King SOLOmon's Mind

Daddy

2008-05-02T10:50:00.001-04:00

Sitting at the doctor's office is never a good thing. The decor is stark and completely lacking any personality, specifically designed to be able to clean thoroughly. They have those chairs that are massed produced and specifically designed for the strictly utilitarian purpose of letting me sit while I wait all damn day for them to get to us. While I can appreciate both reason, I don't enjoy either very much.

Luckily my wife and I didn't have to wait too long and we ushered back to the ultrasound room. That is if you don't consider 45 minutes in an uncomfortable chair too long. Two women sitting in front of the ultrasound machine greeted us with unusual happiness. They prepped my wife and greased up her..shall I say...pleasantly plump pregnant belly. I'm sitting beside her dumbly looking at the whole process wondering what the hell am I supposed to be doing.

One of the ladies, perhaps after noticing my confusion, goes into a well rehearsed speech about what she's going to do and what's going on. She clicks on the machine and tell us we can check out the tv monitor and see everything that's happening. She rubs the ultrasound handheld thing all around in the grease and blurs of white and grey dance across the blank, black tv screen like a kaleidoscope. She whirls it around back and forth. Suddenly I saw something. Random parts of what was unmistakably a little person.

As I looked at the gray impression of a child playing blissfully in the womb I was swept up in a sense of love I've never felt before. As much as I love my wife and love my family and friends, this was not even close. It was the most extreme feeling. It was unexplainable. The women moved the little sensor thing around suddenly the smiling face was there curled up and helpless. Everything in my life has built up to this and I felt her more than I've ever felt anyone in my life (I say her because the baby's legs were closed so they couldn't tell what it was but until I see a "wee-wee" it's a girl). I wanted to scream at her that I was here and I'll always be here. That for the rest of my life I'll be trying against all odds to move heaven and earth to make sure she's happy. Everything I do will be motivated by very breath she takes. Everything I make will hopefully create a legacy of love that will only begin to show how special she is to me. Ours soul's will find each other in the endless darkness of life and always be connected.

The sonographer (is that a word?) continued to map to geography of my little miracle love child. 2 legs. 2 arms. A big ol head (I feel sorry for my wife's body, I really do). 10 fingers moving in random motions. A little baby belly. A strong little heart. All revealed to me in splendid black, white and grey. There was the person that will make my life worth living on my lowest days. My greatest achievement by far. My greatest joy. I'm a proud father already.

Biscuit

2008-04-25T14:43:00.003-04:00

It has taken me several years of experimentation to realize that the sausage biscuit is the best quick breakfast. Two delicious Jimmy Dean sausage patties cooked to perfection nested in a buttery Grands biscuit. Taken with a tall glass of OJ and you've got three of the major food groups read to go.

I'm getting ready to head out the door this morning and spend the day wasting my life at the J-O-B. Right when I'm about to get in the car and go, the sausage drops out of my sausage biscuit. I don't remember my reaction to this travesty exactly. I can see myself doing the slow motion yell as the sausage makes it's trip into the dirt, crashing loudly on my new sneakers leaving a greasy sausage print, before thundering to the Earth.

My day was ruined. How can I be expected to have a "good day" with this as a foundation? What good can happen when I can't even enjoy the simple pleasure of a sausage biscuit? This singular event has set the stage for a flood of horrible things to deluge me for the next 24 hours. I began to see images of the tragedies to come. I spend 2 hours making my 25 minute commute to work. My car overheats two blocks away from the job and during my walk the rest of the way to work I step on a nail. My boss throws drawing back on my desk telling me that they looked like trash and cost the company a huge contract. As I carried a torn cardboard boxes away with a pink slip sitting neatly on top of my personal possession, a bird shit lands on my shoulder. While the disgusting gooey shit streams down my shirt, it starts raining... while the sun is out. It's actually sprinklers coming on at the worse possible time.

Could this all be about to happen? I know I'm exaggerating because my job doesn't even have sprinklers outside, which is besides the point. Did I just receive my first warning of this downward spiral that my life is about to become? Did the sausage.. (bear with me a second)... did the sausage waiting deliciously in my biscuit somehow catch the front end of a wave of disaster sweeping into my life and get thrown to the ground as an omen of sorts? Will the reverberations become more and more obvious as they progressively worsen thanks to the pending catastrophy? Should I be preparing for the worse? If there is a storm building destined to obliterate the happiness I've built for myself? Who will take care of my wife and child? Now that I've been fore warned by the metaphysical "falling sausage" how can I in good conscious stay here and destroy the life of this precious child I'm bringing in the world? Will my son/daughter hate me for cursing them with a life laid bare by my own personal crisis? My own FINAL CRISIS?!!

Nah. That couldn't possibly be the case. I must be projecting my anxiety about parenthood onto a biscuit. That's pretty silly, right?

I think I'm just hungry.

The Appeasement Initiative

2007-07-20T14:37:00.000-04:00

Q: Mr. Solomon what is the Appeasement Initiative?

A: Good question. I don't get asked this question often because the Initiative works so well.

Sometime ago, way back in the day, the founder of the company I work for sat down with his other high ranking managers. Many of whom he, more than likely, considered great, loyal employees and maybe even friends.

The company was in an upswing but he had envisioned the day when his company which he had started in his garage would gross roughly $16 million or more every year. The problem was with all the new employees he would have to bring on to handle such a work load he couldn't possibly afford to pay them as generously as his good friends. Naturally they'd have to be moderately underpaid to protect his profits. Severely underpaying them would be a terrible, terrible thing to do.

The men sat around and talked about ways to fool their underlings into forgetting that they are underpaid and lull them into a sense of complacency. Keep them happy, appeased if you will, despite their situation while they can continue to make millions off their hard word. So began the Appeasement Initiative. It includes a whole host of things. but have 2 major parts. Fun & Games and Incremental Bonuses.

By fun and games I'm talking about things like the "employee lunches" and "spring fling". Once a quarter spend $200 on some chick-fil-a nugget platters, about $50 on can sodas and chips, let them eat and not have to clock out for break. Once a year put together a little after work cookout, let the employees bring the kids out, play a little music. This works on underpaid employees like salve on a fresh burn. Fast soothing relief. "ooh child We had fun at work today."

