It was all about family during the holidays.  As you already know, I went to Los Angeles again to kick it with my nieces and this time I brought my mother along.  Here she is trying to keep up with her granddaughter, Lily Frances as she played and frolicked on Christmas morning amongst all of her toys.

Surprisingly, everything actually went smoothly.  There were no drunken Christmas arguments whatsoever.  Lily Frances got way too many presents, but her favorite was the ballet outfit that she was wearing.  Violet Jane, the baby, started smiling for the first time but she was sleeping when all of the presents were being unwrapped.  My mother kept boasting that her grandchildren looked like her.  I suppose that we're the typical American family.

The highlight for me was all of us being together.  Lysa finally made it to an actual family function, can you believe it?  It hasn't happened like this in at least 25 years!  My immediate family is scattered on two coasts and it's rare that we are all in the same place at the same time.  It is times like these that I am truly thankful for.  God has been very good the Coopers, and while this is Christmas and not Thanksgiving, it is good to have an understanding of how these things can come to pass.

I guess Christmas means different things to different people, but for me now, it's all about family.  I've prayed a lot to God so that he can help my family heal and now we can all clearly see that prayer works.  All of our problems aren't gone but we're working through them like family is supposed to.  Momma gave the blessing for the food, which is something that she rarely does, so it was truly a memorable moment.

Well, anyway, it was just us Coopers so there was no one around to play photographer so that we could all get in the shot.  We ate a lot of food and started couching it.  I stood in for Dad.  RIP, Pop.  I'm sure you were watching the whole thing and how it went down.

Maturity of Perspective

We’re getting down to the crunch time of 2008 and everything seems to be whizzing by like a blur. This time last year I was tripping because I was just laid off by Parsons so close to Christmas and I got cheated out of my bonus. (Then the bastards hired me right back after the holidays when the damage was done.) Of course, it wasn’t just the bonus: it was also the fact that beach side apartments don’t come cheap in California and a grown-ass-man needs his space. Things were looking rather dismal last December.

They were so dismal that I came home to DC for the holidays last year. I was frantically looking for a job and thinking that my days in California were numbered. I was actually thinking that my entire way of life was endangered this time last year. I know that Thanksgiving is already past but I have had a lot to be thankful for and in the season of giving, I’m dropping pearls of wisdom. Seriously, I just got the address to my less fortunate friend that happens to be serving time in a federal prison and I’m committing to writing him regularly to reinforce that the saving grace is God’s to bestow.

That information is free to all of you, although I had a few more things to say to my incarcerated friend. I pray that he keeps his head up in there because there are so many things that can get you down. When everything seems against you, sometimes God will show you some things. Mind you, God doesn’t often show us everything, but I do believe that he reveals to us when we are able to elevate our understanding to include the form of the good. For me, changing locales for Christmas last year was the only way to grasp the things that were good or right with my life. Once I could focus on those again, in a paused atmosphere, I began to have a clearer understanding of how to enhance them.

Immaturity of Perspective

This past Sunday I had the privilege of attending Maverick’s 8^th birthday party at Lucky Strike Bowling Alley in Washington DC’s Chinatown. Rudy & Natalie continue their bid as the best parents ever and spoiled their only son and daughter with two parties even though their birthdays are less than two weeks apart. (Maven had a yoga birthday party the week before.) About ten kids showed up to Maverick’s party and as I was contemplating that it probably costs a fortune, the thought dawned on me that I could at least bring a present or two. I settled on video games for the new Nintendo Wii system and I am sure that they will be well pleased.

When I was around 10 years old, I believe that I caught the bug of video gaming and the addiction provided in the way of hours of entertainment and it kept me out of trouble. Hardball was my game back then, and the game only had two teams: The All Stars and The Champs. I’m pretty sure that my Dad even got me sled that year, too. Man, I was balling out of control back then and nobody could tell me anything about having things. Momma’s baby boy didn’t really want for anything because growing up in Long Island, I was sheltered from the materialism that gripped my cousins closer to bourgeoning metropolises. Anyway, I hope that Maverick enjoys the Shaun White snowboarding game and that he gets in enough practice to make the leap to a real board of some kind. I also hope Maven gets sick and tired of the We Cheer cheerleading game and moves on to something more befitting her upwardly mobile stock.

