the new holiday

Let's just cut to the chase here. Ladies and gentlemen, Shark Week begins tomorrow night. Break out the champagne and the noisemakers, for this is no ordinary week. After 18 years, this annual summertime Discovery Channel staple has hooked itself to our hearts, and it's time that we celebrate it properly.

When else are we given the excuse to openly worship the carnage-driven bloodmongers that lurk under the sea? Obviously never. You see, the shark is unlike any other villainous animal on the planet. Take another hated creature - like the spider - for example. Although we all fear spiders, we would never participate in Spider Week. Why? Because spiders are too ugly, frankly. They are undoubtedly fascinating beasts, what with their calculating and secretive ways. And those webs; how could such an ugly creature knit such a beautiful thing? Yes, spiders are probably our most beloved animal to hate. But perhaps they are too scary?

Sharks, on the other hand, are the lions of the sea. When they aren't killing, they're sleek and sort of appealing to the eye. Of course at other times they are fierce aggressors who kill with a pathological lack of concern for their victims. It's what they do. They just kill stuff until their stomachs are full.

And who knows? They might kill you or me someday. That's what makes Shark Week so great. We get to study one of our most beloved villains up close, like watching Hannibal Lecter work in "Silence of the Lambs."

The Discovery Channel has done such a nice job with Shark Week over the years, crafting it into the institution it's become, that I believe the annual tradition must be recognized as a national holiday. I mean honestly, Shark Week would instantly be more popular than a majority of our national holidays. Let's take a closer look:

National Holiday Power Rankings:

1. Christmas - still the undisputed champ. gifts and lots of time off work. what more do you want?

2. Halloween - there's something for everyone. kids get candy. men get to wear funny costumes. women get to show off cleavage. and it's all about paganism, which gives it that extra oomph of something.

3. Thanksgiving - lots of eating good food, followed by watching football and playing cards. great holiday.

4. The Fourth of July - the great mid-summer holiday. oh America, i wish i knew how to quit you.

5. St. Patrick's Day - an excuse to drink beer, wear green, sing irish songs and pinch people.

6. Shark Week - this seems a perfect fit. a little lower than those five, a little higher than struggling Easter and all the other disastrous holidays.

7. Easter - sorry Jesus, but Easter is weak. coloring eggs, hiding eggs, hiding baskets, the Easter Bunny? Somebody try to rationalize for me the absurdity of these so-called traditions alongside the observance of Christ's big comeback? i know not everyone believes in/ gives a crap about JC. but Easter, nonetheless, needs a face lift. there's nothing for adults here. nothing. maybe bumping Shark Week to #6 will act as a wakeup call.

8. Valentine's Day - i mean, in theory there's nothing wrong with taking your girl out on the town and having a romantic evening together. but to quote Homer Simpson, "In theory, communism works." this holiday always feels like an inconvenience, like "Oh $#!#, I forgot, Wednesday is V-Day. Sorry dude, I can't make it." and what about all the Eleanor Rigbys out there? What do they do?

9. Mother's / Father's Day - I don't know anyone who takes these seriously.

10. Labor Day - It marks the end of summer. That's strike one. and it stands for nothing. that's two more strikes. i hate holidays that don't stand for anything.


I'm probably forgetting some holidays, like Memorial Day and Columbus Day. But whatever. You see my point. Shark Week would be an instant hit, even as a rookie holiday. And don't worry. We still have time to work out the details. Like, for instance, although it's a week long series on TV, does the celebration need to go for seven days when one day might suffice? Should there be anything as random and absurd as a yule log? Should there be a mysterious figurehead, like Saint Nick?

I don't have all the answers yet. But here's what I do know: there must be at least one major gathering between friends where sea food is consumed and a movie about sharks is watched. Preferably this is done to kick-off Shark Week. Consider attending the party in makeup and attire that gives the illusion that you've been attacked by a shark. And we should all begin working on a song that could compete with any Christmas carol. "Beyond the Sea" or "Under the Sea" will do in a pinch.

In the days that follow, maybe you visit aquariums, maybe you go fishing, maybe you play games in a pool where someone plays the shark and everyone else plays potential victims. I don't know yet.

What I do know is that Shark Week begins tomorrow and I'm excited. Perhaps I'll celebrate by having an entire shark lowered into the roof of my home via a crane.

sad to be home

I felt it as soon as I stepped on the airplane. The feeling was something like a virus, like my head was slowing being filled with concrete. I couldn't smile anymore. I didn't want to talk. I couldn't do anything but sit there with a blank expression. The fun was over and it was time to go home. Goodbye Jamaica. Goodbye paradise. Goodbye to the perfect culmination of things: the friends new and old, the blurry late nights by the pool, the slow breakfasts. the ocean. the women. the wedding. the party. the day after. the goodbyes.

The pilot said it all when he said: "This is a non-stop flight back to reality." And while other people situated themselves for the ride home with books and laptops, ipods and magazines, all I could do was sit and think about what I had and what I was losing.

I took pictures of the sun setting through the window. That's how I passed the time.











































Then I saw the lights of Metro Detroit and in a moment it was officially all over. Like Adam and Eve's banishment from the Garden of Eden, I was home.




















I got home late at night and unpacked the luggage. All I thought about was the next morning and how it was back to work, it was back to the typical and maddening predictable. It's back to CNN, Sportscenter, Jay Leno, Google, e-mail, crappy pop music, Applebee's, the high gas prices, commuting, alarm clocks, concerns about the Middle East, and all the like.

