I wrote the verse) you might know the line "you aint got to lie, Craig" The scene where Ice Cube is talking to his extra hood ex-girl on the phone while Luke blasts in the background. I always thought it was hilarious. From a fan aspect, what "Craig" reps in the line isn't a jerk. I'm not calling him (or her) out, they may not have funds to buy, but with that said they shouldn't be anonymous. It's good to put others onto music you enjoy, especially if it's an artist without much exposure that you feel people should hear (or see for all my visual brethren...).
As for you, Greg, thanks for copping. I never had a doubt. And I couldn't diss you, I hear you got battle raps for whole crews!
CYDI?: “Gold Chains (Part Deux)” is a great statement of independence, as well as a fantastic car sing-along song because they do “be wanting me to stay in my lane” and yet I also “swerve on them non-stop.” Who is it that’s holding you back?
Che Grand: I don't think anyone can hold you back more than yourself, but there's always other forces out there working together to hold all of us back. Certain douchebags in high positions. Just keep switching lanes, think with your own mind.
By the way, EGU is for big speakers and car stereos only.
I'm going to encourage my mom to play this when she's driving, I just noticed over the holidays she has road rage.
CYDI?: My research says that super-cool DJ/producer Mark Ronson shouted you out and said he was going to start spinning “Too Much Too Soon.” What does that kind of exposure do for you? Are there any other big-hitters on the Che Grand team?
Che Grand: He shouted me out via Twitter. Diplo did, too. I've had a few nice co-signs on the innanets. Oh and Kanye put me on his blog. So that's my team right there, along with Oprah, Quincy Jones and Russell Simmons' nieces.
CYDI?: Are you plotting your next release?
Che Grand: The Fixtape Two: "I'm Only In It For The Drink Ticket" with DJ Low Key will be available before winter is over. And I've started planning out the sophomore album, but that probably won't drop until 2011. You can expect a bunch of ZFTP side projects: EPs, podcasts and mixes on the way as usual.
CYDI?: Any New Year’s resolutions?
Che Grand: Top 5 in no order: Learn how to play piano. Learn how to DJ. Record a new album. Read. Tour.
CYDI?: I’ll turn 34 in a few weeks and I’ve been thinking a lot about this myself, but what do you not want to be doing when you’re 40?
Che Grand: I don't want to be worrying.
CYDI?: As the father of a toddler daughter who I also called “So-So,” I’m not ashamed to say that “Soraya’s Jam” makes me a little emotional. It’s a beautiful song. So, let me tap into Che Grand’s inner Bill Cosby and get your thoughts on how we can prevent our daughters from wanting to be a princesses and start wanting to be presidents? Or at least maybe a Queen Latifah.
Che Grand: Shouts to "So-So!" I don't think there is anything wrong with being a princess, she has to understand that she already is one. As long as they continue to also be geniuses, value their minds. In the end, princesses become queens. A smart and brilliant queen is a powerful one.
CYDI?: Have you seen Avatar, yet? I’m a little obsessed with the similarities between it and the James Cameron-produced surfing bank robbers movie “Point Break.” What did you think? Che Grand: I watched it twice. On Christmas day my sister's friend came by with a bootleg. I was way too drunk off egg nog to pay attention to the plot, but the blue folk riding around duck/dragon mash-ups looked cool enough for me to catch it again in 3D. Then I realized them big blue mofos were supposed to represent Africans. Huh? Disney's take on colonialism....the main Avatar chic got me aroused a bit I guess, yay for special effects.
CYDI?: Who will you be rooting for at the Grammys?
Che Grand: Anyone that's dope and deserves the award. I don't know all the nominees, but I heard Foreign Exchange is nominated, which is awesome. I love that album. It got me some.
CYDI?: What’s the best thing you heard in 2009?
Che Grand: "Che, I've finished mastering your album" - optix
CYDI?: Isn’t it a huge honor to be on my 2009 10-best list?
Che Grand: Bigger than a Grammy. I truly feel honored. Thank you, Greg!
Very Specfic Imagery (Mostly photos, but some video as well) + Quick and Easy Witty Commentary = Internet Gold!
So, starting in 2010, my million dollar venture is SmokingPriests.com -- a Web site devoted entirely to photos, videos, art and any other form of digitized multimedia featuring men (and potentially women) of God smoking cigarettes, cigars, peace pipes, bongs, joints, etc. If you've got a picture of someone wearing a robe, a collar or some other vestment while puffing on some smokeable material, we want to see it. Submit now!
I've gotten us started with Two Greek Orthodox priests, but remember, the key is you've got to do all the searching for me.
Any blogger worth his or her bandwith posts a year-end top 10 list about something, so here's mine.