Part 2 you go to the bank get a big ol stack of $100 bills. Give one to each and every employee after a big staged company meeting. Right out in the open, hand them a $100 bill in front of everybody. Shake the employee's hand and basically blow thick, billowing smoke right up their asses. They walk around feeling good because let's face it getting a $100 bill for any reason makes for a great day. Maybe a great couple of days depending on the person. The bosses can sit back and do the math. Employee gets under paid at minimum $2-5 per hour times 40 hours a week 51 weeks a year (does not include holidays), add $100 to an extremely underwhelming salary and another $300 for "end-of-year" bonus (which is another issue considering the "end-of-year" bonus is based on the performance of the department). All that times 150-175 employees. Estimate savings hundreds of thousands of dollars per year.

The Initiative is the gift that keeps on giving. Those same employees go home to their families and tell the story about cookouts and bosses making it rain $100 bills, the most common response will be "Wow they gave you $100! You got a good job, girl" "they don't do that at my job". That makes them feel special like "yeah I got a good job" and you really don't. Your job is actually stealing you life away. Steadily and slowly killing you. It sucks because I see people working the same job, same position for 15 years struggling the whole time still thinking "I got a good job. I can't go anywhere else and get what they give me". Not even considering how much they're getting played. When the do start getting a little suspicious of the bosses week long vacations or new cars in the parking lot, it's about time for another perfectly scheduled lunch.It's a trap my friend.

I hope that answers your question.

I Ain't Mad at 'Cha

2007-02-01T10:54:00.000-05:00

The hilarity of life continues.

The NAACP is putting all their donations to good use by unleashing an all out campaign against white 20 year old college students. I suppose I'm the only one totally confused by the new racism battlefield.

Some how a bunch of college students dressed in big baggy clothes and bandannas, drinking malt liquor and waving toy guns around is not what the NAACP should be focusing on. They're making a fuss about a girl padding her pants with pillows to have a big butt.

How is that racism unless we are saying malt liquor is the official beverage of black people? Are they saying no white people drink malt liquor? Is it offensive for a white people to gather en masse and drink 40's? Are we announcing our pride in the portrayal of black people as "thug ganstas"? Do only black people have the exclusive right to dress in baggy clothes and bandannas?

I don't consider that to be what black people are about, so I'm not as outraged as I would be as say... if 2 white officers arrested a pregnant African woman and took her to jail despite her pleading with them that she was bleeding and may be having a miscarriage. (that same woman after spending 12 hours in jail did in fact have a miscarriage and lost her baby). That would be an assault on the basic rights entitled to all people. That would show a cold, callous lack of respect for another human being. That is an outrage and worthy of a protest or march.

A couple of drunken white fools doing what, quite frankly, we promote as our "culture", our "way of life" doesn't really get me going. We can't revel in the image of thuggery and gang banging and drinking and smoking and get mad when someone else does it. As if they, the mighty white offspring, should live high on their golden hills and never debase themselves in such a fashion as to dress and act the way the negroes do. If its wrong to get together drink malt liquor with guns, weed and women with phat asses then a lot of black people need some harassment. I can say with certainty that somewhere in America that same day (perhaps at the same time) there was a real gansta party going on with real bitches, real blunts and real brew.

Nobody was made at that.

The Lamest

2007-01-09T15:28:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I think I would have been better off in Malibu watching my 5 million dollar mansion burn to the ground than be in the Apache Cafe watching this lame ass artist talk. It wasn't lame because of the Apache Cafe by no means. They have a decent spot and their events are usually between decent and very good. It was Dude. I refuse to give his name because I can't bring myself to advertise for such a lame ass artist.

First of all it was Dude's work. I'll describe it nicely as expressive. Take a crayon hand it to a 3 year old and tell him to draw his daddy. Then waste a little ink on it and try to wipe it off with a dirty rag. Then take that another crayon and write spanish and english words on it with your non-dominate hand. As a free thinker different styles of art don't usually bother me. I was fine with it until Dude starting talking. Rather not talking.

Dude gets up on stage. The black chick that organizes Art Mondays at Apache starts of the talk by simply asking him to say something about his show. I'm waiting anxiously for insights to his creative process. I'm always fascinated with the thought that lead to art work. He holds the mic like he's scared of it. Nothing suspicious about that, public speaking is one of the most common fears people have.
"Well uh this is my work and its real personal. Its my passion. I don't like to uh explain what the work means because I like to leave it open to interpretation by the viewer to interpret it."

....
What the f@*#?!

The black chick is probrably used to artists not know how to talk about there art. She keeps right on going. Like me she was thinking maybe he needs to start with something specific. She says, "You use words a lot in your work. In particular there are a lot of spanish words. What meaning do they hold in your work?" To which Dude replies,"I like to look at words. I'm trying to teach myself spanish so that's why they in there."

....
What the f@*#?!

I'm thinking this guy can't be serious. He must be drunk or something. No one can really be passionate about art and then have nothing to say about not just art but his own art. What followed was the lamest conversation between two people I've ever had to pay and listen to. She (the black chick) grew increasingly frustrated with his non-answers and ramblings began to antagonize and goad him to say something. Dude mumbled and bumbled and did little to represent himself well. I zoned out and began to have my own interview with myself about myself and how lame Dude on stage is right now.

Continued to kinda talk for several minute. What spewed from his mouth was an assortment of weird lame ass statement. Among my favorites were:

When asked about if he what if any training he received- "I had a scholarship to go art college. I went up in there and they wanted me to draw water. So I dropped out."

When asked about one of his pictures- "That uh piece right there, I worked on that for 24 hours. Yeah that took me all day, right there." (note he said nothing else about the piece.)

When asked about what else he was doing to promote himself- "Well I don't know a lot about uh computers. I was kicked of ebay."

Needless to say listening to this ...Dude took years off my life. I laughed quite openly at his lameness, though I have the feeling he took it as a compliment. If that ...Dude can get a show I'm pretty sure I could too. So that goes on my New Years resolution to get a show around Atlanta this year. I guarantee a better discussion than what I had to sit through.

