NFL SuperAd

This is all kinds of awesome.

I have no additional commentary on how sweet this is.

Let me add a work related aside to this post, however.

Please don't ever bitch to me about how much money professional athletes make and expect me to co-sign you.

This happens fairly often in mixed company.

Don't get me wrong, athletes, in many cases, do make obscene amounts of money. But I have never - ever, ever, ever - in my life heard, "That Tom Cruise sure make too much money." Or, "Katie Couric is way overpaid." (And she is by the way.)

The only times I hear people whine about how much money ANYBODY public figure makes, is when it's a BLACK (and in the case of baseball, Latin) ATHLETE.

**edit**

I just had a thought. Maybe they complain to me because they think I can do something about it? Hmmm.

All those dollars add up.

Vaderus Maximus

The Best Place In The Universe

I caught this while watching the New Mexico Bowl.

Reminds me of the FedEx work, but I dug it.

Return of that crafty european guy with wild hair.

Package up my ass, Gump.

For the uninitiated, the title of this post refers to my favorite line from the last season, season 4, of The Wire – The Best Shit On TV. January 6th, the fifth and final season starts. There has been a theme to every season of the Wire. This season’s focus is the news media and the death of the newspaper.

Here’s my advice for anyone who hasn’t caught on yet and are still disappointed by the weak ass ending to The Sopranos.

Season 4 is available on DVD. Rent it and watch the first 3 episodes. If you are not motivated to go back to season one and rent and watch every episode to catch up and continue with season four, you are lame. Woefully lame.

Lookie.

Tyler Perry’s How To Raise A White Child

More blacks appear to be adopting white children.

I would have the cleanest house in Ohio.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

I've been doing birdcalls lately in the office for no particular reason. I'm not really sure why. But when things get really quiet, I let one out.

Pretty Damn Sweet

A coworker shared this with me today.

Damn you Tay Zonday

...back and crack

Hide your pets.

This made its way around the office today. Juicy & Delicious

Here's the tv to go along with it.

This is my house!!!

Thanks Doc

My very good friend Doc told me I had to check out VH1 Classic. Pretty freakin' sweet. This this and this made my night.

A tribute

Nope.

Before I knew "No One" was by Alicia Keyes, I kept thinking to myself, "Why is this garbage on every time I turn on the radio?"

Now that I know it's Alicia Keyes, I still think it's garbage.

How about some early Ice Cube?

I had my first, real, "Oh hell naw," moment today.

We're doing a client presentation. As usual, I'm the black guy. (No black gals in sight either) At one point in the presentation, there was to be music accompanyment. Now mind you, this was in no way an "urban" or "teen" or "hip" campaign.

So as I bend down to start the CD player, one of, let's just say, "the bosses," tells the client, "And Franklin's going to rap"

Why the fuck didn't you just say, "Ohh, in case you didn't notice guys, he's black!"

I know when I’m being mocked.

In the category of conversations I didn’t feel like having with my coworkers was the Don Imus episode. Thankfully, I’d been able to avoid it until now. See here. I know you’ve probably heard about this. It’s come up in office small talk for the past two weeks.

I like how this “news story” has come to validate so many people’s opinion that the controversy Imus found himself in was undeserved.

That’s bullshit. Imus deserved to have his bitch-ass fired… a while ago. Don't expect me to co-sign your belief it was, "Sharpton's fault."

May I direct your attention to Ms. Gwen Ifill. Moderator and managing editor of Washington Week, senior correspondent for The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer, former chief congressional and political correspondent for NBC, moderator of the 2004 Vice-Presidential debate and, according to Don Imus, the cleaning lady.

Fuck him and fuck Santa.

Poker Night Recap

We had an unofficial poker night last week.

I lost 40 bucks.

Fuck poker.