10 Favorite Albums of 2009
10. Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros/Self-titled
Their weird hippie vibe really got in my brain. Not every song on the album is listenable, but the unbelievable opener "40 Day Dream" and the amazingly catchy "Home" make up for the clunkers.
Sample lyric: "She got jumper cable lips/She's got sunset on her breath/I inhaled just a little bit/Now I got no fear of death."
9. Mos Def/The Ecstatic
I guess if you're a white guy who listens to hip-hop and writes a blog, it's required you make some reference to Mos Def, but even so, The Ecstatic is more than deserving of placement here. "Casa Bey," "Quiet Dog" and "Life in Marvelous Times" are just great songs.
8. Monsters of Folk/Self-Titled
An indie folk supergroup doesn't sound like my sort of thing, but I like this one.
7. Coconut Records/Davy
Jason Schwartzman released his second album as Coconut Records way back in January. It's one of those records that gets more enjoyable with every listen. You should check it out.
6. Little Dragon/Machine Dreams
When are you going start listening to me about Little Dragon? It's nasty, new wavey Swedish electro-funk with sweet singing by half Swedish American, half Japanese frontwoman Yukimi Nagano. They really turn up the Prince influences on this one and it works. You must check out "Feather" and "Looking Glass."
5. Bob Dylan/Together Through Life
It wasn't the greatest Bob Dylan album, but it's Bob Dylan.
4. Norah Jones/The Fall
Your mama likes Norah Jones and so do I. The Fall was a free listen on NPR's music site for a couple of weeks and I got hooked. Don't front and you'll like it, too.
Von Pea, Donwill and Ilyas managed to improve upon their debut, Moonlighting, with more polished productions on this concept album that takes place in the fictional city of Brooklynati. It's Fresh! with an exclamation point.
2.Che Grand/Everything's Good Ugly
Fans of Can You Dig It? have been hearing about Che Grand for a long time and this year we finally got to hear his debut album, Everything's Good Ugly. It was worth waiting for these 18 songs, but if you've only got a couple of bucks left on your iTunes/Amazon gift cards, get yourself a taste with "Swing," "Gold Chains: Part Deux," "People Bowling," "Crash" and "Girls Talk."
Sample line: "And I could never finish watching Gummo, but I saw enough to know that those cats got handled."
I'm not ashamed of my affection for R&B crooner Maxwell.
We have a long history together, dating way back to 1996 when I bought his debut Maxwell's Urban Hang Suite simply because the cover looked cool and Best Buy was selling it for $5.99. I've followed his career ever since and waited patiently during the eight years it took to release BLACKSummers'Night.
The time off was good for Maxwell, as it turned out to be his strongest album yet, with his best song yet ("Pretty Wings"), and earned him six Grammy nominations. BlackSummers'Night achieved the rare feat in 2009 of actually being an artistic, critical and commercial success, debuting as the No. 1 album on the Billboard album chart, and was the 16th highest-rated album of the year on metacritic.com's year-end music list.
But maybe the higest praise for Maxwell came yesterday from my wife, who said, "I wish I knew how to paint, just so I could just paint his face."
Carolina and I went to see Avatar on Christmas, the three-dimensional version no less.
I haven't seen a 3-D movie since I was little, back when the glasses were those cardboard things with the red and blue plastic lenses, so I was blown away by how much the technology has advanced. It wasn't like the old days, when you might see a couple of things that kind of popped out at you. This was really like you were inside the movie. At a couple of points, I thought movie bugs were going up my nose.
Unfortunately, this was the only depth that was achieved in Avatar. Still, I can't say I didn't enjoy it. In fact, I can't stop thinking about it. I was so transfixed by the visuals and the awesomeness of the 3-D that I didn't pay much attention to the dialogue or the beat-you-over-the-head James "I'm King of the World" Cameron allegory.
It's interesting that so many of his movies are about the shortcomings of technology (the Terminators, Titanic) because you could say the same thing about his films -- groundbreaking visual effects, but filled with empty emotion, cliched dialogue and rehashed plot points that leave you feeling gypped.
I was shaken out of my 3-D daze long enough to recognize that Cameron basically recycles the same undercover-character-meets-girl-under-false-pretenses-but-truly-falls-in-love storyline from a million other TV shows and films, including 1991's Point Break, which Cameron executive produced.
Instead of a hobbled (old football knee injury) FBI agent who goes undercover as a sky-diving surfer to catch a crew of bank robbers in ex-president masks, Avatar has a paraplegic ex-Marine going undercover as a blue-bodied Na'vi on the planet Pandora to catch a bunch of scientific data and precious metals.
