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There are songs we remember because they perfectly captured a moment. And then some songs somehow outlive the moment entirely.

Those are the records that get rediscovered, sampled, covered, flipped, interpolated, and introduced to an entirely new generation. Sometimes the new version becomes so beloved that people don’t even realize there was an original. And that’s the secret sauce.

Lately, I’ve been tracing the evolution of a couple of those songs.

First, “At Your Best (You Are Love).” The Isley Brothers gave us the original in the ’70s. Aaliyah turned it into something that an entire generation would claim as its own. And its DNA continued showing up in the music that followed, including work from Drake and Frank Ocean.

Then there’s “Summer Madness.”

Kool & The Gang created an instrumental in 1974 that has somehow remained unmistakable for more than 50 years. DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince helped turn its sound into the soundtrack for summertime in the ’90s. Erykah Badu flipped it. And decades later, Jhené Aiko found something new to say over that familiar sound.

Maybe That’s What Makes a Song Timeless

We usually talk about timeless music as if it means a song simply sits there, unchanged, while generation after generation discovers it.

But maybe that’s only half of it.

Sometimes a song becomes timeless because artists keep having conversations with it.

They hear what the generation before them heard, but they also hear another possibility, a different tempo, a new voice, another emotion, a sample tucked underneath a completely different song.

And eventually, one record can hold several generations of memories at once.

So after watching both videos, I’ve got two questions:

Which version of “At Your Best (You Are Love)” belongs to you?

And when you hear “Summer Madness,” which version takes you back first?

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, songs are just too good to leave alone.

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161 years since the last slave was freed 
 you’d think 161 would’ve been all we need.

92 years since Redlining’s first show 
with a bunch of little deserts we call the ghetto.

71 years since Emmett Till was beat to a slime 
Just 6 years ago it was made a hate crime.

161 years since Reconstruction began 
 161 years of sticking it to The Man.

2197 days since Rayshard was shot 
1 Black heap of ashes in a Wendy’s parking lot.

Over 6 years since Breonna Taylor’s fate 
20 shots were fired; she caught 8.

161 years figuring out how to break free 
 6 million ways to die for my friends and me.

56 years since the Migration stopped 
But the wrong side of the Mississippi will still get you got.

11 years since I bought my house, literally on this day 
and I saged it this morning cuz I don’t play.

After 161 years of a life so rough … these 161 words will never be enough.

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, Happy Juneteenth, everyone!

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For starters, anything that isn’t moving is dead, they say. So as far as I’m concerned, it’s the breeze that keeps the outside alive. It can knock the tree off the leaf and Little Stevie off his feet; I love the grin it grins every time we meet.

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One day, I wanted to feel the breeze so bad that I decided to go for a walk. I was alone when I first started, but that was short-lived because not long after I began, I ran into a cardinal. Yeah, a cardinal; like the red bird. They say they’re supposed to be good luck, or whatever, which at first sounded weird to me. But the more I watched her flap, flap, flapping her wings in the breeze the way she does, I started to become a believer.

Then, that little birdie told me a secret; she said that the outside made her feel alive and it was nothing but the breeze that could stoke her high. This bird really was some kinda fly. And I still see her from time to time.

Oh! And there was another time I wanted to feel the breeze so badly that I woke up and bought a damn bike. A red one, at that. It wasn’t all that cheap, but my logic was simple: I figured that even on those days when the breeze didn’t show, I could create it with my own two legs, you know?

And it was a good plan, because sometimes the only thing I can manage to do is simply put one foot in front of the other. Round and round and round, with my cheeks flap, flap, flapping in the wind the way they do. In those moments, I know I’m making something out of nothing… just like an alchemist, I guess. All we can ever do is our best.

And then was yet another time I wanted to feel the breeze so damn bad that I let my sun roof back, rolled the windows down, and threw on some music to take the long way home. It turns out the breeze had more rhythm than me! Not sure why I was surprised, really. My thoughts, the loudest one-man band in the land on any other occasion, became but shrinking violets in the presence of that breeze. “Now that’s alchemy”, I thought to myself.

I stuck my fingers out the window and watched them get to flap, flap, flapping the way they do and I couldn’t help but smile. And as I leaned in, I was reminded of that one boy from that one book who turned into the breeze his damn self.

Actually, I once knew a man named Breeze. And he loved that one book. In fact, I still know a man named Breeze, and he still loves that one book. My only guess is that it makes him feel alive too.

Now, where was I?

