Birthday "bash"

I looked at my hands, dripping with that vibrant, dark red blood that usually accompanies nasty head wounds, and swore like a sailor.
"Happy @%#^&$ Birthday to me!"
Two minutes into the first soccer game of the year, a day which I was supposed to be celebrating my 29th birthday, I get a shoulder-block to the face and have to make the trek to the walk-in clinic for stitches.
Right now, I look like Mushmouth from Fat Albert; my lip is swollen to the point that it looks like a slug that drowned in a puddle - two days before. And today - hooray - it started flaking like I had leprosy. It's very attractive, let me tell you.
So for my birthday, I got a mild concussion, a shredded lip (my teeth left several deep puncture wounds in it, including one big one at the base of the gumline) and a trip to see the doctor.
I should have expected it, that after an hour-long wait, the doctor took one look at my face and said "Oh, we can't give you stitches in there. It's too close to the teeth."
Resigning myself to my fate, I gathered up my bloodied soccer gear and began to leave.
"By the way, James," the doc called on the way out. "When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?"
Great. So, for my birthday, I got a mild concussion, a shredded lip (hey, ladeeez) a trip to the doctor . . . and a foot-long needle shoved in my arm. OK, so maybe it wasn't a foot long. But at that point, I wouldn't have been surprised if they had to administer it through my eyeball.
All in all, it was a birthday that was very forgettable. Moreso because I realize I'm on that steep slope to (and I shudder to say this) 30.
Dag. Break out the Depends and Ben Gay. My fleeting youth has done fled the building.
I did have a nice dinner late on the 19th with my girl and some friends at Ric's Grill, but a world to the wise - avoid any citrus vinagrettes when nursing an oral wound.
Yeah. Nuff said.
I took Wednesday off to recuperate, but like a responsible worker, I did make it into the office today . . . and boy was THAT a treat. I guess my story made the rounds through the office, because I had a parade of people making really bad "get beat up by a grandmother" jokes and peering at my lip from way inside my "personal space."
I got through it, though, and I'm looking forward to doing it all again tomorrow. Yeah. Riiiight.

My bad day...

Oh, my day was actually OK. It was the last hour or so at work that caused my neck and shoulders to clench up into one big stress ball of pain.
Some reporters do not, as I do, understand that a deadline means ... well, you don't get your story in by then, and you're dead. Being constantly reassured by our roving reporter that I'll "have the story in five minutes" about five times over the course of two hours, he then calls two minutes before deadline to say "I can't send it in."
Meaning I'm stuck here with my johnson in my hand, a gaping hole to fill, and press guys breathing down my neck.
I just read that sentence again, and boy - it didn't sound like I meant it to ... lol
Anyways, long (meaningless) story short, we were late, and it looks like it's my fault. Which is always great.
On the plus side, I did get to write about a murdering hockey player on Friday. A former Kelowna Rocket got charged with manslaughter on Tuesday, and I got the scoop.
So maybe my day wasn't as bad as it felt ... and it's definitely not as bad as the people in the pictures below ...

BADDAY7

BADDAY7
Originally uploaded by smoove_J.

BADDAY6

BADDAY6
Originally uploaded by smoove_J.

BADDAY4

BADDAY4
Originally uploaded by smoove_J.

Ebonics: A new African Tribal language

There are times when I am reminded just why I call the town I live in "Crackerville."
Yeah, there are plenty of Shania-loving, squirrel-hunting, big belt-buckle wearing, pick-up truck driving, rednecks dotsey-dowing their way around town, but the lack of knowledge of the outside world still amazes me. Take this exchange, which I had at work, with a supposedly knowledgable and educated person.
Me: "Collar-popping (see story below) is just slang. It's like ebonics."
Cracker: "Ebonics? Isn't that some african tribal language?"
Me: (blank stare)
Cracker: "But I thought that's what they spoke on the ebony coast."
Me: "Uhhh, no. It's a scientic term for the speech used by many black, inner-city denizens."
Cracker: "So it's not african?"
Me: Hell, naw, son. Fo sho it ain't... ya'll better take your budonk back to skizzle and gets real learned about what's real. Word.
Cracker: (blank stare)

Anyways, what prompted this little converstation was a story about "collar-popping." Sometimes, it's great being the gate-keeper over what people do, and do not see, in our paper. So here's what's in today's paper, complete with a lil sketch of E-40 himself.
Collar-popping, of course.

NYET446_FINAL_FOUR_POPPI_143205
Originally uploaded by smoove_J.

Courtesy of XXL magazine - E-40 poppin collars.


California rapper deserves credit for NCAA tournament gesture
By Tamara Palmer
SAN FRANCISCO (AP) - When college basketball players pluck the front of their jerseys after victories big and small, they should also give a few props to E-40. The shirt-tugging gesture may be going mainstream thanks to the NCAA tournament, but hip-hop fans recognize it as a stylistic expression that has permeated the culture for years. ”Nowadays,” says E-40, the platinum-selling rapper who popularized the move, “it means either congratulating yourself or saluting a person and saying, `I acknowledge you.’ But really, poppin’ your collar is like when you’re standing in the mirror getting dressed and you’re fixing your collar. We pull on our sleeves, we jack our slacks and we pop our collar. ”A lot of people’s granddaddies did it, but there wasn’t a name for it,” E-40 continues from his hometown of Vallejo, 40 kilometres northeast of San Francisco. “It’s embroidered in us here in the Bay Area. We do it automatically and it’s not a gimmick. I’ve been doing it in all my videos since I first began rapping and putting music on the shelves in 1987.” Since then, the slang-tastic rapper born Earl Stevens has had a number of his expressions borrowed by top stars. Snoop Dogg acknowledges him as the source of his ‘shizzle’ speak, while Usher copied the E-40 song title Pop Ya Collar. (In the 2000 original, E-40 says he’s been “’poppin’ my collar since Moby was a goldfish.’” E-40 is not surprised to see his signature gesture make its way into sports. To him, it’s a natural outgrowth of the meshing of sports and hip-hop - two worlds that thrive on braggadocio and self-congratulation. When the players pop their collars, “it’s like a celebration, a victory dance,” E-40 says. “They’re saying, `Recognize this, recognize what I just did. I just dunked on the tallest player in this game!”