While Keanu Reeves' Johnny Utah gets schooled in the art of surfing by surfer girl Lori Petty, then falls in love, in Avatar Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) gets schooled in the art of being a big blue alien on Pandora by Neytiri (Zoë Saldaña), then falls in love. Like Johnny Utah, Jake Sully becomes unnaturally obsessed with the characters on which he's supposed to be gathering data, despite protestations and warnings from their co-workers. This all leads to the hackneyed old climax scene where the truth about the undercover agent's identity is revealed and that person desperately pleads with the object of his/her affection that "it started out as just a job, but it became so much more and now I really love you. Honest!" The loved one runs away crying, but not before gurgling an impassioned "I trusted you!"
Devastated, the undercover lover retreats, gets depressed and almost abandons the whole thing, but some big event occurs that endangers the loved one and all of his/her people, so the undercover lover comes back, puts his/her life on the line to save the day and in the process proves that he/she really does love her/him.
It doesn't matter if it's 1991 on the beach with a scruffy Patrick Swayze and a gang of bank robbers or 2154 on Pandora with very tall and slender blue people, but it helps tremendously if it's in 3-D.
I love movies about journalism and last night we watched a good one.
"State of Play" with Russell Crowe, Rachel McAdams and Ben Affleck had everything a good journalism movie needs: a crusty reporter, a grouchy editor, intrigue, phone calls, typing. What made it unique was how it worked in the current issues facing the industry, especially how online reporting has changed print journalism.
Damn, does Robin have better legs than Wonder Woman? Batman thinks so.
My kid goes through some weird phases. Right now, she's really into watching the 1960s Spiderman cartoon opening. I kind of like it, too.
But not as much as the Electric Company version:
When we'd watch episodes of "The Electric Company" at Virgil Grissom Elementary, as soon as the Spiderman theme came on the class would poop their corduroy pants.
I really wanted Tiger to be perfect and untouched by all the dirty business of being rich, famous and perfect. I'm not sure why.
Maybe it's because he's an interracial guy in an interracial marriage dominating a sport he's not even supposed to be playing. He's defied the odds and I guess I hoped that would translate into his personal life.
I had the misfortune of watching some CNN over the weekend while the Tiger story was "breaking." I think what bothered me the most was not that Tiger might not be a perfect person, but that the media seemed to be taking great glee in the opportunity to tell the world about it.
Why was Tiger driving so late, they asked. Just think of the possibilities!
Anyway, here's an interesting blog post on the whole ordeal from Time's James Poniewozik.
I hate to add to the media frenzy over Sarah Palin's book tour for her trashy little Hollywood tell-all, but I just can't let the fact that she raided Prince's closet for a dinner date at Billy Graham's house slide by without a mention.
Let's try this:
Prince sang about "23 positions in a one-night stand."
Sarah Palin has 23 positions she doesn't understand.
Maybe you can spend your day coming up with some others.
We're nearing the end of our subscription, or as callers to the newspaper office down in Clinton frequently used to say, "our prescription," to Newsweek.
Ever since they redesigned and refocused their content in an attempt to survive the internet news age by concentrating more on news analysis rather than news reporting, it's tried a little too hard to be intellectual and instead has come off egg-headed. When I want that, I'll go to The Economist.
And Newsweek's cover headlines have grown tired with their overuse of of parentheses. Last week it was "How We (could have) Won in Vietnam."
This doesn't mean that once in awhile there isn't some good stuff in Newsweek. Editor Jon Meacham is a smart guy with a great vocabulary and an amazing grasp of history, which he doesn't seem to mind showing off. Still, even if it feels like homework, I read his column most every week.
Meacham's column in this week's issue, the one with the cover that so offended Sarah Palin's feminist sensibilities, is especially good. There's a Barry Goldwater/Richard Nixon analogy, but then Meacham makes a point about how the current political climate is ruining the chance for compromise in Washington, citing our own Lindsey Graham getting "censured" by the Charleston Republican Party for working with John Kerry on climate change.
This is what Meacham says, and I like it:
"The middle way is not always the right way -- far from it. But sometimes it is, and a wise nation should cultivate a political spirit that allows opponents to cooperate without fearing an automatic execution from their core supporters. Who knew that the real rogues in American politics would be the ones who dare to get along?"
The other day I was stumbling and mumbling my way through a conversation with a coworker about how the internet has made us all dumber. What I meant to say was the internet has turned our brains into jelly because we really don't have to remember or retain any information. Every fact, date, name, or whatever is just a quick search away.
Like my dormant stomach muscles, my brain doesn't have to work very hard anymore to recover long-lost information. I just Google whatever I'm looking for and eat another peanut butter cup during the time I just saved.
Take tonight, for instance. I spent about 40 seconds trying to remember the name of a forgotten arcade game before I gave up and Googled it.
I wasn't an arcade nerd growing up, but I remember this game that was a huge deal for a while because the graphics were cartoon-level art instead of bleeping blipping squares and dots. It was such a sensation for about a summer, when word-of-mouth still spread by word-of-mouth, not message boards or Web 2.0.