Oh yeah… there was this other time I wanted to feel the breeze so bad, I cracked my bedroom window before I fell asleep. Just as cool as I was warm, I was whisked into a mid-summer night’s dream, far sweeter than anything Shakespeare could have ever written. Well, at least to me.

I fell asleep to my curtains’ hypnosis; they were flap, flap, flapping the way they do as I thought about my day; my life. And because anything that is not moving is simply not alive, I woke up and repeated this all over again, walking, pedaling, riding and sleeping — each day more fluid than the last. Finding life, embracing it, harnessing it, and truly feeling — you know what I mean?

Maybe we could all learn a little more from the breeze. And though I don’t know much of nothing myself, I do know that the breeze is the best part of the day. Today, yesterday, or any day. Okay? Okay.

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, go enjoy the breeze today.

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it’s tuesday morning 9AM

and my son is shining bright

every day is a new adventure

whether you get it wrong or right

questions to ask, and quizzes to pass

oh, how proud of you I am

Because 9 times out of 10...

you’re doing the best you can!




it’s 9PM on a thursday night

and your eyes are closed real good

i wonder what your dream’s about?

maybe friends? homework? or food?

perhaps it’s thoughts of becoming a man

Or a nightmare making you sad?

Well 9 times out of 10...

you can wake up and share them with Dad




it’s 9AM on a saturday morning

and maybe you’re still in bed.

the weekend’s here, your schedule is clear

a couple free days ahead

perhaps you’ll watch a ball game,

or help your mama cook

But 9 times out of 10...

you’ll read your favorite book



it’s 9PM on a sunday night

another week’s ahead

say some prayers like you mean ‘em

and tuck it in to bed

your dreams are clear as ever now

as your eyes begin to dim

'cuz once those lights turn on tomorrow

it’ll be 9 Time once again.

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, happy 9th birthday Eli!

Millions of Black Americans left the South between 1910–1970 searching for freedom, opportunity, and dignity. But the story didn’t unfold the same everywhere. From Detroit factories to Harlem stages, from Chicago blocks to D.C. protest marches. Every neighborhood. Every sound. Every story.

In fact, the quilt is still being stitched today.

Follow @Wetterbird for more stories where culture, history, and memory meet.

And tell me, which city should I explore next?

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“Detroit Ain’t Dead!”

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Resilience

Factories. Motown. Muscle.

Detroit, a northern promise for Black families leaving the South, quickly became a place where industrial work could build a life. Even after riots, layoffs, and white flight, one thing remained true:

Detroit ain’t dead.
It lives through its people.

“The NY State of Mind”

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Ambition

If you could make it here, you could make it anywhere.

The Great Migration fueled the Harlem Renaissance, turning New York into the global capital of Black art, music, literature, and culture.

From the Apollo stage to the Bronx birthplace of hip-hop:

Black ambition found its loudest voice here.

“To Live & Die in L.A.”

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Survival

For many families, L.A. was the second migration.

War jobs brought tons of opportunity... but also tension, displacement, and decades of struggle.

From Watts to Compton, communities fought to protect what little they had.

Because sometimes freedom came with a cost.

In L.A., survival became culture.

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Pride

Chicago’s South Side became both a sanctuary and a battleground during the 20th century.

Segregation forced Black families into specific neighborhoods, but they built culture, businesses, and community anyway.

From gospel to house music to basketball courts:

South Side pride became its own identity.

“Chocolate City”

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Power

When Black families moved to the nation’s capital, they moved closer to the center of American power.

This is where Martin Luther King Jr. spoke of a dream.
Where Thurgood Marshall fought segregation in the courts.
Where organizers like Bayard Rustin planned movements that reshaped the country.

The Great Migration didn’t just move people here.

It moved strategy here.

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, the Great Migration is the most fertile era of post-modern Black America.

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For years, For Lack of a Wetter Bird has been a one-way mic. I write. You read.

But the best part has always been the conversation (like the one I had with the Marcus Graham Project’s NBAiCr8 Bootcamp in partnership with the Atlanta Hawks this month).

Back in 2013, I was a bootcamp kid. I participated in the Marcus Graham Project’s summer intensive, a space built to give aspiring advertising professionals real, hands-on industry experience. It changed my life. Over the years, I’ve tried to give back to that same mission with my hands, my time, and my voice. Most recently, that meant partnering with the Atlanta Hawks to speak to the next class. And it did my heart well. Here’s an excerpt from that talk “Would You Like Half of My Sandwich?” A conversation about personal branding, connection, and the responsibility of knowing yourself well enough to share yourself.

And that’s what this paid subscriber chat will be for.