Don't get me wrong. I don't want to live in Jamaica. This isn't really about Jamaica. It's about the way things could be versus the way things are. Over there, I felt a wholeness. Here, there is an absence.

And now I'm left with this vacation remorse. I'm left with a need to change my life. Maybe this is a common disorder after a good vacation. When my family returned from a trip to Russia many years ago it was not long after that we moved to a new house. Something about traveling made us restless about staying the same. And I find myself going through something very similar right now. I felt it the moment I stepped on the airplane. I knew that something was gonna have to change.

closed for vacation

I'm leaving to teach Jamaicans the art of napkin sketching.
See you in hell. Or in about a week. Whichever comes first.

mini sketches: thank you, zinedine!

While the world continues to begrudge the great Zinedine Zidane for ramming an Italian futball player in the chest with his head during the World Cup Championship game, I want to go in an opposite direction and say thank you to Zidane for doing exactly what every non-italian would've liked to have done.

For those who didn't follow the World Cup, Team Italia will best be remembered for its constant flopping (read: cheating), its shifty characters, and its overall ugly style of soccer. They may have won the World Cup, but I ask you, brothers and sisters, at what cost did it come?

Sensing a grave injustice was lurking in the near future, Zinedine did what any sensible man or woman would have done: he used his head as a battering ram and knocked an Italian to the ground. And I, for one, am grateful for the sacrifice Mr. Zidane made. In the blink of an eye, he single-handedly restored decency to our world, if only for a short time. So thank you, Zinedine Zidane. I will name my first born after you.

And a final word to Italy: you're sinking under water.

the well of sadness runs deep

dreaming is a waste of time.



it's a practice best left for children to dwell in, not adults. dreaming leads inevitably to disappointment, which comes either from the crushing of hope into pieces of despair from the failure of the unattainable, or proving a stale achievement like so many grocery lists, like kissing the girl you've always fancied only to find her lips are coarse, her breath sour and her technique poor. i could easily dream about my future in all its many facets: what my house will look like, my wife, how many kids I'll have, their names, etc. but i continue to wonder, what good is this type of dreaming?

some may say i'm being negative, and maybe i am. but tell me what good there is in dreaming when you open yourself up to so much disappointment? tell me, does this gamble ever yield a worthwhile dividend?

i had the audacity to imagine a day when Ben Wallace's #3 would rise up to the palace rafters, and the ultimate display of affection between the athlete and his fans would be complete, his legacy frozen into something physical, an object for all of us to keep selfishly to ourselves. he was ours and we would have cherished him forever. all it needed to survive was monogamous devotion.

my dream, now, is dead.

i imagined a day when i would take my kids to see the pistons and i'd point to that #3 in the rafters and tell them, "these banners represent all the greatest players we've ever had in detroit. but that one with the number three, that one was truly special. he was like batman. unlike superman who was born with all the powers of the universe, batman fought evil only with grit, determination, an iron will, anger, and his heart. he had no superpowers to speak of, making his triumphs all the more dazzling." and my kids would smile and imagine what he must've been like. the object would then become ours to share, young and old, something that could only be inherited.



i must be naive for allowing myself to dream like that, for assuming the best-case would come to pass. i will not make that mistake again. i will be grateful for the good things that come my way, but i will not try to anticipate them anymore. whatever happens, happens. and of all the things Big Ben has taught me during the last six years, this might be the most important lesson.

nonetheless, his absence has left a gap of empty space inside of me, a hollowness and an unhealthy unwillingness to swallow reality.



i will conclude with this poem i wrote:

O Mighty Gladiator
May your splendor continue to shine
And take up your shield one more time
Exhibit your majesty unto the unbelievers
until their eyes explode

O Noble Warrior
I wish for you the best
Although you've left me cold and defenseless
My bulwark nevermore to be
I will continue to fight
Although my fight must now come against thee

O, why would the sun refuse to shine?
Why would it let the land turn so cold?
Why would it delight in the breaking of my heart?
Exploding in my chest like so many eyes.

His hands were too small to palm a ball
Yet they were big enough to hold us all
Now he's thrown us all away
Like Christmas trash on garbage day

O folly,
O mystifying despair
Now he must dance in Satan's lair
To play on profane ground
Alongside the ghost of the King of Air

I know somewhere lies goodness in him
Far below the corrupted fibers of his soul
And below the deep wells of sadness in mine
There still lurks a great hero

But now at night silence stands
Where at city's square the bell once tolled
Now it sits cold in dust
Content to hang heavy and quiet
Like Judas dangling from a tree.

detroit's morning star

What will disgusting Star Jones do now that ABC has cut her loose? Although I'm sure her options are limitless courtesy of her abundant talent, glowing personality and beauty, I'm going to lend her some free advice. I propose Star run for a seat on Detroit's City Council. Think about it. She's black, she's sassy, and she's a celebrity. A real triple threat in Detroit politics. If anyone accidentally caught her appearance on Larry King the other night like me, you too may have noticed her icy serpent's tongue, her ability to spew lies almost with pathological sincerity. In this regard, Star's made to be a politician. And there's only one town on the globe that has what it takes to put her on the ballot. She'd fit right in with Barbara Rose, Brenda, Joann, Monica, Martha and the rest of the gang. And with Star on our side, the New Detroit can't lose.