I think I got to play it once. If it wasn't broken, there was always a long line. If I remember correctly (I can't Google a personal memory, or at least I couldn't before I wrote this post), I couldn't manipulate the joystick to control the awkward movement of this cartoon guy on the screen and ended up just running him off a cliff or something three straight times.
Game Over.
So, now it's 30 years later and I'm sitting here watching this Little Mermaid crap with my daughter and something about the animation reminds me of this elusive game.
What was that called?
A search for "80s arcade games" took me to a wiki page with a long list of games. There it was. Right there under 1983.
Yep, that's it. I just needed to confirm its existence. I didn't imagine that memory.
I should have stopped there, but I didn't. I ended up on Dragonslairfans.com, which gives you way more information than you should ever have about it. There, you will find a blow-by-blow account of one man's quest to get an original arcade version of Dragon's Lair up and running again. It includes nerdilicious quotes like this:
"So, I power up the Sony LDP 3300, the EuroDL card is also pluged (sic) to the original Atari DL PCB, and the computer runs the prg to remap laser disc command to the Sony LDP..."
I think all of this talk about there being a big Republican comeback and rebuke of Obama because Democrats (one of which was named "Creigh") lost two gubernatorial elections is way overblown. Give it another year, when we actually have some congressional races, before we start singing "Wind of Change."
Of course, we saw "This Is It" last weekend. It may not present the whole truth about Michael's preparations for his big comeback shows (never once did they mention hospital-grade sedatives), but it definitely showed his talent was still intact. I needed to see that. I can't imagine many 50-year-old prescription drug addicts being able to do the things he was doing in these rehearsals. Amazing. On a side note, I love the picture above. It was taken by my former employer, Kevin Mazur, who was doing the photos for Michael's tour book. I think all of the photos you see from the rehearsals are his and they're pretty great. This one, especially, is iconic.
My Sofia turned 3 this month and I'm pleased to report she's mastered every human skill except butt wiping and knock-knock joking. I had to write some of these exchanges down before I forgot them.
In this day and age, the whole "Blair Witch Project" found footage conceit just doesn't work. It's more of a distraction than anything else. Don't waste your time trying to fool me into believing what's happening on the screen is real.
"The Orphanage" is still the scariest movie I've seen in a long time. I didn't have to think that little boy with a sack on his head was real for it to scare the crap out of me.
V-Did is in the middle of his annual Frightening Film Fest for V-Did's Video Hits on Sports Radio 1410 (listen live every other Friday around 7:05 a.m.) and would like to pass along this recommendation for the Halloween season: Drag Me to Hell.
I don't care. I can't help but love Kanye West. Put him together with Spike Jonze, another brilliant mind, and this is what you get. Stick with it for all 12 minutes.
While the computer is cooperating, let's continue.
I don't like cell phone stores. They creep me out. There's just something about the dudes who work there.
I'm not a fuddy-duddy. I like having a cell phone. It's a great technology and they just keep getting better. I guess what I don't like is how the cell phone companies have successfully tapped in to -- and helped expand exponentially -- our human weakness for the latest, greatest, sleekest, shiniest thing. There's always something new and better and faster, and I'm not ashamed to admit I want it, too. I just don't get it. I end up getting whatever comes free with my contract renewal, which is usually about seven months behind the coolness curve. Way too late.
Then you've got the guys who work at these places. I confess, at my lowest depth of unemployment misery I briefly considered applying for a cell phone job. They're always hiring, but I had a vision of myself wearing a bright, primary color polo shirt, a Blackberry strapped to my khakis, and one of those ridiculous Star Trek blue-tooth ear pieces, so I put down the resume and went back to Regis and the leftover box of wine.
So, in an attempt to put a Band-Aid on our laptop issue, yesterday I went to the big Verizon store to check out those mini-notebooks they're selling for $199. I told myself I would just look at it and not engage any of the salespeople. I know they're hungry. I know they probably hate their jobs. And I know the only thing separating us is a glass of watery chablis in the morning and a nap.
After seeing the little laptop wasn't what I was looking for, I decided I needed to know about Verizon's internet service. I spotted one of the sales guys milling about. The only difference between him and the vision I had of myself was the polo was replaced with a long-sleeved button-down, which I think meant he was a manager.
Anyway, the point of this whole story is just to share the conversation I had this guy.
A defunct power cord/charger has limited our laptop use to "emergency uses" only and exiled me upstairs to the wheezing 7-year-old guestroom desktop. I will not be able to right-click, and it could freeze on me at any moment, so I must get this message to you quickly.
Why do so many radio and television broadcasters have lisps?
You would think that the constant ridicule from their peers -- growing up, and later, in the news industry -- would have led them to careers that would require them to speak less, or at least not to so many people.
Nope. These pee-po have embwaced their impediments and want the wohd to hear the angewick wolds that spwing fowth from their mowves.