Office Heavy Rotation For The Week

When I was five years old I realized there was a road
At the end I will win lots of pots of gold
Never took a break, never made a mistake
Took time to create cause theres money to make
To be a billionaire takes hard work for years
Some nights I shedded tears while I sent up prayers
Been through hard times, even worked part time
In a seafood store sweepin floors for dimes
I was sort of a porter takin the next mans order
Breakin my back, but for shackled headquarters
All my manpower for four bucks an hour
Took my time, and wrote rhymes in the shower
Shoes are scuffed cause the road gets rough
But I'ma rock it cause my pockets ain't stuffed enough
All the freaks wouldn't speak cause my checks was weak
They would turn the other cheek so I started to seek
A way to get a play, and maybe one day
Ill be performin up a storm for a decent pay
No matter how it seems I always kept the dream
All the girlies scream and suckas get creamed
Dreamed about it for five years straight
Finally I got a break and cut my first plate
The road aint yellow and there aint no witches
My name is kool g rap, Im on the road to the riches

Verse two:

I used to stand on the block sellin cooked up rock
Money bustin out my sock cause I really would clock
They were for kind of fiends bringin jackets and jeans
Magazines, anything, just to hustle for beans
The cash was comin fast, money grew like grass
People hungry for the blast that dont even last
Didnt want to be involved but the money will getcha
Gettin richer and richer, the police took my picture
But I still supplied, some people I knew died
Murders and homicides for bottles of suicide
Money, jewelry, livin like a star
And I wasnt too far from a jaguar car
In a small-time casino, the towns al pacino
For all of the girls, the pretty boy valentino
I shot up stores and I kicked down doors
Collecting scars from little neighborhood wars
Many legs I broke, many necks I choked
And if provoked I let the pistol smoke
Loyal members in a crew now down with the game
Sellin nickels and dimes in sunshine or rain
What I had was bad from my shoes to my pad
In the first time in my life loanin money to dad
Now the tables turned and my lifestyle switches
My name is kool g rap, Im on the road to the riches

Verse three:

A thug'll mug for drugs, he eventually bugs
Lookin for crack on carpets and rugs
The squealer tells but the dealer still sells
Little spoiled kids inheritin' oil wells (George Bush?)
I was the type on the opposite side
Of smokin the pipe, in a beef I got hype
Cause rags to riches switches men to witches
Become stitches, body bags in ditches
Bloodshed, I painted the town red
People fled as I put a dread's head to bed
That means dead, in other words deceased
Face got erased, bullets got released
Bombs were planted, the kids were kidnapped
In fact this was a way to get back
At enemies who tried to clock g's
On my block, now they forever knock z's
Plans of rampages went for ages
Some got knocked and locked inside cages
Some bit the dust for crumbs and crusts
In God we trust, now rots to rust
Plus caps to cops, policeman drops
You blew off his top when the pistol went pop
Troopers, soldiers, rollin' like boulders
Eyes of hate and their hearts get colder
Some young male put in jail
His lawyer so good his bail is on sale
Lookin' at the hourglass, how long can this power last?
Longer than my song but he already fell
He likes to eat hardy, party
Be like john gotti, and drive a maserati
Rough in the ghetto, but in jail he's jello
Mellow, yellow fellow, tell oh hell, hello
One court date can turn an outlaw to an inmate
But just stay, ship him upstate by the great lakes
And than a-wait and wait and wait
Til he breaks, thats all it takes
So he fakes to be a man, but he cant stand
On his own two feet because now he's in a new land
Rules are different and so is life
When you think with a shank, talk with a knife
Not my lifestyle so I made a u-turn
More money I earn, more money to burn
Pushin all buttons, pullin all switches
My name is g. rap, Im on the road to the riches


Superman that shit.

Back on my grizzly

I've been working hard and taking naps lately. Time to do some catch up.

Turbo

PB & J

One of the bosses has a habit of appearing out of nowhere chanting, "It's Peanut Butter Jelly Time, Peanut Butter Jelly Time, Peanut Butter Jelly, Peanut Butter Jelly!"

I don't think he knows it up to the baseball bat.

This is some bullshit.

While I was in school I had a facebook account. I checked it every now and then. Like most things, it got old and I deleted my account and forgot about the site all together.

With the current buzz and such, I resigned up for facebook today.

That shit is lame. I mean, lamer than Second Life lame.

I’ve got to figure out a way to migrate teens and the socially awkward to paymedummy.com.

