Even Superwoman could use a foot rub once in a while

Like so many people across the world, I have been watching the David Petraeus "scandal" with interest. But my interests are of course, different from others. While most wonder "how could that have happened?" in regards to Petraeus's long-standing marriage and his biographer's marriage and all the other professional perspectives, I look at as "how did this happen?" as in, how did the four-star general put the moves on his biographer?

According to the most recent reports, Paula Broadwell was a Superwoman. An intelligence officer in the Army Reserves, a West Point grad, an doctoral student, a Harvard grad, a marathon runner, a career advisor, a wife, and a mother of two. And an author of the biography of one of our most famous living four-star generals. All this by the time she was 37 (correction, 42).

I'm 35, I don't consider myself that much of a slacker, but I haven't done half the things Paula Broadwell has done. And I am surely not going to catch up to her achievements in the next few years. If I consider myself a wee bit of an overachiever, Paula Broadwell is the definition of an insane overachiever.

But even the most motivated overachievers need a break. They need a moment or two to relax and let their uber-competitive guard down. And that's when I bet the general made his move.

(Setting: the general's private quarters, somewhere in Iraq or Afghanistan.)

General Petraeus sees a stressed out Paula Broadwell.

Here, have a glass of wine with me.

It's been a rough day. I see you are working hard. Why don't you take your shoes off?

Isn't that better?

Come here. Let me rub your shoulders.

You are so tense....

(Queue shoulder rub, which leads to the inevitable blah, blah, blah. You get the picture. This isn't a Fanfic site.)

The deed either went down like that or it went down like Tenacious D in the classic ditty "Double Team".

Or maybe, just maybe, it went down like Dark Helmet imagined it would:

For Grandma Lortz

Unfortunately, once again I am compelled to write about someone I will sadly never see again. In June, I wrote a tribute to my mother’s mother, my Grandma Walicki, after her death in the last days of May. Now, less than half a year later, I am still in Afghanistan and writing a tribute to my other grandmother, my Grandma Lortz, who passed away November 5^th.

Grandmothers come in all types. From as far back as I can remember, Grandma Lortz was the “fun” grandmother, the grandmother always took us places, let us run around, and get away with things we wouldn’t normally be allowed to do. As we saw her and my grandfather (who passed away in 1995) far less, there wasn’t the hands-on discipline and knowledge of our family rhythms that there was with my mother’s parents, who always lived much closer.

When I was young, my grandparents on my father’s side lived in Queens, in the same house where my father spent his teenage years. I don’t remember much about their house in Queens, except that it fit the stereotype of what a grandparents’ home was. There were things in the house from years before and it had a very “past” feel to it. Being that it was the early to mid-80s, this put most of their décor in the conservative appearance of the 1950s and 1960s. For lack of a better term, it was a typical grandparents’ house in Queens.

In 1985 or so, my Grandparents Lortz moved to upstate New York, to a little town called Olive Bridge, near Kingston, NY, about an hour and a half north of New York City, and in a completely different world from my normal urban comfort. There wasn’t much in Olive Bridge. Our visits there were my first experiences visiting a small town where the malls, shopping centers, and basically anything outside of human necessity was a long drive away. For a suburban kid such as myself, waking up to see deer and turkey roaming the back yard was an interesting experience. But even though it was nothing like I was used to, I always liked the quaintness of the house in Olive Bridge.

One of my fondest memories of visiting my Grandparents in Olive Bridge was in 1993 when my Grandmother took my brother and me to Cooperstown, NY, to the Baseball Hall of Fame. Although we didn’t have much time to sightsee as my Grandfather wasn’t well and couldn’t be left alone for long, we had a great time touring the Hall of Fame and checking out the sights of the baseball Mecca of the world.

That was one of the things I will remember the most about my Grandma Lortz, that she was a big baseball fan. Having grown up in Brooklyn, she was a raised on baseball, and when the Mets came into existence in 1962, her and my grandfather latched on to the new team and became lifelong fans. Visiting my grandparents always meant watching or listening to the Mets game and talking about Doc Gooden, Keith Hernandez, Gary Carter, Darryl Strawberry, and the rest of the Mets of the 80s and early 90s. I remember during the aforementioned ’93 trip to Olive Bridge sitting next to my grandfather as he listened to the Mets on his walkman and relayed that the Mets finally won a game for beleaguered pitcher Anthony Young, who had amassed the longest losing streak in Major League history.