I went to the speech therapist for a couple sessions in elementary school to work on my Rs and Ls. Outside of my immediate family, nobody made fun of me for it, but I think it's one of the reasons I went into writing. I could say a lot, without actually having to say it.
I still have trouble with some words. "Particularly" is still particularly hard for me to say. And since my teeth have retreated to their pre-braces clusters, you never know what's going to come out of my mouth. If it gets any worse, I may have a career in radio ahead of me.
NPR hires a lot of reporters with lisps or other speech impediments. I admire these people for making it to the pinnacle of radio reporting despite the goofy way they talk. That requires some serious fortitude.
It's certainly distinctive. I'll sit in the car and hang on every word government reporter Peter Overby says. The other week, in a story on the natural gas industry's lobbying shortcomings, he had a particularly (sounds so much better written down) tough phrase to handle, but he rocked it like a champ. I've had it stuck in my head ever since:
As parents of a little girl, we spend a fair amount of time trying to protect our precious little angel from the dangers of princess-itis. We don't want her female ideal to be a damsel in distress whose only power comes from her beauty and position in society. It's hard, because generally girls do seem to be genetically attracted to pink, frilly crap. And there's a lot of it. As parents of a little girl of color, we spend a fair amount of time trying to protect our precious little multi-racial angel from the dangers of blond, blue-eyed, unnaturally proportioned bimbos (real and imagined), as well as the hyper-sexualized, morally bankrupt little cha-cha tchotchkes that see the dictionary as merely an alphabetized collection of suggestions. 'N eye meanz U, Bratz.
Last week, we dropped the ball on both counts and learned just how dangerous these things can be. Then, as punishment, we paid the price with an expensive tour of the American healthcare system.
It started during our trip to Savannah when the grandparents presented their pride and joy with a little plastic Cinderella. Of course, our girl went bat-shit crazy over it, and that's fine. We've never issued an all-out ban on skinny, blond princesses. We just try to counteract any ill effects they might have down the line by encouraging her to play "President" instead of "Princess" and filling the toy box with dolls who look a little more like her. There's Okie, the half-Japanese/half-white bendable party girl; Barbara, the plush, brown-skinned Dominicana; Quincy, the half-Chinese/half-white, free-spirited pixie; and Snoopy, the sassy, part black/part white Beagle.
As our girl tore into the pink packaging to get at Cinderella, we all noticed the high-heeled slippers were really small. Tiny, even. But the package said for ages 3 and up, and since our daughter will be three in a couple of weeks and she's pretty much a genius, we decided it shouldn't be a problem.
Less than 24 hours later, I'm in shower and the wife is drying her hair when we hear, "Ahhh! Help! The slipper's in my nose!"
There was panic. There was a crude extraction attempt with tweezers. There was a sneeze. There was a pink, high-heeled Cinderella slipper where there wasn't one before.
We wanted to believe it was the one that we spotted in our little genius' nostril, and it helped that we could no longer see one up there. She wasn't screaming anymore. She didn't seem hurt, so we chose to think we had averted a crisis.
Wrong.
Upon arriving back home later that night, my wife used one of those nose and ear-looker things and found the slipper snugly positioned much deeper in our little President's nose, plugging up what seemed to be the entrance to the sinus cavity.
The private emergency clinics were all closed, so it was off to the real American public healthcare system emergency room. Thinking we were smart, we went to the smallest hospital in the area to avoid the 12-hour waits we've heard about. Instead, we waited just two and half hours, surrounded by your poor, tired, huddled masses in various states of distress and disease -- old women with hacking coughs, young women with screaming babies, and concussed Boy Scouts with bloody dish towels pressed to their heads.
Eventually, we were seen by a pubescent doctor who was totally flummoxed about how to suck a pink slipper out of a child's nose. Because we have insurance, we only had to pay $125 on the spot for nothing more than tears and the chance to see the check-in lady enter "Caucasian" on the form for my daughter's race, even while she's standing face to face with my Asian/Latina wife.
The best the doctor could do, he said, was get us an appointment with an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist the next day. We took it, and Sleeping Beauty had to spend the night with a slipper up her snout.
The ENT doctor saw us bright and early the next morning. Because we have insurance, the co-pay was just $10. It was just an hour wait for him to traumatize us all by squirting an antihistamine and numbing agent up her nose, followed by a long, skinny set of tweezers, which he pulled out of my squirming and screaming child without a slipper, but with plenty of blood and a fresh case of PTSD.
It was then decided the best course of action would be a visit to the outpatient surgery center, where she would be knocked out long enough for them to remove the slipper. No one told us how much this would cost, so I had no chance to properly weigh the option of just going home and using the vacuum attachments.