As far as my bowling was concerned I was a winner. I beat all ten of the kids that Maverick invited despite the fact that they were obviously cheating and using the bumpers that prevented gutter balls.  Some even shamelessly wandered over the line! One toddler even tried to bowl one of my balls but he rolled it so slow that I was able to chase it down the alley before the score recording sensor could be triggered. I knocked that kid down for good measure, but don’t worry, he didn’t cry. I really hate to lose, but bragging is something that I love to do. Would you believe that my average ball speed was hovering around 20 miles per hour? Most of those kids weren’t even bowling the balls a fraction of my speed! In three games I recorded two strikes and averaged a score of 80.

If I could join a kids' bowling league, say ten and under,  there would be no end to my dominance. 

“Now listen, Mr. Pretty Tony, I mean you know the rules: I mean your bitch just chose me…” -Max Julien in The Mack.

Last night I attended the National Forum for Black Public Administrators Christmas party.  Even though it was another Black bourgeoisie affair, I had a good time at the Thurgood Marshall Center located at 12^th and U Streets.  It is easy to forget that these soirées often produce eye candy of epic proportions, and last night I was pleasantly reminded.

As a general rule, while attending these functions you are supposed to network and introduce yourself to as many people as possible.  I arrived a little early, sans a date for the billionth year in a row, and busied myself by looking for my favorite legal social lubricant.  Imagine my surprise when I finally got access to the bar that they would not be serving the Glenlivet scotch that I could plainly see behind the counter.  I was truly devastated and needed consoling because I had recently purchased $20 worth of drink tickets in anticipation of the long evening of schmoozing ahead.

Disappointed and dejected, I shuffled off to the entrance to see all of the arrivals.  Not longer than twenty minutes later some friends of mine that work for the DC Parks & Recreation came over and started chatting small talk.  We were definitely the youngest folks in the room so I obliged them even though I was thinking that I would really like to leave the event all together.  Then, as if on cue, the beauties started rolling in wearing their too-tight for business suits and high-heeled finery.  Being old enough to read the writing on the wall, I ditched the boys and headed back to the bar for a Heineken prop to nurse for the rest of the evening.

After I exchanged my drink ticket for the beer I did a quick scan of the room and saw one young lady that got my attention.  This woman was completely gorgeous and impeccably dressed in an immaculate cream pantsuit that revealed a perfectly shaped, pleasantly plump ass.  Clearly she was the belle of this ball but I was a little hesitant to commit myself to making any viable play at conversation with her.  I don’t usually try to holler because that is just not my modus operandi.  Besides the music was way too loud where she was standing and she appeared to be escorted by a man that could have been my father.  Now that I think of it, the man could have been her father as well, only I knew it wasn’t because he was a high ranking DC government official with no children to speak of.

None of this information changed anything for me, but as I was processing it a coworker of mine stood directly next to the questionable couple.  Free from devious intentions I made my way over to bestow happy holiday wishes on my office mate and inadvertently stumbled into the pleasantries and conversation with those nearby.  I don’t remember what I said, and those that know me know that I couldn’t have said much, but I wound up dancing with the young lady while her older escort went off to mingle.  At this point the discrepancy must have entered my mind that the old man would be committing the classic faux pas of abandoning a diamond in a room full of thieves.  In my mind there was no way this guy was trying to keep this lady if he let her go so easily.

The woman looked like a super model, only with a better body, so any man in his right mind would not have stood by idly as she traipsed off with me into the parlor in order to escape the heat of the dance floor and a few prying eyes.  I know for a fact that he wasn’t waiting to ask for the next dance (which is what I would have done -if I were him) because we both stopped to pick up our drinks before retiring to talk some more.  I made the excuse of not being able to hear what she was saying over DJ Biz Markie’s scratching and cutting and checked all around for anyone that might be seeing this.  I have such a low success rate in the pick-up game that even a prospect is notable for me.  While walking through the hallway, I got the validation that I was seeking: an old friend from college, Sinclair Skinner, witnessed the young lady’s fitness and proceeded to yell “hey Danny, where are you going?”

Of course, because Sinclair is a Nupe [read: a member of Kappa Alpha Psi, fraternity of shameless pretty boys] I knew that his shouting was a rouse, even a compliment.  When the Nupes see you putting in good work you can expect them to behave in this way unless they feel that they can weasel their way in to your good fortune.  I continued past Sinclair and offered and over-the-shoulder sneer, being careful that the young lady walking behind me couldn’t see.  I was fortunate enough that she didn’t know my name well enough to know that the shouting was directed at our blatant escape and my improbable accomplishment. How improbable?  Let’s just say that ten years removed from The Yard and guys in rival fraternities still remember the fact that I don’t try to pick women up.  I have always been known to have the “fall-in-my-lap-or-forget-it” policy along with living the Notorious B.I.G. “I don’t chase them, I replace them” maxim.