Make sure you check out my new website. www.jbarberstudio.com.

Any comments are welcomed.

Office Policy

2006-12-14T08:31:00.000-05:00

I wonder if they make a handbook to cover work place etiquette. I've seen books about way more obscure subjects so it's not like it's an unreasonable idea. If they can write books to tell you how to teach monkeys to teach babies how to teach monkeys how to write they can write a book to help me get through the day at my job.

My big thing for today is how many times a day do I have to say hello to the same damn people. I've been working here for about a year now. They've hired maybe 10 new people since then and got rid of Mr Stanley for pissing on the floors. Basically everybody is the same. Every damn day I walk up in here and speak to everybody when I first see them. The whole company is in one building. Depending on how much water you drink, who you have to talk to about an order, and just plain old chance you might see the same person 20 times. Take today..

8:00 I walk into the building. "Good morning", Bob says.
"Morning" I reply.
8:15 I walk by Bob in the hallway. "Hey" he says. "Hey Bob" I reply.
8:16 I forgot my order number and go back to my desk and walk back by Bob "Hey" he says. "hey" I reply awkwardly looking around to make sure he was talking to me. He was.
9:05 My desk right by the entrance to the art department and Bob walks in. He says good morning to everyone in the department (by name) including me again.
9:45 I'm in the printing room which has a half wall of windows. Bob sees me and waves. I wave back reluctantly.
10:25 I'm coming out of the bathroom and Bob walks by and says. "How you doing Solomon?"

Bob spoke to me, or rather greeted me, 10 more times today. That s#@$ is ridiculous. It's not just Bob. It's 85% of the people here. Every time I turn around I'm greeting the same people over and over and over. Once I say good morning to you the first time I see you, you should consider yourself greeted for the day. Somebody should make a rule that says once Person A has been officially and properly greeted by Person B, unless there is some other conversation to be had between the two said persons, the initial greeting should be considered upheld and applicable for every chance encounter for the duration of the work day. No further greeting is required.

It puts me in a weird situation because I interact with these people everyday. They try to build this "family" atmosphere. I can dig being nice to each other. I try to do that anyway. So when people do speak to me, I can't just not speak. I want to believe that they would have enough common sense to know that unless you tried to touch my wife or steal my car then since the last time I saw you, that I have the same friendly respect for you as the first time I saw you and greeted you. However I full well know how "people" are. So I have to speak, less I be labeled "not a team player" or "disgruntled".

It's just f#*@$in annoying.

Dig A Hole

2006-11-30T15:32:00.000-05:00

"Go 'head, bury yourself" -Jay Z

The most brazen balls out thing you can possibly do is tell the CEO of the company you work for to kiss your ass, walk out of the room and slam the door behind you. That's true gansta. After that you are operating in a world without boundaries. You are the master of your universe. The reality that binds us all to living in the daily drudgery of work can no longer contain the awesome force of nature you have become. All the frustrations of life can no longer affect you. You have achieved the American dream of peace and happiness.

A man so bold and brazen to accomplish such a feat would have to have another bigger and better plan lined up. Curse out your former boss at 8:45, dip out of there and start your new gig at 9:15. A man so bold as to reach out and take his life back from the wicked system that have put a price on the very hours of our lives we hold dear, surely would not be backed into a corner of mounting debt and joblessness. He would not willingly volunteer himself for unemployment and creditor harassment.

Atleast I hope not. I have the distinct feeling that a lot of negroes out there are doing just that. Impulsively bucking the system because they feel bad that day. Digging themselves into a hole because they have the presence of mind to realize a job can't determine your self worth but don't have the drive and or common sense to not put themselves in a bind and get another job first.

Shot out to everybody like me, that has a job they need, but are steadily plotting their escape.

Shot out to everybody that flipped out and quit their gig on a Tuesday because they had enough.

A real big shot out to ol' Mr Stan, who got the man's foot of his neck in the most spectacular display of niggadom I have every seen. Stay up playa.

Arrival

2006-09-27T15:35:00.000-04:00

San Jose del Cabo
Sunday
11:58 pm
100 mph

The town is revealed in sudden burst of light from houses and store fronts. There are no street lights really to speak of and the bubbles of illumination do little to ease my mind. The excited disorientation of a new environment is all I feel while speeding through the dark streets. I strain to see where I am in the world, to no avail. I will spend my first night in a wondrous veil of not knowing.

I wonder if Jenny B can feel me smiling into the darkness. My best friend and now my wife sits beside me in the hotel shuttle/ race car. Maybe experiencing the same feelings as me. The last few days have been a whirlwind of happiness. Less than 24 hours ago the wedding we planned and worked on for so long went off almost flawlessly. My mind reviews every detail of that night continuously. I still see her ivory and red dress as she rounded the back row of chairs into the isle into my arms. Still feel her hand tremble as I speak my vows...
"I love you is an understatement. I adore you. I dream about you every night and live for you every day"

So perfect.

She taps me and I come back from yesterday to see the lights of our hotel appear. The driver takes the last nascar turn into the drop off area and I'm not sure whether to tip him for getting us here so fast, or smack him for wrecklessly risking our lives for no damn reason. I stop short of smacking dude but keep my money to myself. I'm about to get my bag and the bell boy(man) politely stops me.

"Please. I will get you, my friend. Please check in." he says in his accented English.

We head over to the front desk. I walk past the fountain and behind it I can hear the crashing of waves. Through the archways that bookends in the bar area, past the romantically lit infinity pool, out in the warm darkness is the ocean. I feel it.

We're greeted with Moet champagne and big chocolate chip cookies. It's a weird combination for sure but washing down cookies with champagne made more sense at that moment than any idea I've ever had on my own. They explain our amenitities included with our room. 24 hour room service. Meals at any of the 5 restaurants. All drinks from any of the bars. Daily restocking of the refridgerator. Use of all facilities and the spa during open hours. The concierge would arrange our romantic dinner, breakfast in bed, and our spa treatments whenever we wanted them. Then we were being escorted to the room.

