The streets behave so much differently in the absence of traffic. They possess their stillness fully. You can cross the road anywhere you like, not just at the corners. I didn’t see anyone else. No joggers. No dogs on leashes, sniffing at the wet ground. The rain left a thin flesh of mud on the sidewalks, and since I didn’t come across even little cat prints or bike tire marks—I knew I was the first creature to emerge into the day. The first surveyor of the storm. The loneliness of it all soothed me.

If you like hunting, you take your kids hunting. If they don’t like it, whatever. But you showed them who you are, and you led them to a new experience. Let the chips fall where they may.In my case, I like music. I like playing it, studying it, listening to it, talking about it. I can’t be myself without showing my love for music. Thankfully, my family loves music, too. (Kinda hard not too.)We don’t always like the same albums or songs, or maybe we just aren’t in the mood for the same type of jams. But there’s always music playing at my house, and Nola, my 13 months-old child is my biggest enthusiast-in-crime.

Karate is an under-the-radar three-piece group known for its curious blending of Slowcore, Blues and Jazz. The music has a distinct garage-rock vibe and most probably wouldn’t find “studio perfection” in the band’s recordings. Steely Dan is clean. Karate is dirty. The types of rock that the inject their Jazz into are wholly different.

I buried one of my brothers this weekend. My mother only had one child, but her sister had two who she would rent out to the family. So, he is technically my cousin, though if I could cobble together the human and spiritual idea of what I believe a brother was and should be, this man was it. He grew up with me, got in trouble with me (Your Honor, I maintain that it was mostly him getting me in trouble, but I accept my role as an accomplice), and protected me in the very same way an older sibling should.

Laws like Florida's Don't Say Gay Bill or Alabama's copy cat attempt to introduce legislation that is literally its version of "Wait, hold my beer" where it one-ups Florida in an attempt to outlaw and criminalize gender affirming medications for trans kids are very similar tactics that are and were used to chip away at the protections of Roe V Wade. Many do not get passed, but enough do to have negative long term consequences. Additionally, it creates an environment of constant attacks on LGBTQ+ folks and Allies. We operate from a place of scarcity and defensive tactics and it is EXHAUSTING. It makes it hard to continue to rally, to fight, to exist.

Woods and his cohorts (but especially Woods) do not rap like other rappers. The phrases end with rhymes, sure; but the delivery is only slightly tethered to the groove. Like an expert jazz soloist, the performers’ cadences wander off time only to land seamlessly back into place. The lyrics are not typical either. They eschew conventional storytelling. Instead, they get the point via imagery, turns of phrase, and esoteric references.

I don’t wish to write about Dilla’s life. (That’s already been done better than I ever could, several times over.) But I do wish talk about the utter genius of J DIlla and how one of his albums, in particular, affected my life. If I had to choose an all-time favorite album, it would be his swan song Donuts.

And there it is, what brought me here, the call that pulled me under: If only I could keep it like this. If only I could sit here and talk to you, deep into all night, despite sand fleas and sunburn, long after the days have run out from beneath all numbers for them.

You hear that? That faint noise, crest over the evening sky? That’s the sound of NBA arenas in Canada because they aren’t letting anyone near Toronto due to COVID and the only living thing they are letting into Canada right now is beavers. It’s also a little past the halfway point of the NBA season, the All-Star game is this weekend, and we STILL don’t know what to make of the Lakers. I take that back, we know. It’s just not good.

When I listen to The Weeknd’s new album, I don’t gather that he is ruminating on Death. I think he’s using the it as a literary device. I mean, what is Death if not transformation. It’s a change from being into not being. Or perhaps from living on this plane of existence to living in an afterlife. Change, symbolized as death, is the dominant theme from this record.

And so we were sitting there in that awesome interior, drinking Polish beer, and for some reason (actually no, you wanna know the reason? we’re both nerds and software developers) we decided to think about some absolutely random startup ideas. Something simple, that we could create real fast, not even necessarily for money, could be just some nice little tools that are useful for people. Among these ideas were: an app for drinking buddies (what else could you think about when you’re sitting in a bar).

What I remember about Ronnie Hersh, is that he looked like a 42 year old car salesman at 13. He slicked back his hair, and wore polo shirts with khakis and one of those weird fabric and metal looped belts that absolutely do not work. I have no memory of what his parents served for dinner or of a single topic of conversation or of literally a single other event that transpired. Except that he has an enormous battleship on a high shelf of his wall. Next to that was a white and brown teddy bear. Those must have been the first things I saw because my memory only houses two other objects: A small TV and a SNES.

I first heard Minus the Bear’s debut album in high school, probably sophomore year. Highly Refined Pirates was Highly Fucking Cool Summertime Music. It literally feels like summer. In many ways, the track list was the soundtrack to my adolescence. At first, it was something my developing mind considered movie-like. Carefree nights, maybe on a beach or at a house party. Beautiful ladies amidst (cuz they weren’t women yet). A little bit of alcohol (or a lot, depending on the song) to set the mood; perhaps something more interesting. But the thing is: I’d never had alcohol, drugs or sex. And in fact, I didn’t even really desire to live with reckless abandon.

It’s daylight-savings time, we are about a quarter of the way through the NBA season, and I still have no idea what time it is or what to make of the Lakers, SO, it’s time to sit back and take a look at the season so far and ponders the questions that may leave us at unfulfilled answers. Allow me to be your guide though these vast new realities that I just made up. Follow me and dare to face the unknown. All while pondering the question: What If….?

Watching porn and having sex are not problematic behaviors. I see time and time again folks talking about sex and porn addiction in a very blase manor to shame and guilt others. Any behavior can be problematic, but sexual desires, kinks, fantasies, etc. are normal. As humans we are sexual beings and to explore it in a healthy way is okay. As long as your experiences are consensual, everything will be okay.

It’s that the time of the year again. It’s the time for End Of Year Lists. Frankly, I’m always a little mixed on these sorts of articles. Sure, they’re a great way to remind readers of noteworthy works that may have gotten lost in the fray. Many times I’ve read a “Best Films of” list and thought, “THAT’S RIGHT! I’VE BEEN MEANING TO WATCH THAT!” So, in that way, they’re nice. But there’s also certain clickbait-ness to them. “See if your favorite biopic made the cut- or the cutting room floor!” Nevertheless, Year End Lists are here to stay, and I’m (sort of) going to participate in the trend.

By the time you read this, it will probably be just slightly passed the first week of the 2021 NBA season, and what better way to prep us for all the uncertainty of a barely functioning-COVID existence to take a nonsensical look at some alternate universes and scenarios for basketball as we know. Allow me to be your guide though these vast new realities that I just made up. Follow me and dare to face the unknown. All while pondering the question: What If….?

When it happened to me, I didn’t get out, at least not at first. Predictably, the reality of domestic violence is far more complicated. The thought, “I should leave him” occurred to me at least a hundred times before I ever attempted it, and I even tried to end the relationship twice before I was able to sever it for good. It takes an average of seven attempts for a victim of intimate partner violence to get out of the relationship. It isn’t easy. When it comes down to it, I think we need to reframe the question.

Injury Reserve’s By the Time I Get to Phoenix and Tirzah’s Colourgrade are both exercises in the unconventional. One sounds like it came out of left field and the other sounds like it came from outside the stadium. Both are unique creations, and their creators are standing on the shoulders of ancestors, parents, and kids that graduated a few years before you.

I no longer remember the first time I viewed porn, but I do remember having a birthday party at my great-grandparents house as an adolescent and hanging out in the basement with a few friends where we came across an old box of playboys. We sat together going through them in amazement, especially since we were still in our awkward and gawky phases. They were fascinating.