We were ushered over to the surgery center, where we were asked to offer up a $500 deposit by the nice lady whose office was decorated with Bible verses and mission trip photos of her and brown-skinned children.
"How much is this going to cost?" I asked.
She said most surgeries there were at least $5,000. I told her we were just getting a slipper sucked out of our girl's nose and we would rather not put down a $500 deposit.
She just said "OK" and that was that. I guess this was sort of an "optional" deposit?
Every little stop on our tour of the outpatient center after that included some form of "When was the last time she had anything to eat or drink?" and "So, you're the Barbie shoe parents?"
That they thought I let my nearly 3-year-old daughter play with Barbies was more embarrassing to me than the fact that we actually let her play with tiny, age-inappropriate toys while we weren't looking, or that our genetic copy was the type of kid who stuck things in her nose, a la "Appalachian ER."
At 12:10 p.m., the anaesthesiologist wrestled our girl from our hands and took her crying back to the operating room. We went to the waiting room, where at 12:20 p.m. the doctor brought us the little pink slipper in a bio-hazard bag, shook our hands and left for lunch in his $80,000 car.
At 12:25 p.m., our groggy daughter was just coming to and asking, "Mami and Papi, are you there? Can we get McDonald's chickens?"
We usually don't let her have that either, but since the McNuggets were going to her stomach and not her nose, we hit the drive-thru on the way home. We ordered a Happy Meal, they asked if we wanted the boy version or the girl version. We got the girl version.
It came with a Barbie-endorsed, pink makeup compact with lip-gloss.
If you don't think these things are a big deal, or maybe you just want to watch an interesting video, check this out:
If you want some multi-cultural toys, go here: Dolls Like Me
I don't know where this has come from all of the sudden, but I've had enough of the "I know, right?" craze. Somebody make it stop. Now, that's your cue to respond with "I know, right?"
Politico takes a look at the reason why all of the radical anti-President Republican crazies seem to be from my home state: What's the matter with South Carolina?. In the story, the state's Republican party chairman says, "If Joe Wilson's mother and father were alive, they'd have taken him to the woodshed and flogged him for bad manners and poor form. But let me tell you what was [said] at the diner today. It was: 'Joe's right.'" I'll admit I've insulated myself the best I can from those people, but most of the talk I heard at the proverbial "diner" was just the opposite -- embarrassment, disgust, disappointment.
Since Labor Day is sort of the unofficial end of summer, I guess it's time for another best of the season rundown.
Frozen Treats I am a frozen treat connoisseur. I can and will eat ice cream every night. Soft serve, hard serve, custard, frozen yogurt, frozen novelties -- it doesn't matter. But this summer, my one true love has been Texas creamery Blue Bell's "Pecan Pralines 'N Cream." It's unbelievable, so, of course, it's expensive. A half gallon can be $6.75 or higher, but I can usually hold out until it goes on sale. If you're lucky enough to have your local grocer stock this (I don't think they distribute nationwide, yet), do yourself a favor and get some.
Summer Movie I really thought that this summer's big movie for me was going to be "Up." Again, it got great reviews from the Pixar-loving press, but it was a big disappointment. It felt like a little too much, like Pixar has this formula to combine childlike wonder with emotional, sentimental adult themes and they just plug in different characters and cool animation around that. "Up" was missing that special something else. Maybe it was hurt by coming after "Wall-E," which I thought was their best work yet, but they lost me at the beginning of the film when the cartoon couple visits the OB/GYN to learn the wife is unable to have children. That was a little too heavy, then the dogs started talking. Anyway, my favorite summer movie -- although I'll admit we haven't seen many -- was "The Hangover." It was hilarious. Plus, it was a nice change to see a big comedy that doesn't star all the usual suspects, Will Ferrell, Ben Stiller, et al.
Best Rented Television Series We have to wait to watch all the good television shows until they're released on DVD. This summer, my favorite discovery (and antidote to my wife's super-intense "In Treatment" marathons) was the six-episode first season of the HBO comedy, "Eastbound and Down." It stars Danny McBride as Kenny Powers, a bad boy professional baseball player who gets thrown out of the league and is forced to return to his hometown as a substitute gym teacher. It's sick and dirty, and I love it. Season 2 is supposed to be out in January. Be careful watching these clips:
Best Love It/Hate It Book I've never read a book about vampires before. I've never read a book written by two authors before. I certainly never thought I'd read a book co-authored by a guy named "Chuck Hogan." It just sounds so tough and crappy. But I decided to read "The Strain" because of the other co-author, the great Mexican filmmaker, Guillermo del Toro. I loved "Pan's Labyrinth," even the Hell Boy movies, so I thought I'd give it a shot. I liked that it actually scared me and grossed me out. I didn't like that some of the writing made me cringe for reasons other than fear. I'll chalk it up to having been written by two authors, one of which is named "Chuck Hogan," but overall, this story about zombie-like vampires spreading like a virus across New York City, does what it's supposed to do.