"Thank you" we say. We didn't remember seeing all that in the brochure when we made reservations. I for one certainly was not about to complain about getting more stuff than I ordered.

"Its a pleasure." they reply happily.

The room was great. King sized bed, 2 bathrooms, 2 tv's, a living room area, and a balcony blanketed in the same warm ocean breeze.

I guess it was that rhythmic rushing of water that got me. Perhaps it was the 12 hours we spent on the ground in airports and in the air in airplanes. Maybe the rush of energy I expended during the day of the wedding. Could've been the resltess nights I had leading up to the wedding. But I was tired. My wife and I laid in the bed on the second night of our new life together. My body told me now was the time to relax because my sole focus in life was to get to this point. Alone with the woman I will spend the rest of my life with.

Tomorrow I will awake in paradise.

Coming Soon

2006-09-26T13:54:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure but I think I may have had the best wedding ever. Now I could be a little biased. Just a little bit. I'm pretty sure it was one of the great events of human history. The marriage of Solomon will be spoken about and remembered by all that come after me...Ok that may be a bit too much. Let's just say it was a good time. I'll write more about it as I get pictures to post. Some of the events would be hard to describe with my limited mastery of words. Pictures would do a much better job. I'll apply my colorful commentary of course. That won't be too long from now.

Then there is the matter of my extended stay in Mexico. That's right. For my honeymoon me and the Mrs. spent a week at the Dreams Resort & Hotel in Cabo San Lucas on the Baja Pennisula. It was a beautiful hotel in a beautiful place surrounded by a beautiful ocean. We had a wonderful time. I have a ton of pictures from last week. I kept me a little sketch journal too. So you can look forward to some pretty interesting and extra colorful commentary on my adventures out of the country.

Leave me a comment and let me know what I've been missing. If you came to the wedding leave me a long comment and tell me what you thought. Other than that you have to wait long enough for me to organize all my thoughts and post stuff. Until then I'm OWt!!

Eulogy

2006-09-12T12:06:00.000-04:00

This weekend Mr. Married Solomon is taking Mr. Single Solomon out to pasture. There won't be any tears shed for Mr. Single Solomon. He had a good run.

His story was the story of many men daring to traverse the dating landscape. He lived the single life. There were good nights. Can I get a amen? I said there were good nights! There parties that wouldn't stop. I tell you they wouldn't stop so bad he had to take off work the next 2 days. (That boy wild!) There was Jose and Green Dragon all over the floor. And there were women. Oh lawd! There were women. Boy let me tell you.(Tell It! TELL IT!) Beautiful women that blessed that young man with the gifts only GOD can create. and it was beautiful. Gorgeous. Wonderful.

There were some not so good nights. Can I get a amen? I said it won't all good in the hood. There times he was alone with some drawings and a fifth of Jack. Late nights after work with no one to keep him warm. Yall don't here me. No one to keep the boy WARM... at night. Mr Single Solomon couldn't work away that pain even when he tried. When he got tired of the rejections and loneliness and and and isolation... he went to the job to get away from the pain. That would never work would it? Turn to your neighbor and say "IT WON"T WORK!" (IT WON'T WORK!)

You don't stop being hungry by going for a walk! You can't get your car going down the street by fixing the tires and checking the washer fluids!! I SAID YOU NEED GAS IN THE CAR BOY!!

I said he was out of gas y'all. He needed that woman to get him going. Y'all don't here me. That woman... was the only thing...that could get him going. What the book say? I Corinthians 13:1. What it say ?

("What if I could speak all languages of humans and of angels? If I did not have have love..")

There it is. LISTEN TO THE BOOK!!

("What if I could speak all languages of humans and of angels? If I did not have love then I would be nothing more than a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal,")

Like the blind man said when he was touched by God. "Now I see". You need love. I said you need love. Turn to your neighbor and say "You need love". (You need love.)He found his love with Jenny B. That's what he needs now. Her love. Mr. Single Solomon has lived his life and gone so far as he can go. He can do no more.

You don't mourn for the moon when the sun comes out.

There will be no tears because this is not the end. It's the beginning. A fresh start. Let's say goodbye to Mr Single Solomon. haha I say we don't need him no more. haha You're unnecessary. haha You're obsolete. You've been cast out of this LIFE!!

Let's wish Mr Married Solomon well as he goes forth.

Congratulations.

Balony (Bologna)

2006-09-06T16:15:00.000-04:00

I realized that I don't like balony (bologna, I long ago labeled the actual dictionary spelling to be wrong). It's no metaphor or clever word play. I'm talking about the actual sandwich meat.

Back in the day I used to love me some balony. I used to run around eating balony sandwiches all the time. Balony and spaghettios. The classic ghetto child meal. Lunch. Dinner. Hell breakfast if ma ain't get up early enough for me. Back then there was this ghetto store called Wimpy's (like the dude from Popeye that ate the burgers all the time). You could get a balony burger and a little bag of chips for $1.25 (no tax!). It was a half inch thick piece of balony fried to perfection with onions and cheese running all inside the foil wrapper. That was the ghetto life. Decatur Street, Richmond VA.

I don't touch balony now. Last time I tried to eat it I spit it out and went hungry for the night because that's all we had at the time. I'd like to think I abandoned balony because of the texture of it. It's all types of s@*# processed together into a roll and cut into slices. When you put it in your mouth, it was never meant to be put together anyway and breaks into disgusting little clumps. Real meats don't do that.

Who knows why I don't like balony anymore. I'm thinking that maybe now it could be a part of me that is rejecting what I used to be. Think about it. You leave home and face a whole new world. It gives you perspective on how the world is setup. Looking back I was a ghetto child running around in the hood. Oblivious to the fact that we didn't have a lot. Surrounded by a big ghetto family of everybody like me dealing with the same circumstances. I lived in the hood. Now that I have left and did other things going back is not a realistic option. What would be the point of going back to having nothing and doing little with no hope of ever leaving? Perhaps I've taken something as mundane yet incredible fundamental to living in the hood(like sandwich meat), something that I have nothing but the fondest childhood memories of and made it the focus of my contempt for my past position. Simply put I could hate balony because I loved it then when I had nothing and now that I have achieve a slight but sure measure of success I look down on myself for ever accepting less . Refusing to embrace anything from a period of my life is my way to show that going back to that life would mean living in a world I don't like the taste of.