A few years after she took me to Cooperstown, Grandma Lortz came to visit us in Florida and with my newly acquired driver's license, I took her across Florida to the Ted Williams Museum when it was in Hernando, Florida, before it moved to its current location in Tropicana Field. From what I remember, she enjoyed her time reliving the moments of baseball past. I don’t think I realized how cool it was at the time to have a baseball fan for a grandmother, but looking back, it was pretty awesome. And I guess it was because of her and my grandfather that my dad became a Mets fan and then passed a love of baseball on to me.

Sadly, those 20 year memories are among the last I have interacting with my Grandma Lortz. In the late 1990s, shortly after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Before long, her mental capacity diminished to the point that she barely recognized her grandchildren and then eventually lost recognition of her own children. About this time, I had become an adult and my trips to New York were few and far between. But every time I visited, in 1999 and then in 2003 for weddings, my parents and other family members told me to say good-bye to my Grandmother, as it would probably be the last time I see her.

The last time I saw my Grandma Lortz was at my cousin Jan’s wedding in 2011. The care home she lived in arranged to bring her to the wedding so we could take a few pictures with the whole family. Although Grandma had her eyes open, there was no reaction to anything around her. She was there in person, but as far as we could tell, definitely not in mind.

Life is about moments. You, your family, and your loved ones only have so many together. Losing both of my grandmothers while away in Afghanistan has reaffirmed to me that I made a great decision a few weeks ago when I flew across the world for my cousin Jill’s wedding. The trip allowed me to not only see my family, but to share in moments and events that will last for lifetimes. Because you never know when those lifetimes will end.

Rest in peace, Lillian Lortz. You will be missed.

2/3 done with my Afghanistan adventure

Greetings all,

It is time for another update. I am happy to say I am now 2/3 of the way through my adventure in Afghanistan. Unlike the last letters, in which time blended together in a Groundhog’s Day-like gumbo, the last few months have been eventful and full of interesting times, especially the latter half.

September to October more or less followed the routine of the months prior, as days were days were days. Typical of most of my time here, month seven disappeared under the normal routine of work, sleep, and food, with a consistent smattering of gym time mixed in, which I am actually quite proud of. I have been notoriously poor at maintaining a regular gym schedule over the last few years, so to have gone every Tuesday and Thursday through August and September is something I am hanging my hat on.

(Unfortunately, my co-workers typically didn’t share in my athletic accomplishment, as many were fitness buffs who attested to never miss gym days in years. To each his own, I guess.)

On a positive note, month seven also saw my account of my poor attempt at comedy get published on one of the most popular comedy blogs on the web. Once I get settled back in the states, I definitely want to get back into the comedy thing, so to have a post on Splitsider is a big deal. And as compensation, many of my friends or fellow Tampa funny people said they enjoyed the jokes I cited in the article.

Whereas the gym and getting published were the highlights of month seven, such accomplishments were small potatoes in month eight. Month eight was the most exciting, fun month I have had since I started this journey way back in March.

Two days after my eight month started I left on vacation for the states. My goal was to traverse the globe, going from Kabul to Dubai to Atlanta to Washington, DC for my cousin Jill’s wedding. And as an added bonus, I planned to surprise my parents and brother, who were also going to be at the wedding. Mid-way through my trip, however, I hit a slight snag, which despite my initial worry actually turned out to add excitement to the trip.

Due to a horrible 5.5 hour delay getting out of Kabul on a civilian airline, I missed my initial flight from Dubai to the US. Having to wait 24 hours before the next flight, I spent my wasted day sightseeing in Dubai. From what I saw, Dubai is an impressive city, part Las Vegas and part Miami with an Arabic flavor. Having missed my original flight, it was “en shallah” (God willing) that I would make the next flight out of the Middle East. Fortunately, the fates were on my side and I did.

(Check out my pictures of Dubai here.)

After a change over in Atlanta, I arrived in DC a few hours before my parents. I was told what hotel they were in, so of course I got a room in the same place. A few hours after my arrival, I went to the front desk to ask what room they were in. With the hotel clerk escorting me, I went to their room for the big surprise.

The surprise worked like a charm. They had absolutely no clue I was arriving. My brother let out a “holy shit, my brother is here” and my mother gave me a huge hug.

Following the surprise, the next few days were a whirlwind of wedding bacchanalia and shindiggery. The Monday following the wedding I flew to Orlando to spend the second week of my vacation in Florida. I surprised my little nephew (“What the heck? I thought you were gone!”) and spent a day with my grandfather. Then it was off to St. Pete Beach for a few days to see some friends, see a hip-hop concert, and stay in a relaxing beach resort before flying back to Afghanistan.

