Profunksticated

Profunksticated has heaved a sigh of relief. His daughter’s fine (as fine as one can be) after being hit by a car last week. She was sore but fine.

We had to take her to the ER close to home Sunday night because she complained of pains in her side. She was X-rayed and diagnosed with a clinical rib fracture. It was a hairline break that X-ray cannot detect. The diagnosis was based on her feeling pain while breathing.

She saw another doc yesterday and was having her left foot X-rayed. No result yet.

I read the police report of the accident. It could have been so much worse than it was. She was in a crosswalk, three-quarters of the way across the street, when an 18-year-old kid driving a 1998 Plymouth Neon hit her. My daughter’s head shattered the windshield. She was thrown about 15 feet. The impact knocked her laced sneakers off her feet. Amazingly, she was conscious throughout the ordeal.

The driver said he never saw her and was doing 25 mph. I don’t believe that for a second. The police issued the kid a summons for failing to yield to a pedestrian. His auto insurance rates are gonna go through the roof, what with his being licensed in the high-premium state that is New Jersey.

I get choked up when I think of how much worse it could have been. She’s gonna be sore for more than a minute. But thank God she’s all right.

Today, her mother takes her to see a personal injury lawyer. I’ll let you know of the outcome.

Peace.

Profunksticated has just gotten word that his 20-year-old daughter was struck by a car on her New Jersey college campus Thursday night. She’s fine, she got bumps and bruises and four stitches in her head.

She said she was dropped off near her dorm about 11:30 p.m., looked both ways to cross a street and thought she had a clear path. She was in the crosswalk and was three-quarters of the way across the street when she was hit.

One of my daughter’s friends had happened by and saw her lying on the pavement. They called 911 to summon police and paramedics. The driver, who I believe is a student, had stopped and was issued a summons by police. He’s got some serious explaining to do as to how he struck a pedestrian in a crosswalk with a motor vehicle.

Meanwhile, her friends called The Spouse, who arrived there with my two sons about 2 a.m. Together they stayed with my daughter in the ER until she was discharged at about 7:30.

I only found out about this shortly after 9 a.m., after I had gotten to my office down here in northern Virginia. I was freaked out. So I’m traveling back home, where I will meet them later today. No way could I be in an office 150 miles from home knowing my daughter was injured.

I did speak to my daughter, who said she was conscious throughout the incident and was even cracking jokes. That only made me feel marginally better. Thank God she wasn’t more seriously injured or even killed.

Let’s put it like this: If this were much more serious, I wouldn’t be sitting here at my home away from home writing this post. There probably won’t be much that I can do other than provide moral support. She’ll be following up with a doctor early next week. And yeah, we’re hiring a lawyer (I’m soooo sick of dealing with laywers).

I ask that you all say a prayer for my daughter’s full recovery as well as for the rest of us, including her somewhat crazed dad.

Peace.

Profunksticated has found he likes to do the electric slide — it’s the only line dance he knows — but only to certain songs. One of them was Joy and Pain by Maze Featuring Frankie Beverly.

Yup, Maze and Snoop Dogg were the headliners at the NBA Players Assocation Gala in New Orleans’ Ernest N. Morial Convention Center this past All Star weekend. There was something about doing the electric slide to Joy and Pain that felt like heaven on earth. For a few minutes there, just about all my problems and issues were light years away as we all moved in unison.

A friend and I later managed to snag spots in the front row prior to Snoop’s generally obscenity-laced performance, when Tyrese helped to warm up the already hot crowd. When Snoop finally took the stage, I took a few photos with a digital camera I had bought on Canal Street, as well as about 30 seconds of video. You’d have thought Snoop was the second coming of Jesus the way some of those folks carried on.

I’m no big fan of Mr. Dogg (aka Calvin Broadus), but I always did like the cut Gin and Juice. By the time he broke into that rap, my camera’s battery went dead. Damn!

There had to have been about 7,000 people in that cavernous convention hall. Many NBA ballers were there. I was able to make out guys like Shaquille O’Neal and Magic Johnson. I even spotted the former baseballer Dave Winfield sitting at the same table with Magic.

But I’m sure I missed a lot of those guys, since they’re younger, I’m older and I simply don’t recognize as many of them as I did a few years back. Let’s face it, I’m not the sports fan I once was. Life keeps getting in the way.

But for a few moments, life took a back seat as I “Slided” to the lovely beat of Joy and Pain. I was feeling a whole lot more joy.

Peace.

Profunksticated is, as he writes this post, is attending an NBA All-Star Weekend party hosted by Magic Johnson and Alonzo Mourning.

Among folks he’s spotted were Vivica Fox, Gabrielle Union, Danny Glover, Michael Jordan and Julius “Dr. J” Erving. Most participated in a celebrity 8-ball pool tournament.

I arrived in New Orleans about 12 hours ago. The guys and I this afternoon took a tour of the Katrina-ravaged areas of the city such as the Ninth Ward. For a couple of the guys, it’s their first time in New Orleans and they wanted to see the formerly flooded areas for themselves.

Before this party, which came at us out of the blue, we walked along the infamous Bourbon Street in the French Quarter. More to come. But for now, a brother is tired.

Peace.

One more day until Profunksticated makes the trip to the Big Easy for NBA All-Star weekend. It’s been five years since I’ve been to the NBA Players Association party, when it was held in Atlanta back in 2003.