Or it could be that show I saw that showed them putting cow noses and left over meat into a grinder and squeezing that s#&$ a balloon made of that red lining around the edges of the slice.

We may never know.

Monday Movie Review

2006-08-21T14:33:00.000-04:00

Some movies should never have been made. I refer to these movies as being ass ( as in full of s@*#, i.e. This movie is ass.). Adding to my long list of horrible movies that include such hits as Secret Window and The Heat Up In Harlem is that Fantasia movie. I'm not even going to take the time to find out what the name of the movie actually is. Its probably something similar to all the other Lifetime movies like Murder in a Small Town: The Susie Mays Story or Fatal Intentions: The Caryn Smith Story or Fatal Murder in a Small Town: The Susie Caryn Smith Story.

It's the worse movie showing on Lifetime right now, for sure. Lifetime has a history of making below average movies so I'm not sure if I can declare it the worse movie ever made by Lifetime but its definitely in the running.

I didn't want to watch it in the first place but one of my friends had her sorrors tell her she had to watch the movie. It was her house so I couldn't argue with her. We were slack jawed in amazement that this movie actually made it on the air. It was so desperate to be inspirational it was sad. You can't make your life inspirational. No matter how much crying you do. Either it is or it isn't.

Let's start with the casting. Dwayne Wayne as Fantasia's dad? I swear he looked like he's 5 years older than her. He looked like he shot all his scenes that day. He looked the exact same when he was playing he dad at 5 as he did when he played her dad at 25. They didn't even bother to gray his beard or anything to give the illusion of the passing of time. Everyone else was a big range of D list actors that read their lines with little or no emotion. Fantasia was the worse. Besides the fact that I hate when people play themselves in movies. Gouging out your eye trying to make tears fall is not acting. I thought the girl was trying to push her brain out the back of her head with her palm when she started "crying". She brought an unknown amount of stupidity to the "sexual assault" scene. Its your big emotional moment and the most she could pull out was a bland read off the notecard "No. Let go my hand. No." It was a voice over on top of that. I can hear the producer saying "ok Fantasia one more time with feeling." "noo. let go my hand"

Which brings me to the horrible script. Whose child wrote this movie? The dialogue was terrible. It had some of the most unbelievable moments in it. She went back to the church and interrupted service with her singing and everybody in the church gathered around her and laid hands on her. I don't even think they did all that for Jesus. I been to High Point and they don't do all that. Getting jumped by 15 pretty little light skinned girls for having big lips (another bad casting choice the little girl didn't even have big lips). The worse was that huge monologue/tirade she had with the Idol producers. I don't think any producer would sit around and listen to her completely unemotional speech about all that. Artistic license is cool if you have to make it believable and this movie wasn't even close.

Editing and directing was half ass too. Take her "domestic violence" scene. Dude from Half and Half pushed her slightly and the next scene her eye is swollen and her lips is busted. I think they cut that footage with a chainsaw. No transition. Scenes with no relation back to back. Random characters popping in and out of the story. Plotlines left hanging in the air like fallen power lines. They filled the movie up with so much pointless dribble they only had 15 minutes for her entire American Idol season (which include her 10 minute tirade and commercials). That was supposed to be the big payoff and it was at best rushed. At worse made by a bunch of incompetent stooges.

This movie was made to be all inspiring and motivational. Instead of feeling like "Damn, Fantasia has been through a lot and achieved success despite all the odds. I can do the same." I'm thinking more like "Damn, this movie about Fantasia is ass. I've put myself through a lot sitting through this mess of a movie. I can do better than this trash."

So I guess that means that it actually is inspiring. I'm inspired to not watch another bad movie about how bad some famous person's life was.

Grade F-

How Deep Is Your Ocean

2006-08-10T15:07:00.000-04:00

The bass marches to at its pace and my heart follows the slow, relaxed rhythm.

The drums bring the ambiance. Subtle ticks of a sleepy snare. Easy cymbals swaying through the melody.

Suddenly the blares of the long agonizing notes of my life echo in my mind. The trumpet speaks the songs of my emotions as sure as I had hung them out on the line myself. Exposed wide to the expanse of the world. Bathed in the glow of the ethereal light of truth.

It's the song of the ocean cresting. The cacophony of sounds subsiding, mixing and changing into a gorgeous syncopation. A song so clear it disappears and you're lost inside.

The trumpet speaks the ideas of an artist taken away from his work, thirsty for the relief of creation. The oppression of the countless endeavors not allowed to breathe its breath. The tune of the wasted seeds of inspiration rotting in the dark behind a wall of distractions locked in a box of nothing.

The trumpet speaks triumph and regret in the same sad and happy moments. Standing alone in the dark with a smiling crowd of people. Kissing one while dreaming of the other. How could I enjoy myself so completely while being nonchalant to the pain it inflicts to others? How could I not? I rest with the pride of an unspoken apology and wish for moments to change, while praying that they never do.

The trumpet is the complexity of life. The sudden rage of calm waters threatening to take me under. Then letting me go battered but not broken. Setting me back on a course, now riddled with the debris pulled up from below.

The drums snap as if to say it was always there. It was the water that buoyed my voyage and hid the turbulence of the deep.

The bass move me forward. Steadily. Inexorably into the sunset.

(peace to legendary Miles Davis)

Super Solomon

2006-08-07T15:06:00.000-04:00

I'm a strong black man. A college graduate. I hard working intellectual and I'm a comic book fan. Not a scrawny little wimpy geek. You won't catch me in the bathroom beating off to a Power Girl comic. I'm not one of those people dressed in a home made Batman suit complete with functional utility belt at a comic book convention. I will be at the convention buying trades and getting autographs from my favorite artists. (Tim Sale rocks!)