(My pics of St. Pete Beach.)

If you measure a vacation by its time, you will always come up short. But if you measure it by the goals of seeing people and doing things, then my only-13-day vacation was absolutely perfect. I did what I wanted and saw who I wanted. Of course, I would have loved to spend more time in the Tampa/St. Pete area and see everyone I know. But in order not to spread myself too thin and actually decompress, I had to cut corners in who I saw, which meant leaving a lot of good friends without seeing me. But March is right around the corner and I will be home before I know it and with that comes the ability to see everyone.

Just before I left Afghanistan, I was told another office on another base needed my services. Because I had planned my vacation months in advance, the military leadership told me to go and enjoy myself and worry about the new position when I got back. So when I returned to Afghanistan I didn’t even unpack. I packed my other belongings and within two days was whisked to another base where I will spend my final now four months in Afghanistan.

(Here are my pics of my old base.)

Having been here two weeks already, I’ve learned this base is far different than my previous home. This is a predominantly American base with US military personnel, whereas my other base was a majority international. In two weeks I have yet to say hello to anyone in any other language but English (I fear my Polish and Dari will get rusty soon!).

Working with the US military also means remembering rank and proper protocol. In the international environment, with the many foreign ranks and hierarchies, everyone called everyone by their first name. In a solely US-locale, rank becomes a much more important guidepost for social structure and interaction.

Although I’m going to miss working with my international colleagues, my current base is much larger and has much more amenities and things to do. So it is different – not better, not worse, just different. And its "home" to the second part of my Afghanistan adventure.

On a final and sad note, I learned my other grandmother passed away last week. I should have a tribute up to her soon as I did with my other grandmother who passed away in May. It's hard to believe I came out here with three living grandparents and will go home to one. But as I mentioned, I did see and spend time with my grandfather and that's what counts. Not the quantity of people left, but the quality of time you spend with them.

Now that we wind down the year, I know the days will go quickly. Thanksgiving is right around the corner, then Christmas, then New Year’s, and with any luck, I’ll be home on or around St. Patrick’s Day. Suddenly, that doesn’t seem so far away.

Nanowrimo 2012 from Afghanistan

As I did in 2011, I have entered the National Novel Writer's Month extravaganza. For those who might not be familiar, Nanowrimo is an online rallying of writers with the goal to each pen 50,000 words in a month and have a good start on a novel.

Of course, here in Afghanistan, I am not expecting to write 50,000 words. I didn't do it last year when I was unemployed and had all the time in the world, although I came sorta close. Here, I just don't have the time. I work 12 hours a day, six days a week and six hours on my "day off". I do like to occasionally do things like go to the gym, watch a little TV, read a book, or (gasp!) get some sleep. I want to more with my life than sit in front of computer at work and then in my room.

So with 50K words out of the realm of possibility, I am shooting to reach that total on a story that on November 1st was at 21,500. That's 29,000 new words. That's a little less than 1,000 words a night. Possible, I think.

(Yes, I know NaNoWriMo is supposed to be used to start new projects. I am making an exception for myself. I am using the site for the same purpose though - to push myself as a writer and keep track of the progress.)

It's gonna be tough. There will be no room for error, no room for lack of discipline, no room for wasting the night on social media, and no room for wasting words on other sites.

I will still have a few posts on this site. My 8 months in Afghanistan post should be up mid-month, for example. And I will probably have a post or two on the latest Bus Leagues Baseball book.

Anyway, 29,000 words in 30 days. In Afghanistan. While working 12 hours a day.

By the way, I think might be the only one in Afghanistan doing NaNoWriMo. I searched the site for anyone else here doing the intense writing exercise to no avail. I hope I am not the only one.

Thoughts on Music in Afghanistan

Lately I've been reading about music in Afghanistan. I've been looking at both sides - music listened to by traditionalists who want to hold people down and the Western-influenced music played by those who want progress in Afghanistan.

On one hand, there is the music of the Taliban, often called "taranas" or "nasheeds". These musical forms have been around for hundreds of years and remain relatively unchanged, becoming almost hymns for conservative movements.

Nasheeds are Arabic sung poems that focus on the warrior and praising him for his actions and deeds. There are a lot of nasheeds throughout the web. Many are sung without music, in a chanting type form. A Pakistan militant group called Jaish-e Mohammad has over 30 tracks on archive.org to sample, for example. Taranas are also music-less songs, but are more Persian in origin. A 2011 article on Afghanistan-Today.com states that taranas are known for "the nationalistic and religious zeal of the songs, which also draw on Pashtun folklore and stirring family images". According to the article, the Taliban have been mass producing taranas and spreading them though a cassette tape underground in a huge public relations blitz.