We’ll:

• Break down exclusive video versions of essays

• Debate music, marketing, movies, and culture

• Vote on future topics

• Actually talk back and forth

It’s gonna be fun, y’all, I promise. And, as always, all proceeds go to independent writing projects, and the small business community here in ATL and beyond.

Join chat

If the newsletter is the “stage”, and these videos are the “performance”, think of this chat as the afterparty. So, shall we?

This is a conversation space exclusively for subscribers—kind of like a group chat or live hangout. I’ll post questions and updates that come my way, and you can jump into the discussion.

How to get started

1. Get the Substack app by clicking this link or the button below. New chat threads won’t be sent sent via email, so turn on push notifications so you don’t miss conversation as it happens. You can also access chat on the web.

Get app

2. Open the app and tap the Chat icon. It looks like two bubbles in the bottom bar, and you’ll see a row for my chat inside.

3. For Lack of a Wetter Bird, let’s get it!

   ---

And, this Sunday, we saw the intersection of all of those things. The past time that is football, the cornerstone of capitalism that is advertising, and the art form that serves as the soundtrack to it all: music.

It's one of my favorite days of the year. And Sam's too! Moments like these are what we built Grits & Gospel on all those years ago: "the stuff that sticks to our ribs and makes us want to tell the world".

It's the perfect Edu-Tainment vehicle, and that's exactly what this newsletter is about.

Benito Bowl 2026: A 500 year-old wake up call

The sound of ancestral memory on the world's biggest stage
Written By: Sam Floyd II

Bad Bunny’s halftime show wasn’t just a performance, it was a reminder. One delivered entirely in Spanish, on America’s loudest stage, and somehow treated like a surprise.

This isn’t really about music. Or the Super Bowl. Or even Benito.

It’s about empire, identity, who gets to feel “included,” and why seeing America reflected back at itself can feel so uncomfortable. The backlash tells a story too... maybe louder than the show itself.

Read how a halftime set turned into a mirror, and why some folks didn’t like what they saw.

Read More

Troy's Super Bowl Ad Superlatives

From Dunkin's 90s celebrity cameos, to surprise-and-delight moments from Coinbase and Budweiser, to legacy brands like Lay's tugging at our heart strings, this Super Bowl was nothing short of entertaining. Troy was glued to the couch all night, and has a list of some of his favorite moments of the night.

What was your favorite?

Watch Pt. 1

Watch Pt. 2

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, the Super Bowl is one of the best days of the year.

this cup of joe here sure is nice…

like a soft, warm hug to break the ice.

with a fresh, crisp morning to think and play in —

a new beginning’s here, we’ve made it again.



this muddy ass mud here is right on time…

steamy, smooth, and it’s all mine.

strong and black; the onliest way —

i think I’ll add a smoke to welcome the day.



my pot went wild as it dripped the brew…

too much for one pour, but not enough for two.

still I sprinkled some sugar, poured out a lil’ cream —

then started a riot as I slipped in a dream.



one day it’s coffee; the next it’s tea…

today it’s you, tomorrow it’s me.

but I’ll wait ‘til then to pay that price —

‘cuz this cup of joe, right here? sure is nice.

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, damn this coffee is good.

As y’all know, we write about movies, music, millennial life. I just started writing about things I couldn’t stop thinking about, and it’s nice to know that the community has come with me. Especially here on Substack.

So, will you celebrate with me by running through my most popular Substack articles of the last 4 years?

Year 5, here we come!

5. “The Top 5 Tarantino Movies of the Past 25 Years”

   

I invited chaos, and y’all came. Y’all probably had better takes than I did. But balance, right? Because this is a two-way street.

4. “heat v. warmth”

A poem where I dive into the difference between being loud and being meaningful. I think that’s the difference between the two.

Fun. Heartfelt. Relatable. Y’all showed up and showed out.

3. “Wait, Who’s Actually The Main Character in Modern Family?”

   

Y’all were a fool for this one. Well, maybe it was me. As y’all know, I love TV as much as I love music and movies.

I wrote about who is the actual main character in Modern Family — a show full of people who think they’re all the main character, but only one person is. Hint, it’s not Phil.

2. “Friday’s Fried Fish and Frankie Beverly”

   

Number two is very, very dear to my heart. It’s actually a memoriam. To my aunt, as well as Frankie Beverly, and the role that music, food, family, and even the day of the week can play in the ways in which we’re raised and build community.

1. “Having A Newborn is Like...”

   

From hashtag double dad himself! As y’all know, I had a newborn last year. I got two children now, plural. So, I wrote on what having a newborn is like.