As I've grown up, the reasons I've loved comics have change. Since growing into an artist in my own right (self proclaimed artist, but an artist none the less). I'm not as amazed by the pretty pictures. (I'm still amazed but not as much). Now I love them for the same reason I enjoy novels and TV shows. I love the ideas behind it. The variety of characters being put into all kinds of great stories. Its really unbelievable how creative people can be and match it up with artwork. Still I can't help but have dreams of having some wild power going on crazy adventures.

What power would you have Mr. Solomon?

Well, I'll tell you. Matter fact, I'll give my top 3 coolest powers I wish I had.

#3 Green Lanterns power ring
All you have to do is think about the ring making something and boom a big green version of it pops up. No I wouldn't have a big green Escalade on 34s riding around the A town on my own big green expessway. It would be very tempting though. I'd still save people. Drop big green anvils on child molesters or fly around with my green jet pack stopping all this fighting in Isreal. Once all that was done I'd pick up Megan Good and make a big green house boat in the tropics and...well that's my wish.

#2 Magneto's magnetism
As much as I hated the Xmen 3 movie, watching Magneto rip up that bridge and fly over to that island was something special. Think about how much stuff is made of metal. Damn near everything! You could control most of the world! If you learned your power you could do all types of stuff. That is the bizness right there. The movie touches on the possibilities. I'd take it to the extreme and rule the world...I mean help people.

#1 Superman's powers.
They made Superman the perfect combination of power to cover every possible threat in the universe. He is damn near unbeatable. Not only can he fly (at supersonic speeds no less), not only is his strength near limitless (he can shift the orbit of the moon), not only is he super fast (races the Flash), not only is his skin nigh-invulnerable (bullets, missiles, asteroids nothing can hurt him), not only are all his senses superhuman (he tells you're lying by listen to your heartbeat,he can see through walls), not only can he breathe and create a tornado(not one of those halatosis joints, a real gust of wind), not only can he live in the vacuum of space unaffected, on top of all that he has the ultimate game over power...heat vision. Don't sleep on Superman's heat vision. IT IS DEVASTATING!! I could fly over the city, look down and vaporize entire city blocks!! I could look at you and melt the buttons off your shirt. That range of control makes that the ultimate ability. I could do whatever I wanted and no one could stop me.

Not that I would do anything and need to be stopped. I'm the nicest guy in the world. *smile*

What power would you want?

No Where (Littleton)

2006-07-27T14:32:00.000-04:00

It's all right here. You don't have to go no where, young blood.

The road to the left takes you to school. To rolls of paper bound and stained with big lies and little truth. Black faces on white pages warping your mind to think their way. Ain't nothing for you there, brotha. 'less you wanna to be an Einstein. You wanna to be a little black Einstein? You wanna to read books? You get all the knowledge you need on the corner with me, young blood. Ain't nothing in those books you can't see right here. I guarantee it's stuff out here that ain't in those damn books. You can't put life in a book. This is life right here.

That road goes right into the system. Legal slavery. Workin' for massa. 9 to 5 every gotdamn day for a little chump change, you know. Whatever they tell you you're worth. $5.25? I'mma grown'd ass man. You can't bake a cake for $5. What you gonna do with that? I ain't no damn Mexican. You try to hustle and they gon' lock yo' black ass up have you stretched out doing the same damn thang for 35 cents a hour. Might as well kill ya for that. They gon' have to kill me, brotha. They wanna to cage me in a room 'bout big as that bathroom in there, they must be crazy, cuz. I can't live like no dog. They might as well kill me.

Well, that way is back where you came from. Can't go back there. Ain't nothing back there for ya. What you gon' wipe your daddy's ass? You got your daddy? You wanna to sit 'round wit ma til she die. Naw sir. They don't want you there with them. They did their time. They ain't finnin' to have you up in they face all the time. Your black ass got to get ya own place. Get ya own family. Do ya own thing out here in these streets.

Straight ahead? I don't know what's up there. The world ya know. I heard some things but.. but.. I can't tell ya. I can't even mess with that tho'. I don't know what's up there. Could be anything. Mo' people out to get ya probably. Naw man. I got every thing I need right here. See that sign. "Milk, Eggs, Bread, and Liquor" That's all you need right there. haha That's all you need.

I ain't got to go no where.

Juice

2006-07-26T10:04:00.000-04:00

Gas prices are high. So high that I don't think people have noticed that the price of juice has gone up too. That can only mean one thing. They are putting juice in the gas.

I went to the BP gas station the other day and filled up with regular unleaded. I remember being really thirsty for some reason while I was filling up. I head down the street and hit the AC. I'll be damn if it didn't smell just like apple juice. I went back to the station and the Arab clerk looked at me strange when I came in.

"Something is wrong with your gas?" I say in my calmest I'm bout-to-wild-out voice.

"What the problem sir?" His broken english infuriates me.

"Nigga It's JUICE! The premium smells like strawberry lemonade! Something is wrong with your gas, now you need to .." The Arab man throws a bag of incense at me. It explodes on my chest. I'm overwhelmed with the smell of honey and jasmin, and quickly drift off into a forced, yet delightfully fragrant, sleep. When I awaken from my jasmin blackout I'm sitting in my car with a plastic thank you bag full of scented oils, a Mazda keychain, a lighter and a half finished Sprite. I also have a full tank of real gas.

When I tell my boy, he tells me I'm crazy. The same boy that came up to me talking about how Ken Lay was still alive living in Bermuda. He has never met Ken Lay or any of the Lays. Couldn't pick the man out of a line up. Never invested in Enron or knew anybody that invested in Enron. He had absolutely no evidence to support his theory. I still have the scented oils! Why the hell would I buy scented oils from a gas station? He points out the convenience of him dying before going to jail and I stopped short of questioning how convenient it is to die before damn near anything. He calls me crazy.

After all the random Bible justifications he's made to me about everything he's calling me crazy. He tried to explain to me (using Bible verses) the Isreal/Lebanon conflict and made not one bit of sense. I didn't call him crazy when he made that left at Jews being thieves and went straight to black people being entitled to all the land in the Middle East because of the 400 years of slavery we endured. I don't call him crazy when he uses the good book to justify or explain everything torturing terrorist to exiling gay people to an island for God to destroy it. I don't think it says that.

