Hot or Not day 2

Here's some more of my '10 Hot or Not list...

Hot: Humility. I dig it. Example: I know a kid from a number of years back who is now climbing the American Idol ladder. I shot her a Facebook message saying congrats. As busy as she is, she wrote me back to say thanks for the prayers. The meek shall inherit the earth. Keep your eyes wide open for Ashley Rodriguez on this season's Idol; she's gonna crush it.

Not: Arrogance. I was watching a clip from one of those shows where you have to watch someone get a dumb tattoo of their dead Golden Retriever that saved their life when they were five. Anyhow, there was a past Idol contestant getting some ugly image inked across his back and he introduced himself saying, "you may remember me for a little show called American Idol."
You pompous donkey, don't you realize how trite that sounds, not to mention dopey. That tattoo will inevitably look awesome when you stop working out and gain fifty pounds. Take it from that dude from Eight is Enough & Charles in Charge.

My Hot or Not List

I've been saving these up. Here's part 1 of my current Hot or Not list for twenty ten:

HOT:
Nineties stuff. The eighties trends need to die out to make way for the nineties, son. Bring back Starter jackets and Nike Flight Lites. In fact, bring back those David Robinson Nikes, too. I want to hear more people saying "whoomp, there it is," "homey, don't play that," and "it's da bomb."
You have to say "da bomb," NOT "THE bomb." Exclaim it the way it was intended to be exclaimed.
I am going to do my part and start eating those little mini pizzas we used to get at the snack bar in high school. I will also rebuild my Tommy Hilfiger wardrobe. I will dig for my Naughty by Nature tapes, and I will play the junk out of the Juice soundtrack. Speaking of Juice, I want some hot movies a la Boyz in the Hood, Menace II Society, New Jack City, and Dead Presidents.
I want to see little kids rapping like they're hard, too, and then beefing with each other like Kris Cross and Another Bad Creation.

NOT: Regarding Nineties stuff, leave the mushroom haircuts behind. They were awful. I had several variations. Also, leave behind the baggy, baggy, baggy jeans. And definitely no backwards clothing.

For the Love of Ray-J

When I'm sick in bed, a lot races through my mind, man. I've been laid up for three days with this fever, stomach, no energy thing. I scraped up enough energy to do my show tonight, but it was a scrape. Now I'm exhausted again. Granted, the days off from work were fruitful, as I did a lot of publishing grunt work and a great deal of school work for my MSW class. All the extra daytime sleep has kept me up at night, however. Take last night. I was texting my friend in Cincinnati at 2am. He's a funny dude, always texting me "I love you bro!" just because he's like Barnabas the encourager. Then around 3a.m., I started thinking about starting a new phrase/expression that will hopefully catch on. I'm thinking the next time someone pushes my buttons I'm going to say, "for the love of Ray J, knock it off!" I want that to become so commonplace that my grandchildren will say it and not know the origin. But I will. It's from an absurd R&B/VH1 narcissist formerly living in his sister's shadow who presently exploits himself and others in hopes it will give his music career a needed push since his last hot single fizzled just about 2 years ago. I don't think the single was hot, for the blog record. Maybe in a couple of decades people will be saying "for the love of Ray J, cut me some slack," or "for the love of Ray J, leave me some Jello-O next time," etc. etc. and it will be just like The Dickens. I still say "that hurt like The Dickens." Why? Because my grandmother says it in her awesome Boston accent. She's been saying my entire life, thus, so do I. I don't know who The Dickens are, and I've never thought to ask. I just know that were hurt at some point in time to the point of inspiring an expression. Ray-J's going to be a legacy. Not the artist; my new expression. Man, the stuff insomnia inspires....

No barking

Man, I yelled at my kid last night. Not just a quick loss of temper, either. More like a bark. I'd been using a Scooby Doo voice for about 2 hours straight for her, and I decided it was time to give my vocal chords a rest. She did not concur. A long day, a week of illness, and setting the clock back messed her all up, so she was pretty tired. I failed to recognize just how exhausted she was, so when she threw a fit when I stopped doing the voice, refused to turn off the TV, refused to brush her teeth, refused to pee, and refused to go upstairs to bed, I just sort of lost it and literally barked at her. My sister heard it downstairs in her apartment. Dang. The Fruit of the Spirit is self control, right?
I woke her up this morning and started the Scooby voice right away. From getting dressed to making her lunch, to putting her in the car, I stayed in character. She forgave me, man.

I never thought I'd be that dad that writes a blog about all of the stuff his kid says that really isn't quite so entertaining to everybody else, but man, my kid really got me the other night.

I was impatient. She wouldn't listen. I'd had a long day. A lot of social work. A lot of music responsibilities. Tired. She wouldn't eat her dinner. She wouldn't take a bath. She wouldn't brush her teeth. She wouldn't pee. Zero cooperation.

I tried my gentle voice. I tried taking stuff away. I tried time out. I tried to bribe her. Zero cooperation.

Finally, I yelled. I admit it. I lost my temper with the kid and went off on a rant. I'm pretty sure it scared her, but I was so overtired I didn't really notice. I tried to read her a book and pray, and she refused to participate. Then she wanted twenty kisses and hugs and for me to do our secret handshake before I left the room.
It goes: "pound, pound, lock it down, break the pickle, tickle tickle, 1,2,3,4 I declare a thumb war, sneak attack, patty cake, patty cake, E.T. phone home be good Elliot, we are best friends."

I did the handshake and left the room, and she came downstairs 2 minutes later. I put her back to bed. She did it again. I put her back to bed. She came down again. I screamed again. And again. And again. Finally, she grabbed her beanie baby and asked me her name. I refused to tell her because I was so heated. She insisted, so I checked the tag: "Grace."

Leave it to my kid. Working on the grace....