Just so I can see, “Murdoch makes mega play for paymedummy,” on the cover of AdAge.

iSuck

An art director friend of mine told me that my font style, unlike my wu-tang, was shitty.

So I now have a new - art director approved - header.

Fly

I believe I can officially add "Slang Translator" to my resume.

Duties include inadvertently introducing, explaining and begrudgingly attempting to explain the etymology of slang (real and made-up) to coworkers.

the Notorious T.A.X.

I don't have issues, I have subscripitons

EbonyJet found the blog and gave me shout. So give 'em a visit.

This shit is unacceptable

Of course Jesus would drive a Mazda.

This commercial is getting under my skin.



And while I'm on the Auto industry, I wonder what the folks at Chevrolet are thinking about their investment in T.I. right about now.

Just win baby

My office fantasy football squad, Chocolate Reign, is on a 4 game win streak!!!


Remix on ya.



What!?!?!?

Good Look

AgencySpy and AdPulp gave the blog a shout. Good look from MultiCultClassics.

The pressure's on now.

Good thing I'm all stocked up on the Champagne of Beers.

Lowered Expectations

I was reminded today of the day I interviewed for this gig.

I was cutting it close on time, and hadn’t factored in the time it would take to find a parking spot downtown. So I figured, I’m pulling into the first lot I see, forget trying to find the closest lot.

So, I’m driving. Press pants, shirt and tie, light jacket. And I see a lot.

I pull in and it looks like it might be full, but no sign is up.

I pull up to the parking attendant building and roll down my window.

I ask the brotha, somewhat hurried, “Excuse me, is the lot full?”

“Oh, you late for court, huh?”

Act more stupidly

Fufu

Today, I had the pleasure of explaining what a 'line-up' is to a coworker.

I also found out today that a mention of FUBU, yes the played out urban clothing line FUBU, can bring an unnecessary amount of tension to an otherwise peaceful lunch.

Reminds me of the ever present 'why isn't there a white student union?' arguments from college.

I suppose I could've brought up my brother's settlement check from Abercrombie & Fitch.

Worky Work, busy bee

Yea, it’s been a busy ‘round these parts. I’ve already disappointed myself by not keeping up with the blog, but sometimes, it beez like that.

I’m going to try to get as many updates done tonight, before I have to cash in.

So here we go…

The Big Idea

I had a pretty slow day at work today so I pulled out a notepad to scribble down some blog ideas. I came up with a full page. But as I type this, I'm looking at that list and wondering which one of these I want to write about, knowing that any one of these could easily bust me out.

It just dawned on me that it might be a touch difficult to write an anonymous blog about being the only black guy at an ad agency, when I'm 90% sure there's only three or four of us in the whole city. (and that might be an optimistic estimate.)

[Note to self: Delete local newspaper link.]




More to come tomorrow, I'm sleepy.

Gray 1985 Toyota Corolla

Not in my damn crayon box.

A client, in a meeting I took part in, wanted to name a product color, "Flesh Tone." To which my coworker replied, "Yes, that IS a 'flesh tone."

Respect.

First off, big shout to HighJive for shouting me out on multicultclassics. I now have a comment! w00t!

I’ve been reading multicultclassics for a while, seldom commented, but linked a lot of posts to friends.

So if you’re reading this, be a pal and check it out – here – here – here – here – here or here.

You've had enough chances, now git busy!

Pimp My Deductable.

All I'm saying is...

This changes my plans for the weekend.

As I Pose, In A Mackadocious Stance...

Generally, offices in the advertising industry are very casual. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to work in this field. I’m just not a shirt and tie kind of dude. I like the fact I can step off the elevator with a half-wrinkled 3 for $20 polo, blue jeans and squeeky clean white Nikes and it’s cool.

One of the other pleasures of the office is that I can play music without having to wear headphones. There are a few folks in the office like their music loud. So I get heavy doses of Sabbath, Enya, and obscure Indy rock. And that’s cool.

I play a little bit of everything, myself.

Being a hip-hop head poses a problem though.