Best Swedish New Wave Funk I love Little Dragon. The Swedish group just released their second CD, "Machine Dreams," and I love the big single, "Feather." Here's an awesome clip of them doing it live with some even more awesome Swedish commercials first:
Best American Moment I hate that Michael Jackson had to die to make it happen, but it was nice seeing everyone get excited about his work again. I even discovered some new favorites, including "We're Almost There," from his 1975 Motown solo album, "Forever, Michael."
Best ESL Teaching Moments My Tuesday night ESL class provides lots of great moments, most of them either hilarious or emotionally moving. Two of the best moments came on the same night this summer. First, one of my students, a middle-aged woman from Mexico, came in to class so proud to tell me that she successfully served as a translator for her pregnant friend during a doctor's appointment. It warmed my cold, cold heart. Then, later that night during our lesson on health symptoms, my young Polish student offered "rainy nose" as one of the symptoms of a cold. We all laughed at her until she ran out of the room in tears, vowing never to speak English again. Best Summer Vacation Moment We didn't really go on vacation this summer, but we did visit my parents for Father's Day and they took us to beautiful Macon, Ga., to the Georgia Music Hall of Fame. There were some cool little artifacts there, not including the Billy Ray Cyrus platinum record awards for "Some Gave All," but the best thing was seeing this crummy little machine which was used to record James Brown's "Please, Please, Please."
Supposedly, it's our sixth wedding anniversary today. But recent research has uncovered some interesting details that may, in fact, make our wedding vows null and void. If you've ever had the pleasure to dine with me, live with me or pack a school lunch for me, you should know that I don't like mayonnaise. Actually, I kind of fear it. I know it's irrational, but it's gross and it smells and I hate it. I don't want anything to do with mayonnaise or any mayonnaise-based condiments or dressings. You can keep your Ranch, Blue Cheese and Thousand Island* salad dressings. Don't even try to come near me with that chicken salad, or God forbid, egg or tuna salad. Dijonnaise can get the eff outta here. And nice try, but despite it's spicy, modern flavor, I'll have to decline the chipotle mayo, too. Sick. Now, let's flash back to about seven years ago when my lovely bride-to-be Carolina and I were plotting our wedding day here in Greenville. We wanted an outside wedding that wouldn't be threatened by rain and knew of this beautiful old, open-air building in downtown Greenville, the Wyche Pavilion. According to this web site, the building was originally built in 1904 as a paint shop for the Markley Carriage Factory, but the rise of the automobile put an end to the demand for horse carriages and the business closed. In 1925, and here's where it gets disgusting, the building became the first production facility for small business owner Eugenia Duke, proprietor of Duke's Mayonnaise. So, I, the man who gets headaches and cold sweats at the sight of squeezable mayonnaise bottles, made a sacred promise to God and the love of his life under the duress of evil spirits housed in an ancient mayonnaise factory. I'm not sure how this changes the legality of the vows, but six years later, I'm still glad I made them, egg and oil emulsification be damned!
*I never thought about it before, but it seems right to capitalize the names of salad dressings.
Also, if you didn't take the opportunity to hit the link above to the unusual phobias site, let me quote a few choice posts from the anonymous fear of mayo message board. This is threatening relationships, people! It's nice to know there are others like us out there, some of whom are so scared of mayonnaise they can't even spell it. Sort of gives new meaning to "Sic." Poor souls. Cue Michael Jackson's "You Are Not Alone":
"I too, am scared of mayonaisse (sic). I can't be near it, or around others eating it. If I see it or smell it, I feel like I'm going to be sick. I make my fiance keep it in a brown paper bag in our refrigerator when he buys it."
"My friends all think Im nuts or something, but yes I DO HAVE A PHOBIA OF THE UNSPOKEN WHITE STUFF. I can't let my roomate have it in the house because I fear it might somehow get on me and then i might accidentaly ingest it. Anyway, keep away from the Miracle Whip y'all. Peace."
"I won’t touch it to get to something behind it in the fridge. I just won’t bother. My brother’s girlfriend is the same way. My dad has thought it was funny to chase after us with a spoonful of mayo, only to have us both run completely out of the house down the street. Not funny."
"I am glad to know that i am not the only person on this earth that is scared of mayonnaise...some ppl think i am play'n...but once they get to know me they see otherwise. I can't stand to think about it...smell it....and i would rip out my stomach if i ever ate it. My friends try to put it on me...and i will seriously go crazy. I cry...i gag...i can't explain the feeling. I need help!...the funny thing is i love ranch dressing and it has no effect on me. I literaly live my life around around my fear....i will not eat at a resterant if i know there is a possibility that mayo may get put on my food."