I think I was sleep deprived when I did it. And it was honest, but it was definitely very, very much so from another realm.

So thank y’all for reading that one and enjoying me even in my most tired moments.

If you’ve been reading for a while, you know the vibes. If you’re new here, stick around a bit and see what you like!

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, cheers to Year 5!

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Thank you for everything you did.

You reinvigorated my love for lyricism very early in your career

You kept all the rest of your peers on their toes.

You treated features like they were your own albums.

You gave us your own albums.

You recognized your failures.

You had a couple hiccups.

You bounced back from them like you said you would.

You were a self-contained machine of your own.

Even people said you shouldn’t have been.

And you showed us what it means to truly believe in yourself, and take the people that believe in you with you.

You really sit on top of your own throne, where you want to be.

A master of your craft.

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, thank you, J.Cole: set of horns and a halo.

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“Alright, who got number 8?”

Me. Finally.

It was our second year playing baseball in the 9–10 year old league at Browns Mill Park in Decatur, GA. Everyone was one year better, bigger, and more excited to compete than the season before — we knew we had a chance to win it all that year so we were hype.

To top it all off, I finally got the chance to wear my favorite number.

In the year’s prior, we just got cascading jerseys from 1–15. When I say that, I mean the smaller sizes had the smaller numbers, and by the time you got to the teens, the sizes were in the XXL range. They were just pre-made like that. I was a late bloomer, so a lot of times I wore something like 2, but not this year. This year we had customs made for the first time.

I grabbed my jersey and smiled at my dad. He knew what time it was, even if no one else did. They assumed I was showing love to Cal Ripken, Jr. since I played shortstop. Now, I liked Cal, and even shared a name with my Dad just like him, but Cal wasn’t Kobe. Kobe, not Cal, was my “8”.

There are very few things I remember before I was six years old. Besides my sister being born, Aladdin, my grandmother passing, and a couple early friends from kindergarten, it’s a bit fuzzy. I do, however, remember Kobe’s rookie year.

My Dad grew up in California and was a huge Showtime Lakers fan all the way through ’91 when Jordan beat them. He says we watched that series together; I was one. As a matter of fact, he says that from the time I could sit up on my own as a baby, I was watching sports with him.

So naturally when Kobe came into the league with the Lakers in ’96, the year I turned six, my world changed. This high-flying high school kid took me from a fan to a stan when he won the dunk contest in ’97 and I didn’t touch the dial for the next 20 years.

Kobe probably never believed in luck, did he? Just hard work and opportunity. He always seemed like the type of person that could find the eighth day of the week to perfect his craft, and it showed. And for that, I do know I was lucky to have seen him. And I saw it all.

You gave me the courage to speak my mind in barber shops as a kid. The ammo to argue with my friends on the way to school about just how much better you were than their favorite player was. You brought the world closer to the game of basketball while bringing us all closer to our inner greatness. You showed us what it was like to play like your freaking life was on the line — because somehow you knew yours was.

Those air balls in Utah were brutal, and so was having to come off the bench those first years, I’m sure. Playing second fiddle to the Big Fella must’ve hurt almost as much as seeing Iverson win that MVP before you, didn’t it? Colorado? Whew, that really almost ended you. But not like those dark years with Kwame and Smush. You even missed the playoffs in the middle of your prime, bro.

But you’d be back — only to lose to Boston? That burned, I know. The climb back to the top of the mountain was worth it though, wasn’t it? You got your revenge and it was sweet. I remember watching you in the end, too. Torn Achilles and broken finger and bum shoulder and bad knees, just thinking to myself how grizzled you’d become and wondering where the 20 years went.

Then you were gone. Not gone gone, just retired, but still I shed a tear. Those were tears of sadness at your career being over. Today’s tears are of joy to a life well lived.

You went through ups and downs for an entire score— 20 years of wanting nothing more than to score yourself. To know you was to wrestle with the thought of our pending mortality over and over again, and still wake up and win. That’s why none of those things I mentioned could kill you. They never even stood a shot.

And speaking of shot, did you know you missed more of them than anyone in NBA history? More than MJ and Lebron. More than Shaq and more than Magic. More than T-Mac. More than AI. And that’s just the game, we ain’t even talking about practice! I can’t even imagine how many shots you got up at the crack of dawn or after games in the gym by yourself, perfecting your craft. I mean, you can’t miss the shots if you aren’t on the court, and you damn sure can’t miss the ones you don’t shoot.

For years, I sat here and watched you go so…. damn… hard. We all did. From peers and coaches, to your beautiful family and regular ol’ fans like me, we wondered just what the hell you were made of. I guess we’ll never know.