As luck would have it, the stars must have been somewhat aligned for me last night because as the lady and I sat there and pretended to drink I discovered that she was new to the area, in need of a younger guide, and more interesting than what met the eye.  Over the course of about an hour we sat down nervously discussing our backgrounds and gauging each others interest.  Black college: check. Damn she has a widow’s peak like Lisa Ray! Why does she have perfectly shaped lips, a cute nose, and a honey-caramel complexion? She is highly educated. She holds two masters degrees: one in neuroscience from Wake Forest, and the other in public health from Duke. She has a great job: she works for the FDA. Okay, but why does she have a great sense of humor for a nerd? And why does she have to love football? I slowly started to realize that this sort of thing just doesn’t happen very often, and that if something appeared to be too good to be true, it probably was.

I started directing my questions to look for the cracks but there weren’t any. For the brief seconds that I got her to talk about an ex, she only blamed herself for not making it work and didn’t have any crazy animosity or vindictive tendencies.  Then I started looking for the hidden camera, but I couldn’t find it.  I really thought that I was on some television show like candid camera because there is no way in hell a woman this fine was interested in me.  But what can I say?  My life is a movie.  I’ve dated some real lookers, some famous and some not-so-famous, but at least I still believed that I would have shot because of background provided by a very loving sister that made it happen.  Here I was standing on my own merits and I was apparently winning.  I had to stop myself from raising my arms above my head and singing “We Are the Champions” as I ran around the coffee table.  Before I could make an ass of myself, my guy instinct kicked in and I began to close the deal.

After exchanging email addresses, because that is what nerds do, I suggested that we go back into the main dance hall to avoid any suspicion that we were lingering amorously.  I wasn’t so much concerned about the old man anymore, but I was thinking that I didn’t want to answer to the peanut gallery.  We both had perfect timing and got back to our respective parties an hour or so after we initially left.  We found each other for a dance or two when DJ Biz Markie was at his best, and I spent the rest of the time watching her from afar in a complete stupor.  My mother caught me staring and even though Mom is blind in one eye said, “She’s a very pretty one!”  She’s so super fine that I’m not even sure if the two of us could work.  She’s the kind of fine that makes your friends mad because they didn't see her first or have the good sense to hold out until she came along.

She was dancing with the older, distinguished alderman and the thought popped into my head to send her posterior to my friends for posterity.  I almost blew the whole thing by trying to snap a picture of her fine ass with my camera phone… I know: I’m really immature.  I didn’t do it, but I still sort of wish that I did.  I don’t know what I would do today if I didn’t have proof that Kelis was my date to my thirtieth birthday party.  If you can’t brag about stuff like this to your boys, then what are you really doing with your life?  Besides, meeting is fleeting.  There is no telling if anything would ever even come of our making acquaintances.  You all should know by now that I am a notorious ball dropper.  And just when I was drifting off into the abyss of possibilities glancing furtively at the incredible orb that was her dancing ass, momma said, “She’s probably going to be his fifth wife…”

I promise, I’ll stop being a momma’s boy when momma stops being so right.

More gems from momma: “Old men have aspirations, too.” And let's not forget, “Pretty girls are never lonely.”

Frustration is starting to set in because I’m going to be 35 in about a month and I haven’t checked all of the little boxes that would make me feel accomplished at this point.

The biggest thing missing from the “you-haven't-lived-until” list is the fact that I haven’t been to Japan yet. I think about moving to Tokyo every day, but so far, I’m no closer to being there tomorrow as I was yesterday. I keep thinking that I need a more aggressive strategy in order to make it happen, but the truth of the matter is I’m not willing to sacrifice too much of my current lifestyle.  How will I afford velvet Sean John jackets and the finer things?

Let’s face it: to go from a six-figure salary to an entry-level, English-as-a-second-language, teaching job is no easy task. Throw in the fact that I’m a black man that has become accustomed to certain accoutrements and we’re entering the realm of the ridiculous. I've always had high expectations for myself and now that I've officially made it to black bourgeoisie status, I don't want to do low class even if it is Japanese.  This is a shame because I read a lot about Japan these days and it all seems pretty fruitless if I’m not willing to take the plunge and abandon my life here in the United States.