The last time I was in New Orleans, by the way, was right after Hurricane Katrina in 2005. I was there to document the recovery work being done by my former employer. It included a chopper ride from Baton Rouge to New Orleans. Trust me, I could smell that rancid floodwater even at an altitude of 1,000 feet.

I also stood at the spot where the levy along the 17th Street Canal burst, the break where choppers were shown on TV dropping sandbags. Overall, the assignment was not fun. I got to see up close and personal corporate politics at its worst. This firm is based in Louisiana, so a lot of the work was managed from the company headquarters.

As one guy from my local office who went down there noted months after the fact, “You know what I noticed? The fear (among the staff there).” I wholeheartedly agreed.

This trip promises to be a big improvement.

Speaking of corporate politics, I came across this blog by a guy who advocates an asshole-free workplace. Check it out.

I also want to direct you to a gut-wrenching post from fellow blogger K-unwrapped, who documented a first-time meeting with her biological father. I won’t comment.

I’m curious. Are there any lurkers out there? If so leave me a comment.

Peace.

Profunksticated has just finished watching the Super Bowl, which had to be among the best he’s ever witnessed. Congratulations to the New York Giants, who beat the vaunted New England Patriots, 17-14, killing the Patriots’ bid for an undefeated season. The 1972 Miami Dolphins, the only other National Football League team to pull off the perfect season, can breathe easier now that their record is safe for one more year.

As you know, the Super Bowl is a showcase for offbeat commercials. I found them mostly lame.

Until early in the fourth quarter. Lo and behold, I see the megolomanical baby Stewie Griffin from Family Guy and Underdog, the original rapping, rhyming canine superhero, dueling in New York’s concrete canyons for a bottle of Coca-Cola.

Stewie and Underdog were depicted as those giant Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade balloons, going after a similarly inflated Coke bottle. However, the helium-filled beverage ended up in the hands of the balloon version of Good Ol’ Charlie Brown.

I loved Underdog, both the animated and inflated versions, as a kid. So this commercial is my hands-down winner. Check it and the other spots here.

Also, I mentioned in an earlier post that I mentored a young lady on refining a business plan for a local competition. I’m happy to say my mentee’s business plan placed third, netting her a cool $500. Yeah, baby! Hope she uses those ends to seed her enterprise, which is a desktop publishing business.

Peace.

Profunksticated made the mistake today of asking his mother over the phone, tongue firmly planted in cheek, if she knew any cut-rate hit men. Mom, who’s in her early 70s, wasn’t quite hip to my query.

“What’s a hit man?”

“Someone who kills people for a living.”

“Why would you even say something like that?”

“Because I’m ready to have someone do in (my spouse’s bosses).”

“You should watch what you’re saying because you’re on the public domain.” (I think she meant airwaves, since I was talking on a cell phone.)

“OK, Mom, I was kidding. If anyone is listening, if any of these folks do end up dead, I had nothing to do with it.”

Mom and I discussed the most recent episode in the drama The Spouse vs. The Idiots Who Seemingly Cannot Get Through Their Thick Heads That Her Back Injury Is Work-Related: The Board of Education for which my wife is still technically employed voted during a public meeting 5-4 to deny her extended medical leave. In other words, report to work or resign. Or we fire you.

This vote happened despite the fact that her doctor has written her out for the remainer of the school year. I was livid.

Meanwhile, her lawyer told her that for her bosses to fire her, they’d need to hold a hearing. At that point, she can make her case that she was injured by a student who pushed her violently her back. She could also make the case that this incident was an outgrowth of her being placed in a classroom setting full of difficult-to-manage “special needs” students with no aide, as required by law.

This ongoing shit is pissing me off to no end. God knows it.

Better news: It looks like this firm I’m working for will hire me full time. A manager told me he wants to bring me aboard, and has gotten concurrence from his boss. It will be a process, since I came in through a personnel agency. For now, that manager told me to keep coming in. Remember, this assignment was supposed to end Feb. 1, which was yesterday.

I remain skeptical. Until I’m officially on, I’m not gonna gloat. Hell, I’m gonna remain wary even if am aboard as a full-timer. You readers of this blog know how I feel about the workplace.

Even better news: I’m going to New Orleans in a couple of weeks to soak up the hip-hop flavored ambiance that envelops the annual Bacchanal known as NBA All-Star Weekend. The plan is to hit the NBA Players Association gala, an event I’ve attended in New York, Washington, Philadelphia and Atlanta. Yes, I have a connection to this group, but I cannot give too much away.

At this party, I’ve witnessed performances by acts such as Frankie Beverly and Maze, Wyclef Jean, Snoop Dogg, Chaka Khan, The Gap Band, Amerie and LL Cool J. Not to mention getting up-close looks at the ballers themselves (only the Washington Monument is taller than some of these brothers), some celebrity types and the groupies and call girls that hang out there.

Because I decided late to go (I booked my flight this past week), my connection told me there’s a slim chance I might not get into the party. That’s OK, I said, I’ll find other stuff to do.

Nonetheless, I’ll be reporting from the Crescent City as your intrepid correspondent. Yeahhh! Thinking of this upcoming trip puts me in a better mood. I no longer feel like ensuring certain people get got.

Peace.