No Nas, no Jeezy. (Yes, Jeezy.) Shit, I can’t even play Common or Mos. (That shit ain’t as wholesome as you may think.)

Allow me to digress a moment. You ever notice whenever they have the, “Hip-Hop is destroying America,” segments on tv, people always cite the same three artists as examples of positive hip-hop? Common, Mos & Kweli. Every damn time!

Anyway, I’ve found that listening to hip-hop at work is like listening to hip-hop with your mom in the car. Every now and then I get a little bold and think to myself, “Self, you know you wanna listen to the Clipse. Play Trill!!!”

And that lasts for about 20 seconds.

"Yea dude. 'Bitch, I'm trill, bitch, I'm so trill,' is not exactly the move you wanna make," Self says.

Thank god my golden age collection is so deep.

I can live with myself for blastin’ ‘Ain’t No Half Steppin’ from my cube.

Because, “…and when my pen hits the paper… AWW SHIT!” goes over a lot better than (fill in the lyrics from any song on any album made after Straight Outta Compton.)

Ultra Nut

Don't You Know No Good?

Brothas, please.

Baseball, wimmin and dogs.

Leave 'em alone!

If not for yourself, for all the lone black guys and gals who have to discuss the shit with their coworkers.

Be more constructive with your feedback.

Poker? I don't even know her.

In my quest to fully assimilate into the corporate world, I’ve reacquainted myself with an old hobby and taken up another.

For the past three months, I’ve been driving around with my golf clubs in the trunk. Several years ago, I was really heavy into golf. I shelled out a decent amount of doe for clubs, got some silly ass shoes and played two to three times a week. About the time I returned to school to finish my degree, I started loosing interest. For one, golf can get pretty expensive, especially if you don’t want to play crap courses. Secondly, all of my old golfing buddies and family weren’t around anymore. So my clubs had been sitting in the spare bedroom, chillin’ in a b-boy stance. But ever since I started this gig, I’ve found that golf is as important to business as smokin’ weed and Madden is to layabouts.

I’ve also taken up Texas Hold ‘Em Poker. And I must say, I’ve been missing the boat on this one. It’s a fun game. Prior to Poker, I had two games. Spades and Tonk. During my first stint in college, Spades took the place of going to class and studying and Tonk paid for my meals when my food card ran out.

Last week I had a couple of games after work with coworkers. The first one was for fun. The second was for loot. My lesson for the week: trying to be one of the guys cost 10 bucks.

Awesome

Fresh for '07, you suckazzzzzzzz

So this is my new blog. I still feel the same. I thought that once I started a blog I would have a slight tingle in my nether-regions. No such tingling. Woe. Anyway, for anyone who has taken the time to visit my latest stop on the information superhighway, (I’m old) I’d like to take a moment to explain the genesis, concept and purpose of this blog.

The idea for doing this blog came to me one day when I did some repugnant ass shit. I, no doubt, lost a few points on my personal black-o-meter. Not thinking, in the middle of a conversation with a coworker about a lengthy phone call I had with an acquaintance, I said THAT word. Yea. Actually, I’m not 100% sure I said it, but I’m pretty sure I did. Sure enough to want to kick my own ass… twice. So after I realized what I did, I felt the need to vent my shame to somebody. (I also probably felt the need to be reprimanded) But alas, not another Negro in sight. Then I got kind of pissed.

The second reason I started this blog is because working in downtown Cleveland frustrates me. I told a friend of mine’s father, that some days, driving into downtown, you could swear you are in Johannesburg, South Africa.

The final reason is that I just wanted to start a damn blog because I don’t write recreationally nearly as much as I should.

So The Franklin Blog was born. Franklin. The lone black kid in Peanuts. In a very real way, I’m not that far off professionally. I work in an industry where black men are few and far between. In a city, where the distance is probably much farther.

This blog is just a way for me to vent on the times I get that “Franklin” feeling, comment on whatever and share random stuff I find on the internets to anybody who happens to visit or do a Google search on “Amazing Ass Naked Pictures of Kerry Washington, Jessica Alba and Gabrielle Union Swimming in Buttery Grits." Yummy.

Welcome.

Game on.