And so today, as I type these words, I honestly can’t believe them. They simply do not look right on this page, nor does it sound real coming out of the TV. They’re clumsy as they fall out of my mouth, but here goes nothing:

Kobe Bryant is dead.

The dude with enough bark to spark the competitive fire of an entire generation. The one with the bite to light the game’s flame. You were (read: are) the golden boy that made us all feel something.

I watched them gather outside of Staples Center to honor you the other day. They said the Grammy’s were supposed to be happening later that night, but no one was wearing cocktail attire. Not yet at least, they had to pay respect before opening that building again— basketball game or not.

And on the morning after Lebron passed your scoring record in your hometown? You just couldn’t stand to see it, could you? Haha, you don’t have to answer that — the last thing you ever tweeted says it all. Coming just hours before you left us for good, all you wanted was the best for your brother and the game you taught me to love.

Not a moment too late either. Now how’s that for a buzzer beater?

I never had your height or athleticism, genius or charm. Hell, I’ve never even owned a pair of your shoes, I wasn’t worthy of all of that. But you showed me the value of hard work and actually giving a fuck: two things I don’t take lightly.

I haven’t been sleeping all that well since I got the news. A crick is in my neck and my back is sort of sore too. I’ve been going to bed late and waking up before the sun for whatever reason. But as I sit here at the crack of dawn, with your final game playing on mute, I’m feeling your grit. Your will to win and your Dog (capital “D”). That spark and that light, the will to write.

Is this what it’s like to be great? Asking for a friend.

Kobe Bean. Son of a Jellybean. With more bounce than a jumping bean. Human bean. Thank you for being you.

Thanks for that alley-oop, Game 4 against the Pacers, for “sucking the gravity out of the Target Center” that one time, the game-tying three in Game 2 against Detroit, 62 and 81, that Suns OT playoff game, the MVP year, those two free throws when you couldn’t walk in 2013 and the two that gave you 60 one last time. Thanks for going back to get the ring for your thumb so I could talk my shit.

I wasn’t there, but I was, trust me. And the more in awe with your legend I grew, the more confident in myself I became. And that’s something no one will ever take away from me.

In 1996, you became the youngest to ever be drafted at the time. I guess you can chalk it up to your late birthday. I had one too which is half the reason I was smaller than everyone on my baseball team to begin with. But with that 8 on my back, you made me feel larger than life. Your number. Our number.

I never let that number go until I stopped playing ball, did you know that? I played for over half of my life and you still outlasted me, like a champ!

My grandfather passed away almost a decade ago on a ladder with a paint brush in his hand. He was doing God’s work, his life’s work, and it was something he’d mentioned to me before as a more than an acceptable way to go out if he “ever had to”.

Well, if you weren’t going to go out playing in an actual game of your own, I imagine heading to one of your daughter’s games would be high on your list. Especially in the act of being the absolute best father you could be. The fan in me respects that, but the father in me idolizes it.

Your legacy will live on forever, just as you imagined it would. Immortalized in history, and even bigger than basketball.

In the end, I guess it was just dumb luck that got you? Actually, I take that back, because you probably never believed in luck, did you? Just hard work and opportunity. 8 days a week, 24 hours a day.

Yeah, that sounds about right. Rest in peace, my friend.

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, thanks for everything, Kobe.

Troy Harris II

I could barely see my hand in that pitch black place.And what made it worse? It wasn’t far from my face.

And if I hadn’t managed my way out soon,

I was gonna go crazy in that dark ass room.



My ladder had mildewed from the rain and the rum;

So when I took my first step I snapped the first rung.

Tried to kick my way out, but sprained my good foot,

When that strong, dirty window told me to stay put.



I thought to climb up but was met with a “nope!”

For my burdens outweighed that poor little rope.

Desperate by then, a brilliant plan hatched

Found a candle to light but I’d used every match.



I looked down and found the old, secret trap door.

But realized that it would just lower my floor.

I almost yelled for help and was right on the brink,

But how could I scream if I barely could think?



I never knew why it was so dark in that place.

Why I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.

But I knew that there’d be no easy out soon,

So I flipped the light switch and cleaned up the room.

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, you gotta start somewhere.

Next season maybe we’ll put the tomahawks down,

But as for tonight, this shit is a baseball town.

Yeah yeah, Falcons, I saw that touchdown,

But this here, Dirty Birds, is a baseball town.

Thrashers, well, they’re no where to be found…

Cuz this is Hotlanta, a baseball town.

The Dream reign supreme when they dribble it around.

But y’all are sleep if you don’t know this is a baseball town.