I wonder if these cassette tapes are filled with taranas of different artists, or just one per tape. How many songs are on a tape? Are they more like albums or mixtapes? Are there known distributors pumping out volumes of different taranas out of mosques? Are they like underground DJs back in the early days of hip-hop? How does a tarana singer get known? Is it all based on word of mouth or is there a who's who in distribution?

Meanwhile, there is another form of underground music in Afghan - hip-hop and heavy metal influenced by the Westerners who have been in Afghanistan for the last 12 years. American troops and other people from around the world have brought their Metallicas and Jay-Zs with them to Afghanistan and shared these songs with Afghans they come in contact with. And many Afghan youth, hungry for new culture and excited to learn about the world outside of Afghanistan, have grown interested in western music to the point where they have formed groups and bands and grown fan bases of people who want to hear them. Unlike the taranas or nasheeds, this music is carrying on the Western tradition of musical evolution and bringing with it creativity, a broad sense of "newness", openness, and, to use a former Soviet term, "glasnost".

Afghanistan hip-hop's central online location is the aptly named AfghanHipHop.com. On the site there is a list of Afghan MCs and DJs. I am not sure however how old the list is, or whether those listed are DJs and MCs who live in Afghanistan or those from Afghanistan plying their craft elsewhere around the world. According to a quick internet search, the most popular Afghan MC is DJ Besho. A 2006 BBC news article infers that DJ Besho lived in Germany, but did have a contact with an Afghan TV station to play his music videos.

Unfortunately, it seems as of 2006 DJ Besho looked to some bad examples of American MCs for someone at the forefront of a growing hip hop movement. BBC News quotes Besho as saying he was highly influenced by 50 Cent as well as 2Pac. 2Pac could be worse, but I hope that the influence is early conscious 2Pac, not the Thug Life later-era 2Pac. But the fact that Besho talks about how he wants girls shaking their ass in his videos is not a good sign.

I wish DJ Besho had been influenced by more socially lyrical MCs such as Common, Lupe Fiasco, Nas, or even Boots Riley. Would it be too much to ask for him to be the Public Enemy of Afghanistan? One of the Afghans I work with said to me "Mike, in Afghanistan, life is always stressful." There are things that happen here that make 1990s South Central LA look like a church picnic. Everyday I read reports of buses exploding, suicide bombers, kidnappings, murders, oppression, drugs, etc. That's perfect subject matter for hip-hop lyrics. Patriotic songs and songs about God are great, and are also seen in the US (see Toby Keith), but hip-hop has always been about communicating social situations - as Chuck D said, it is the "black CNN".

Although DJ Besho is perhaps the most popular MC from Afghanistan, the most recent report on Afghan hip-hop is perhaps the most promising. According to the Associated Press, Afghanistan now has their first female rapper, a 23-year old named Sosan Firooz. In the AP story, Firooz is being threatened for life for rapping about life and conditions of a woman in Afghanistan. As Firooz rhymes and sings about injustice and freedom, her family has to protect her from those who want to stop her. The article ends by stating that although her computer sometimes doesn't work, and she doesn't have money to make CDs, she will not stop making music.

Hip-hop is not the only emerging form of Western music being played by the youth in Afghanistan. Heavy metal is also gaining fans. According to a Reuters article written last June, heavy metal is filling the gap most hip-hop is not. Metal musicians in Afghanistan are singing about frustration and war and societal ills. While Firooz rhymes in one Kabul neighborhood, other Western-influenced musicians living in Kabul have created a "school" where young Afghans can play and learn the art of metal. Unfortunately, like Firooz and any other aspiring Afghan Western-influenced musicians, the young metalheads have to take refuge in Kabul and stay away from the more conservative, dangerous rest of the country. Many must even must lie to their families about their hobbies and hide their interests from those who call their music "satanic" or "Un-Islamic".

However, staying in Kabul has it's advantages. On October 4th, heavy metal bands played as part of Kabul's second ever music festival. Over one hundred Afghans came to see the show and rock out. For the US and Western countries, 100 people might not be much, but for Afghanistan, it could be the start of something huge. To paraphrase Gil Scott-Heron's almost overused line, while the West sees Afghanistan's constant war and military conflict on their news channels, the cultural revolution - pushed forward by those using hip-hop and heavy metal as a vehicle for expression - will not be televised.