I thought he, of all people, would understand and see the truth about this juice. I see now that conspiracy theories often only make sense to the people that create it. I'll keep my "Juice Gas" theory and you keep your "White People Lock Up Black Men to have Sex With Black Women" theory. We'll see whose right when your car starts smelling like cranberry juice.

It's Not Me, It's You

2006-07-17T15:37:00.000-04:00

Jenny B was looking at Dr. 90210 this weekend. It's this show about a plastic surgeon and his practice in Beverly Hills. They show all these profiles on how and why people get plastic surgery. They have all these ugly women that spend thousands of dollars to be not quite as ugly. Besides that they show the doctor's life. He has this fiance that I swear was a stick with blonde hair, no curves at all. They go looking for a house in the 3 to 3.5 million dollar range. This bitch comes back and signs a contract on a 5 million dollar 8 thousand square foot mansion in Beverly Hills. Now he has to work even more hours to afford this huge house. The whole point of him getting a house was so he can give his kids a little more room to play and he can have something nice to come home to. Now he has to work more just to keep up with the massive mortgage.

I had two reactions to this. First I was wondering why in the world I was watching this wack show about these rich and extremely superficial people. Second, I thought that it was amazingly inconsiderate of this bitch to put him in this bind. Sure he's a rich and famous plastic surgeon but his funds aren't unlimited. He has to perform a service to get paid like most people. She sits at home and spends all his money, so she doesn't or can't appreciate that fact. He has to work more hours to get more money. When they sat down he probably said "Ok I usually do 8 tits, 4 chins, 3 lipos, a couple of botoxes and an ass every month. That means we can get a 3.5 mil house." She said "F#&$ you I'm getting this 5 mil house. Pay for it or I'll hate you and make your life suck for not being able to take care of me." He falls for it. He's worried about being able to make the payments, frustrated about how many more hours he'll have to work, angry about the sacrifices he'll have to make. Yet he doesn't stop her from signing the contract. That makes him the bitch not her.

That is the beginning of the biggest problems with the some relationships. How long will it be before those long hours of work, work, work start to wear down the good doctor? How long will it be until he regrets giving her that house and having to work so hard and start blaming her for ruining his life? How long after him deciding she ruined his life will he put up with all the flaws that were so cute and enduring before? How many of those idiot patients will become his mistresses through the years of the now broken marriage before he leaves the woman that ruined his life for a prettier version of her? How long will she fight the divorce before he threatens to kill her? Its a progressive build up of frustration.

It all comes from incompatibility. If two people don't match up good, coexistence is damn near impossible. You have to have basically the same goals in a relationship for it to work. The good doctors goal is to provide for his family. The good doctor's wife's goal is to do whatever the hell she wants to do and get whatever the hell she wants to get from her husband. That can't work.

I've seen it happen all the time with people with nowhere near as much money. One person's selfish behaviors poison the relationship and kill it. If people had the sense to recognize what they are doing and fix it, the relationship could be saved. Most selfish people don't see it and all problems that come from their own selfish actions are blamed on everything from their bosses to the milkman (people don't even have milkmen anymore). They refuse to take any responsibility in anything and live their lives blaming their partners for their own faults. Going from one man to the next dragging their bad attitudes, their irresponsibility, their total lack of appreciation, and their negative life sucking nagging into doomed relationship after doomed relationship.

That's why I can't sit around and listen to one-sided break up stories. You want me to comfort you and make it all better?! It's not happening, shawty. I'm not gonna sit around rub your shoulders and wipe your eyes. I'm not gonna talk s#$& about your ex. I'm gonna confront you about what really went down. I want to know and I want you to know the truth. Then you can learn from your mistakes and not destroy another relationship with your foolishness. You could talk to me and afterwards realize you never did anything wrong the whole time. It's more likely you'll see how you added to the decline and can make steps to fix it. Believe me your next partner will appreciate it.

More Ice Cream Therapy

2006-07-11T16:20:00.000-04:00

My car done jacked up on me...again. Last time it was the damn transmission. This time its the damn timing belt. This car is getting all up in the way of what I got planned. I think it's time to open up the freezer and pull out an ice cream sandwich. I'm dropping out of the struggle for a quick minute. I'm sitting on this here bench to enjoy an angelic frozen treat. Creamy vanilla inside. Two tasty chocolate wafers on the outside. Delicious all the way through.

I see since my last blog everybody has picked up on the ice cream therapy.

The NAACP is there. Those cats are so out of steam its a shame. They're having a meeting with the President. It's not a "I need to have a meeting with the NAACP because they are the heart and soul of the African American community." type of meeting. It's more like "I should sit with that negro group to be in line with my party trying to commandeer these colored votes" type of meeting. Nobody gives those guys any credit. It's turned into social organization in a way. People wave a little NAACP membership card around, talk to other blacks every other month at a meeting, maybe get a little pro-black pussy. Get next to some educated black dick, have a few parties every year, hang with some cool people. Its a sweet deal...but its not supposed to be a singles group or a status show. I give them one of my sandwiches because they still have the word "Colored" in their name. That's just sad.

Star Jones is out here eating half an ice cream sandwich (she can't eat a whole after that "procedure"). She got a job hosting House Hunters on HGTV. House Hunters? Didn't you go through like 10 years of law school and pass the New York bar exam and you're hosting a show about searching for a house? She f*#$ed up marrying that gay ass dude and then not wanting to talk about her dramatic weight lost. Friday she was 450 lbs with chocolate on her face and spaghetti stains on her shirt. Monday she was 165 looking all sick with skin hanging off her face, talking about she been dieting. Soon as she gets fired its a big "black" issue. Ain't nobody tell you to break bad on the folks and talk s#&$ all in the papers all willy nilly. You should've been fired. It's show biz, girl. You know what's good. I'd smack that sandwich right out you're mouth if you didn't look like one of those zombies from Land of the Dead. Ain't nothing fabulous about your body being out of sync with your face. Ya scary looking muthaf#&$ah you.