Now I know the Hawks got it going on now…

But look here, JJ, this is a baseball town.

A few years ago the United won the crown…

But that ain’t how we kick it in this baseball town.

Y’all gotta get up here to see how we get down,

Cuz this here… right here? Is a marvelous little baseball town.

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, welcome to Cooperstown, Andruw Jones.

All the times Mystikal mentions an animal in his 90s mega-hit “Here I Go”.

7. "My lifestyle is rural, I'll hit on ya poodle."

This one is sort of strange so I'm gonna leave it where it's at. But rhyming "rural" and "poodle" deserves at least a tip of the cap. C-

6. "Cuz if you do you doomed, ...(?)... I'll be da king of da Looney Toons!"

Loses points for making indistinct words mid line, but for the simple fact that all the Looney Toons are animals, it belongs here. Extra points because this drops a year BEFORE Space Jam,though. C+

5. "You b****s probably couldn't see me with a birds eye view!"

If not menacing, or even clever, this is at least confident as a MF. Everyone and their mama has, at one point, said or thought to themselves "y'all can't see me!" Amirite? This one isn't half bad. B-

4. "Im the shark in the dark, b***h at night don't go swimmin'!"

Well, on the off chance you were thinking about swimming in the ocean at night - don't! There are certain do's and don'ts with Mystkal, ya heard me? And he lays it out plain as day here. B

3. "You bad enough to meet the alligator in the swamp?!"

Another line about entering a menacing animal's habitat. This time, though, he's enticing you in by playing on your ego. If you scared, say you scared. A-

2. "I'm like a black cat on the trail of a fat rat!"

If Dr. Seuss ever went rouge on us, he'd probably say some shit like this. And he'd probably have some hair like this, fwiw. Extra points for the imagery and internal rhyme, too. A

1. "I'm coming straight for yo throat, like a coyote on a goat!"

After it's all said and done, we land here. I have never seen a coyote and goat interact but it can only go ONE way: Complete destruction! And it's a perfect example of what he did to this song. Fin... A+

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, Mystikal is the animal; let’s be real.

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sleep is the answer when you’re stuck or need to snore

rest is when you do the things that make you feel restored

sleep is when you close your eyes in hopes for a fresh face

and rest may close its favorite book, while staring into space

sleep remembers to close the blinds before bed really tight

rest wakes up to open ‘em, letting in the natural light

sleep can fill your cup when you really want to holler

but rest is the element that filters all that water

sleep is when you yawn, then go head to hit the hay

rest lays ‘cross the bed in the golden time of day

rest lays two feet to the floor to start the day with ease

sleep gets out the bed, still dreaming of more zzzzs

rest loosens its belt a bit, after the potatoes and the meat

sleep is catching the itis, not long after you eat

sleep hits the pillow hard to knock out late at night

rest remembers to stretch and pray to end the day just right

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, get you some rest.

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Sometimes, there’s nothing like using an age-old saying to get your point across. The best way to do that is often an idiom. They’re trivial at times, cliché at others, and occasionally sound a little ridiculous. Still, around here? We take them pretty seriously.

Check out past idiom issues on the words “bucket“,“duck,”and “bird” from past issues.

Idioms aren’t idiotic. They’re shorthand for clarity, culture, and connection. When words need backup, idioms step in and do the heavy lifting.

Today’s concept word: hammer.

👍🏽 HAMMER THE POINT HOME

In the dictionary: to make certain that something is understood by expressing it clearly and forcefully.

In the world: Designed to describe a situation when someone has effectively communicated, often used colloquially when someone has over-communicated

In a sentence: Jeez, her last 5 posts are about her new ring. She’s really hammering the point home that she’s engaged, isn’t she?

🔨 WHEN YOU’RE A HAMMER, EVERYTHING LOOKS LIKE A NAIL

In the dictionary: People tend to over-rely on familiar tools or methods, applying them to every problem even when they aren’t suitable.

In the world: A turn of phrase that warns against confirmation bias and limited thinking, encouraging broader perspectives. It draws attention to how our backgrounds and available tools limit our perspective and problem-solving, pushing us to find the right tool for the job.

In a sentence: “Mom, my ankle still hurts. I think I sprained it in my basketball game yesterday.”

“Drink some ginger ale and lay down for a little while.”

“That’s the same thing you told me when I had the flu last month.”

“And?”

“I guess when you’re a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”

🍆 THE HAMMER

In the (urban) dictionary: A euphemism for a penis.

In the world: (see above)

In a sentence: (My mama reads these, man. Use your imagination.)