The Story of Alien Chili

A few years ago, I worked with someone who claimed to be decended from the infamous Donner Party. According to my co-worker, whereas part of the party turned to cannibalism, another part of the party created a type of bean-less chili to sustain themselves on their travels. My co-worker submitted this long-kept family chili recipe every year in our office chili cook-off.

One year, using a news report that an group of ancient aliens from Africa knew of a distant star in the Sirius star system, I decided to create my own chili legend. My co-worker got the joke, although most others didn't. He laughed, and that's what was important.

Here is the legend behind Dogan Traveler Chili. I don't remember the recipe, so unfortunately this legendary chili will never be made again. Unless the Sirius aliens return.

Dogan Traveler Chili

About a month and a half ago, a group of beings from the Sirius star system visited the Dogan tribe of Mali. These travelers had planned on disguising themselves as members of the tribe, integrating into the culture, and learning about life on Earth.

Unfortunately, the travelers faced numerous difficulties. First of all, they stood nine feet tall, making blending in with a group of humans very difficult. Second, they could not communicate verbally. Because the travelers communicated among themselves via ESP, their vocal abilities had been neglected and were unable of being used. Third, they ate three times the amount of normal human beings, which tragically disrupted the Dogan's delicate food allotment.

After only two days, the Dogans became frustrated with their new guests. Many Dogan people, even those who at first welcomed the beings, began withholding food and treating the travelers with hostility.

Eventually, fights broke out and several alien beings were killed. Knowing their time on Earth was limited and they must make haste of else suffer at the hands of the angry Dogans, the remaining travelers attempted to leave Earth. Their plans failed, however, when they learned their ship had become disabled in the landing. So they did what any self-respecting space traveler would do: they offered to cook for the Dogan tribe.

As could be expected, the culinary skills of the travelers was limited. The only food they know how to make was an intergalactic peace chili traditionally made by the inhabitants of their star system. So the travelers cooked as good a chili as they had ever made before. The Dogan tribe had never had such a good tasting chili. After they were finished, the Dogan tribe invited the travelers to stay for as long as they live. Unbeknownst to the Dogans, inhabitants of the Sirius star system live over 800 Earth years.

The End.

Confessions of a formerly closeted Star Wars Fan

Those who know me or read this blog regularly know I am a big Star Wars fan. I wouldn't say "huge", but definitely "big". I watch the movies regularly, drop Star Wars quotes when I can, read Star Wars books when the fancy strikes me, and have always kept a Yoda Pizza Hut Magic 8-ball figure by my work computer at different jobs over the last six years.

Born in 1977, I was raised on Star Wars. The phenomenon started being a big part of my life when I was knee-high to a Jawa. According to my folks, Empire Strikes Back was among one of the first movies I ever attended. Then my father took me to see Return of the Jedi opening day.

Somewhere along the way, however, things changed. For years I would barely admit being a fan. I wouldn't admit I read several of the first wave of post-movie books. I wouldn't admit to watching the movies regularly, I wouldn't let anyone know I knew a boatload of useless Star Wars trivia, and I wouldn't be caught dead wearing a Star Wars shirt. Only geeks were big Star Wars fans and although I liked the movies, I wasn't a geek. Girls didn't like geeks and most of the girls I met wouldn't dare admit being big Star Wars fans even if they were.

All through junior high, high school, and my four years in the military I suppressed my Star Wars fandom for what could only be called "the sake of fitting in". Like most people who struggle with social acceptance in junior high and high school, I definitely didn't want to be an outcast. In the military, with it's alpha-male heirarchy, sci-movie geekdom is not looked highly upon - although I did hang with some folks who were fans and we did wait in line for three hours to see Episode 1 the night it opened.

In total, outside of seeing the releases and the sequels and reading Shadows of the Empire, I did very, very little to advance my fandom of Star Wars from the age of 14 to my mid-20s. I passed myself as a "normal" fan and suppressed my affection for something I grew up with. Sports and music were much more acceptable and I liked sports and music, so sports and music it was.

In my late 20s, not long after Episode 3 came out, I started to open up to Star Wars again. That's when I began committing my entire weekend to watching Star Wars marathons on Spike and read Vector Prime, the first book to kill off a major Star Wars character. That's also when when I dove back into the Extended Universe and started spending more and more time on Wookieepedia, filling in the gaps in situations and characters that developed in the 10 or so years I was out of the loop.