"I also have a fear of mayonaise (sic). Ever since the 3rd grade when my friend tortured me by squeezing it out of her sandwhich it has grossed me out. I don't like to be around it, or be around anyone whos eating it. Strangely enough, I sometimes have a TINY bit of it on my sandwich, but I will make someone else put it on."
"Curb Your Enthusiasm," my favorite show, comes back on the air Sept. 20. Apparently, the new season is centered on a reunion of the "Seinfeld" cast. Personally, I hope the Blacks return. Can't wait to find out, but for now, we've got classic clips.
The following column ends an eight-year run (to the month) of Can You Dig It? columns for The Clinton Chronicle. Working there was the greatest, but then having a chance to continue writing the column after I left was the best thing in the world, giving me a forum and a deadline every month. There would be no digital home without the analog home, but eight years later, it's time to focus on a new project and a new kind of writing. So, here it is. It ain't the best one and it ain't the worst.
My 13-month ride on the unemployment rollercoaster finally ends this week as I ditch the soup and snot-stained T-shirt and shorts uniform of a stay-at-home dad for a tie and a new job. Comparing my unemployment experience to a rollercoaster is not quite right, though. There wasn’t any slow, exciting steep climb to the top – just one long, continuous drop down, down, down, with all of the requisite screaming and nausea. Thankfully, it’s all over now, and I can celebrate this new chapter in my life. But that’s not the whole story either. As awful as it was to be unemployed during a time of national economic crisis, I was blessed with the opportunity to spend a lot of valuable time with my 2-year-old daughter, Sofia, who time and time again crashed my self-pity party by just being amazing. Even when your adulterous governor is threatening to stop payment on your unemployment check and you’re watching the same episode of “Dora the Explorer" for the billionth time, it’s hard to feel completely worthless when out of the azul your daughter squeezes your neck and says, “I love you, Daddy.” I knew eventually I would go back to work, but I didn’t know how painful it would be to have to leave the best job in the world. I take solace in the fact that I’ve been lucky enough to do something that not a lot of dads get to do, and I feel like I’ve done a pretty good job. In the 13 months we’ve shared together, she’s graduated from crib to big girl bed, diaper to big girl undies, given up use of her pacifier and learned to complete a puzzle of the “The United States of America-rah.” Her vocabulary has grown to include words like “Debonair” and “Right-Wing Nut Job,” and most importantly, she’s completely potty trained. Her working mommy definitely had a lot to do with these accomplishments, but I know the time we’ve shared together has had a singular impact. Without my influence, would she have learned to scream and cry like a baby when she doesn’t get her way? Maybe. But would she be throwing tantrums when the Cubs bullpen blows a late-inning lead? Probably not. Would she have gained a special affection for blue lollipops and the way they turn your tongue blue? I hope so. Would she ask the bank teller, “Can I have a blue one, please, lady?” I doubt it. Other than my fear that Sofia will feel I’m abandoning her when I go back to work, my concern is that after of all this time I’ve spent out of the workforce at home alone with my daughter, I’ll forget how to interact with adults on the job. How long will it be before I ask one of my new coworkers if they have to go potty? How close is my new office to the timeout step? What happens if I’m at a business lunch and out of habit I try to cut up someone else’s spaghetti? Can I put grumpy people down for a nap? I’m hopeful things will work out. My new job is a great one worth the long wait and the coworkers I’ve met all seem very nice. I’m sure they won’t be offended, though, if I say the best part of each workday will arriving at Sofia’s daycare, watching her run to me, yelling, “Daddy!” all the way.
Chicago Sun-Times travel reporter Dave Hoekstra wrote a nice story about our fair Greenville, which the sub-headline describes as a "food-tastic" city. I agree. Of our beautiful downtown, Hoekstra writes, "This is the best American downtown redevelopment I have seen since the San Antonio River Walk." Come visit. We'll show it to you.
Can't believe my wife out-scooped me on this cool song by Felix Da Housecat. Most all of the lyrics come from Prince songs. Careful! Put the kids to bed before watching.
Can You Dig It? friend Che Grand's debut full-length album is out now on iTunes and Amazon.
If you like the hip-hop music, you would be well served buying this album from a truly great independent artist. If you just want a taste, check out the tracks "Swing," "Crash," "Girls Talk" and "Gold Chains (Part Deux)."
For a refresher, check out the interview Che did with Can You Dig It? last year.
While you're at it, don't forget Can You Dig It?'s other crew, Tanya Morgan, and their second album, Brooklynati. Another classic.
We didn't really go on vacation this summer, but we did visit my parents for Father's Day and they took us to beautiful Macon, Ga., to the Georgia Music Hall of Fame. There were some cool little artifacts there, not including the Billy Ray Cyrus platinum record awards for "Some Gave All," but the best thing was seeing this crummy little machine which was used to record James Brown's "Please, Please, Please."