🍻 GET HAMMERED

In the dictionary: to become extremely drunk or intoxicated

In the world: It’s thought to come from the feeling of being hit hard or pounded by the alcohol. It implies a state where one's senses are dulled as if struck by a hammer, often leading to stumbling, slurred speech, and poor decision-making.

Also a name of a popular podcast.

In a sentence: “I really, really, really need an Advil or something for my hangover. I got absolutely hammered last night.”

🎶 HAMMER TIME/HAMMER DON’T HURT ‘EM

In the dictionary: signifying it is time to go all-out, unleash full effort, or start a significant, often intense, action.

In the world: Originating from MC Hammer‘s “U Can’t Touch This”, a single off his third studio album released in 1990.

In a sentence: “Yeah, I think for the prom this year, I’m going to wear this polyester turquoise 3-piece suit.”

“Oh shit, now. Hammer don’t hurt ‘em!”

📌 HIT THE NAIL ON THE HEAD

In the dictionary: to do or say something that is exactly right, or to find exactly the right answer.

In the world: Originating in the carpentry world, striking a nail perfectly on its head with a hammer is always ideal and signifies mastery of craft and clarity.

In a sentence: “Whew, the pastor hit the nail on the head today, am I right? I felt like she was talking directly to me!”

⚰ PUT THE FINAL NAIL IN THE COFFIN

In the dictionary: when nails are hammered into the lid of a wooden coffin with a dead body inside, there’s nothing left to do.

In the world: The last action that causes something to fail or end, sealing its doom, often after it was already in decline

In a sentence: “They were already up by 10 points late in the 4th quarter. If they score a touchdown here, that will be the final nail in the coffin for this game.”

😵‍💫 HAMMER-HEADED

In the dictionary: the striking part of a hammer, also a slang term for a stupid person.

In the world: Used as an insult, usually in times of frustration to hurt someone.

In a sentence: “If you don’t sit your hammer-headed ass down and actually listen, you’ll never understand what I’m saying.

👨🏽‍⚖️ BRING DOWN THE HAMMER

In the dictionary: to enforce rules or punish someone harshly or to finalize a deal/decision

In the world: Originates from literal objects: a judge’s gavel and and auctioneer’s gavel. Both of which carry grave significance in their natural environments.

In a sentence: “I thought it’d be ruled a misdemeanor, but the judge really brought down the hammer when he sentenced the defendant to 15 years.”

🤝 HAMMER OUT THE DETAILS

In the dictionary: to work through a problem, discussion, or negotiation to reach a final, specific agreement or solution. , like finalizing a contract, treaty, or project plan.

In the world: Commonly used after a lot of effort, arguments, or detailed discussion go into turning a rough idea into a concrete plan. Often tracked back to the sculpting world.

In a sentence: Ok, I’ll have my people call your people and we can get our lawyers to hammer out the details. Great doing business with you!

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, sometimes and idiom is the best way to hammer home your point.

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For Lack of a Wetter Bird, THANK YOU, and I can’t wait to keep the content coming.

As we close out 2025, we also close out our Best Movies of the Past 25 Years series w/ a special guest.

As many of you know, almost a decade ago, my best friend and I started writing online. Our idea was to give people the stuff that sticks to their ribs, and makes ‘em wanna to tell the world. To educate AND entertain our readers. The grits and the gospel.

So it’s fitting that we reconvene to end 2025 with a cultural analysis of what we both think is the best movie of the year: Sinners.

-Troy

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I used to be terrified of scary movies. Even the idea of them scared me, because once images enter my mind, there’s the risk they can return unprompted. I’ve always been a sensitive soul. Humans can experience the world beyond the traditional five senses - possessing intuition, memory (even ancestral memory), and things more mysterious.

Anxiety, to some degree, runs in my family. It once fulfilled its purpose of keeping us safe. Sitting in silence for a few meditation sessions this holiday season has reminded me of the extent fear quietly still drives my life. In stillness, I can feel an energy that’s often restless - in survival mode despite safe physical surroundings.

Music as Spiritual Technology

The survival of Black people in America has always required a connection to the soul. You can hear this clearly in our music. Music for us is not just entertainment, it’s a spiritual technology. A portal. A way of traveling through time and space, conjuring memories, revealing truth.

Sinners tells a story of this survival power across time, generations, and circumstance. From ancestral rhythms, to folk, gospel, blues, and beyond.

Tension in the Sanctuary

From the very beginning, the sanctuary of a Southern Black church serves as the setting for juxtaposing children’s innocence and connection to source against the spiritual tension that comes with growing up in this place.