I guess, I have become too comfortable in my current surroundings.  Sure, I won’t be able to go back and forth at the drop of hat like I do between Los Angeles, New York City, and Washington DC, but that would be a small price to pay to realize a dream. I still haven’t been to Japan one time, which is really upsetting for me because I have been to so many other countries that I haven't had half the interest in. I’ve wanted to go to Japan now for something like twenty years and it still hasn’t popped-off! Somehow I feel like I am really close to making it happen, but that it still hasn’t gone down yet.

I can’t help but to think that if ever a black man deserved an easy passage to Japan, it would be me. My next move is to, straight up, start a secure pay site for people to start donating to in order to facilitate me realizing my goal. I would hate to resort to begging on the Internet, but the prospect of me landing a great job in Japan despite not speaking the language has to be pretty slim at this point.

I may have to bite the bullet and start thinking of a way to get hired by one of those companies looking for English teachers… Sad, I know, but true.

Los Angeles Love

Once again Los Angeles was lovely. When I lived there I would literally say to myself every so often “I should have moved here ten years ago.” Now that I’ve moved back to the east coast, I’m left wondering why I ever left.

The weather was raining when I first arrived so the surfing situation was risky. Nobody wants to paddle out if they think that there is a good chance that they will contract hepatitis. I went out surfing anyway, because it had just been that long since I had been in the water. Thanksgiving morning, Damien and I hit Breakwater for a special treat: clean water and rolling sets.

I had my best surfing day, by far, that Friday although the water quality was horrible. Swimming in trash soup is the only thing that I can think of to describe it. Why does it always rain within a few days of my arrival to Los Angeles?  The waves weren’t as good on Friday, but how I was catching them made me believe for a fraction of a second that I could be a professional. Reality set in with the soreness in my shoulders during hour two of a session that couldn’t last much longer.

I missed going out to Trestles with Damien the next day, but I still had my share of fun in the City of Angles.  I didn’t go out at all at night this time, so if you thought that you would catch me at someone’s party you are mistaken. Family time ruled, and hanging with my new niece Violet Jane was premium. I also had a chance to have some extended play sessions with Lily Frances, my other niece, who is heavily involved in the make-believe scene.

Lily Frances picks out her own clothes and enjoys dancing around in circles in front of the mirror. (Can you say COOPER?)  Other than talking, her favorite activity seems to be playing chase games. Mainly, Lily likes it when you chase her around the house. After three hours or so, I needed a nap. She has a lot of energy and I could barely keep up with her.

Los Angeles is so officially boss.

New York City, Have Mercy

New York is so officially awesome, as well though.

This Friday I’m headed to New York City to see The Big Apple Classic. My alma mater, Howard University, plays Hampton at Madison Square Garden. Because there are no black colleges in the state of New York, this basketball game is sort of a big deal. Because Howard University sucks so hard at sports, I fully expect them to lose, but I’m going anyway because, as the saying goes, “there ain’t no party like an HU party!”

My itinerary is going to be jammed. In addition to all of the Big Apple Classic stuff, I plan on getting a haircut at Franks Chop Shop. Also Saturday night, my good friend Nick Cohen is opening a new bar called The Houndstooth Pub. I’m guessing that there will be Guinness on tap, so I might go break it in since I’ll already be in the neighborhood.  I'm hoping that I can find 8 other friends to have dinner with me after the game.  Hit me up if you're seriously about it.

I can’t wait to bust out the velvet Sean John. Black Bourgeoisie affairs aren’t usually my thing < cough > but I’m going to make this happen on the strength of New York City and the Bison Round-up crew. My man from Howard University and Masonic brother, Bryndon Moore, started this thing so I’m about to represent.

The Purple Room will be in full effect starting at 10 PM EST on Friday, December 5.  Catch me if you can.

I’m Just Happy to be Here

In other related make-DICooper-feel-good news, the New York Football Giants are in first place in the NFL. The DeMatha Stags won the WCAC football crown and the basketball team is ranked number 13 in the country. It’s still early in the month, but I’ve already surfed in November and December 2008! Life isn’t half bad sometimes, even though I know that it couldn’t possibly last. I tend not to worry too much about life though, because you’ll never get out alive.

It would be really nice to be able to start a family one day and pass along all this joy. My momma is going to be 70-years-old next year and I’d love for her to have all the smiles on her face that she can possibly have. All I need is a wife, and it’s going down. That’s my word. Until then, I’m just happy to be here.