About this time I also started reading a lot of blogs and other non-professional, independent internet writing. I realized there were a lot of people like me. People who liked sports and Star Wars and music and let all their interests mutually co-exist in their lives. People who also dropped Star Wars references in their writing as they, like me, had been influenced creatively by the mind of George Lucas. People like Jason Fry, blogger at one of my favorite blogs "Fear and Faith in Flushing", a Mets blog heavy on writing and fan perspective and a huge influence on my work at Rays Index.

(I eventually found out Fry is also the author of several Star Wars books such as Star Wars: The Essential Atlas, The Secret Life of Droids, and Star Wars: The Essential Guide to Warfare (yes, a military book about Star Wars!). Did I mention Fry quickly became one of my favorite writers?)

As I was rediscovering what I loved as a kid, the world was becoming cool with geek culture. While shows such as "Big Bang Theory" showed nerds in a semi-positive light (I think I have seen only two episodes ever), websites and popular internet memes based on geek culture grew in popularity. As did the development of online communities where more and more people started talking about their fandom. By the end of the 2000s, "geek", "nerd", and "dork" lost their negative connotation and were usurped by the very people formerly derogatorily described as such. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe society's acceptance pushed me along, or maybe both were gaining the confidence to say "This is what I like. If you don't like it, I don't care."

The culmination of my Star Wars revival occurred in 2010 when I went to Star Wars Celebration V in Orlando. Although I was excited to go, I was a little intimidated upon arriving at the Orange County Convention Center. Again, my fear of being lumped in with "the geeks" and the "socially awkward uber-fans" played tricks on my subconscious. I told myself I was going to check out the convention and observe the fans and that was all. I was an observer, an admirer, but not really part of the community. I didn't think I wanted to be.

I was wrong.

As I wrote in my blog post describing the convention, I had a great time, despite my initial preconceptions. The people there weren't geeks. They were people just like me. People of all ages, races, creeds, colors, species, and planetary systems who had an admiration for Star Wars in some way, shape, or form. Although I was still slightly behind in my knowledge of the entire Star Wars timeline, there was no barrier of wisdom for enjoying the convention. As there were probably people there who had read every book and seen every movie and cartoon, there were probably people there who had only seen the movies. Maybe even less than that. I figured I was probably right around average.

I was an average Star Wars fan.

Also I mentioned in my blog post, my day at the convention ended by seeing Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi with hundreds of other fans. The viewing might have been normal for regular convention goers, but for me it was an awakening. There I was, surrounded by other people who knew these movies and watched them just as I had for over 20 years. After the movies were over, I knew there was no doubt I was part of the Star Wars fan community.

These days, my Pizza Hut Magic 8-Ball Yoda still sits by my work computer screen; I have Jason Fry's latest book sitting on my desk, waiting to be opened; I recently had fellow Rays fans send me a Rays commemorative Star Wars Day shirt;  I am sleeping on old school Star Wars sheets; and I couldn't resist buying an incredibly interesting looking Star Wars bootleg DVD set. I've accepted the fact that I am a Star Wars geek/nerd/uber-fan, even it means taking guff from the still-alpha-male dominated, non-nerd military culture I am working with here in Afghanistan.

Meanwhile, for the rest of the world, Star Wars fans are no longer considered geeks and outcasts and nerds and whatever other insults the "in-crowd" used to throw their way. It is acceptable to be a Star Wars fan as Star Wars is more popular than ever. And as new fans enter the fold, I am proud to say I saw most of the movies opening day/night, own several copies of each movie, have a book shelf of full of Star Wars novels, I've been to a Star Wars convention, and I am a Star Wars fan.

Classic AfroSquad Photoshop Week Day 6

This week I am featuring several humorous photoshops created by the world-famous Snowman of the Afro-Squad. Snowman has been doing these pictures for years and I have been fortunate to be his subject of photoshop on a few occasions. The next few days will feature some of my favorites.

Classic AfroSquad Photoshop Week Day 5

This week I am featuring several humorous photoshops created by the world-famous Snowman of the Afro-Squad. Snowman has been doing these pictures for years and I have been fortunate to be his subject of photoshop on a few occasions. The next few days will feature some of my favorites.

Classic AfroSquad Photoshop Week Day 4

This week I am going to feature several humorous photoshops created by the world-famous Snowman of the Afro-Squad. Snowman has been doing these pictures for years and I have been fortunate to be his subject of photoshop on a few occasions. The next few days will feature some of my favorites.