That tension is familiar in many Black families. My in-laws, for example - wonderful and sincere Christians - won’t watch the movie, deeming it demonic. My father grew up in the Holiness tradition, but generally prefers not to join my Catholic-raised mother for church on Sundays. The film reflects a tangible divide within Christianity: between faith as protection and faith as control, between reverence and fear.

Power in Many Forms

Smoke and Stack embody a familiar American archetype: Black men forced to master the world as it is, not as it ought to be. They understand power in its most visible forms: money, force, leverage.

But Ryan Coogler’s film makes clear that there are other kinds of power also at work in this world and beyond.

Annie can sense what many others can’t. Her mojo bags don’t just offer comfort; they offer real protection from forces unseen - the same way I imagine a grandmother’s prayers function.

Preacher Boy’s creative gift isn’t simply talent. His music opens doors, collapses time, and invites something both ancient and futuristic into the room.

These are among the many ways we preserved ourselves when everything else was taken.

Gospel Upward, Blues Outward

Gospel music has an ancestral element to it. Across generations, we were able to preserve musical traditions from the motherland in church music, and it helped us get through. Blues music was able to grow out of gospel music because they both come from the same, soulful place of faith lived under pressure.

Gospel sanctifies suffering and offers hope beyond it. The blues tells the truth about how heavy that suffering feels while you’re still inside it. One reaches upward, and the other outward, but both are responses to the same reality. Blues music embodied our refusal to let fear and shame be the final word.

Worldly folk like the Smoke Stack twins love the blues. To transcend a likely life of sharecropping, they made moral choices that are easy to condemn. Still, they are builders at heart - entrepreneurs with a plan to feature blues music to create jobs and provide joy within a safe space for their community. The duality between them reflects what it takes to wield external power: the ability to hold competing truths at once, without pretending this world is something it’s not.

Enemies in Common

The vampires share a history of displacement and longing. More than simply monsters, they are something common in society today: beings severed from their original source, craving reconnection. Folk music and dancing connected them to their Irish roots, a tether to culture as oppressive forces threatened to erase it.

This longing for connection to source - this war between light and darkness - isn’t just spiritual; it’s political.

The Root of All Evil

When profit and capital accumulation become the chief aim, light dims and darkness quietly takes its place. At both the individual and collective level, over centuries, people and nations can eventually become soulless.

This tension between spirit and power is not abstract.

To be human is, by definition, to be a sinner. Darkness isn’t inherently evil, it is the absence of light. Who gets to decide how we relate to that aspect of ourselves? What does it mean to be “in this world but not of it”?

Sinners challenges us with a defining choice: Preacher Boy Sammie chose his own path despite inherited religious authority.

Though he goes on to earn fame and fortune, the best day of his life had nothing to do with those things. Later in life, when confronted with the ultimate temptation, Sammie knew in his heart that what’s beyond “this place” was worth not trading his soul.

The Co-option of What’s Sacred

Religion offers a useful moral compass. But humans have their way of using it to traffic in fear for the purpose of control. True freedom, Sinners suggests, comes not from fear or denial of our darkness, but from the presence of light and the action of love. The most beautiful moments of the characters’ lives comprise a B-roll compilation while the film focuses on temptation and the risks of inviting evil in without awareness. That notion doesn’t live on screen alone.

In recent years, Christianity in America has been increasingly fused with state power, not as a practice of love or humility, but as a tool of authority, punishment, and exclusion. This is not the faith that sustained Black communities through bondage and terror, nor the church that functioned as refuge, organizing center, and spiritual lifeline. It is something else entirely (and it’s not new): a political project that borrows religious language to sanctify fear and hierarchy.

Sinners serves as a timely reminder that spiritual power has never only resided with nation-states or institutions. It begs the question of who benefits from the demonization of ancestral ways of knowing? Spiritual gatekeeping has always served to make people afraid of their darkness. To what end?

Our darkness is something we must work to integrate rather than ignore or suppress. The questions of “right and wrong,” “good and bad” can be more complex than we’d like to admit, especially when fear is shaping the frame.

When it comes to true freedom in this realm and the next, the only thing to fear is fear itself.

A Reminder of Our Light

For a sensitive soul afraid of the dark, this film was a revelation. More than just a movie, it is a testament to the spiritual technology that forged cultures, a warning against fear packaged and sold for our salvation, and, ultimately, a practical demonstration of how to reclaim the light.

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, Sinners is the best movie of 2025.

For Lack of a Wetter Bird, please share the publication if any of this has ever brought a smile to your face or started a new conversation.

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