Its a whole crowd of people sitting around hating the day that they ever heard of adjustable rate mortgages. It was all good last year when they were paying $500 a month for a 4,000 square foot house with a pool and a 3 car garage. They bought Escalades and Mercedes and had all kinds of wild house parties. They were chilling hard. They got that bill on the 30th. That payment quadrupled. Now they looking all depressed in bankruptcy court. The house got that big sign out front. "FORECLOSED". That's what you get for trying to get over ya bastards. Eat this ice cream sandwich and think back to the 29th when you ain't have a care in the world.

It's a whole bunch of people that should be here eating these black and white delicacies but will be joining me shortly. Rappers. Not all rappers just the ones that own the publishing to these wack ass songs on the radio. Lots of good its gonna do you to get paid for a song nobody is gonna listen to in 2 years. Imagine them actually playing "Shoulder Lean" in 2008. Imagine turning on the raido and hearing "I'm in Love with a Stripper" on the oldies channel. I don't see it happening. It was very business saavy of you to do that. It would have done a lot more good to spend that time actually rapping and making better music. Watching these suckas slowly disappear into obscurity is just as good as eating this ice cream.

I feel a lot better now. Thank the lord for ice cream.

The Call

2006-07-07T12:19:00.000-04:00

*Earlier this week a Coca Cola employee and 2 accomplices were arrested for stealing top secret Coca Cola documents and trying to sell them to Pepsi for 1.5 million dollars. Pepsi called and informed Coca cola about the theft.

9 am Atlanta, Ga
Top floor meeting room of the Coca Cola building.

"...so she says it won't fit in there!" The room explodes into laughter just as the door opens.

"Sir.." says the secretary. She walks in slowly with her head down.

"What is it, Ms. Jones?" says the man at the head of the table.

"It's the phone sir. It's..its Pepsi"

Time pauses. No one breathes. The man at the head of the table stands and buttons his jacket. He brushes down his jacket and checks his cuff links, which are replicas of Coca Cola bottle caps. He runs his hands through his hair. Everyone in the room stares in bewilderment, awaiting his next move. He moves around the table to the phone. Everyone in the room crowds around him in a flurry of movement. He looks around at all the faces in the crowd. He snatches up the phone quickly. The crowd gasps as he stares at the receiver.

Slowly he puts the phone to his ear and speaks with barely masked contempt. "Hello, Mr. Pepsi."

"Miisstteerr Coke." speaks the voice out of the phone. Slow, deep and condescending. The "k" in sound in coke snaps harshly. "I hope this day finds you in good spirits. I haven't heard much from you since that whole vanilla fiasco. How are... things?"

Mr. Coke frowns and grips the phone tighter. The crowd tenses up. Someone is strangling their tie. Another person is grinding their teeth. They all lean in closer as if preparing to jump into the phone.

"What do you want, PEPSI?!" Someone in the crowd breaks a red Coca Cola pen in their hand.

"You have a leak, COKE."

"What are you talking about?"

"Super...Berry."

The crowd gasps again. Mr. Coke lifts his hand to silence them. "What are you.."

"CUT THE CRAP COKE! You know what I'm talking about! You've got someone on the inside ratting you out! They have everything. The research, samples.. The RECIPE! They want to give it all to us, COKE! The whole shabang! WE'LL HAVE SUPER BERRY PEPSI OUT PACKAGED ON EVERY SHELF FROM HERE TO KOREA BEFORE YOU CAN SAY CARBONATION!! Don't f#&% with me MISTER COKE!"

"OK!!" He snarls at the phone. "You got me by the balls, Pepsi! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR! What do you want?!"

"HAHAHA! I don't want anything from you, Mister Coke! What could you possibly offer me, anyway?"

"Then why the call, Pepsi? Why not take it?"

"I'm no thief, Mister Coke. I don't need to tarnish myself to compete with you. I'll have my people fax over what we know about everything. I would hope you would do the same...if the tables were reversed."

"Of course. It would only be fair."

"Indeed it would, Mister Coke. Indeed."

" Mister Pepsi...this changes nothing."

CLICK

The boss puts the phone down. "Leave me." he says.

The people gather their notebooks and papers and scurry out of the room. He walks over to the 12 foot window and gazes out over the city. The beauty of the morning is lost on him. The warmth of the sun can't cut through the chill of this moment. There will be hell to pay this day. So says Mister Coke!

In Da Club Remix

2006-06-27T15:55:00.000-04:00

My grown women friends and the enlightened ladies that comment on this blog point out very clearly that there are plenty of reasons to go to the club for women. "I like going out to dance with my girls, have a few drinks and shake my booty" says Miz JJ. "When me and my friends go out, it truly is to UNWIND!" says Fallen Angel. I can appreciate that. (Thanks for commenting by the way).

I can understand the plight of those dudes too. I've had and still have boys that do the club thing. I know they are decent guys but decent guys don't thrive in the club. You can't get with no girl in the club being regular. You've got to adjust to your environment.

When you walk in the club you can separate the crowd into clear groups based on their intentions. These classifications are universal to any given non event night at any club across America. Maybe the world. You got your "Chill" crowd. They are just hanging with the girls. Drinking a little. Dancing in groups. Laughing at dance moves each other do. They're chilling. You got your "On the Prowl" group. They came to attract attention. They scan the crowd for cute dudes. They dance seductively by themselves and wave away ugmos that try to dance with them. The want the ballas. They don't want to get down immediately. They want to sample your money first. You got your "With Somebody" girls. They came with or to meet one person in particular. That's it. Once they find him they only dance with him, only talk to him, only look at him. Lastly, but certainly not least, you have the "Stick It In My Ass and Call Me A Bitch" girl. It's only one of them in the club at any given time.(more on the event nights). Sometimes she doesn't even show up.

That girl sets all the events in motion. First let's go on and admit that this "chick" does in fact exist and does attend the clubs on a regular basis. She's your friend that you don't drink after. That you wash your hands after you touch her. That you don't sit down in her house.

If every woman that came to the club acted respectably and with class (like 85% of all ladies in the club) there would be no problems. This "chick" opens up the endless possibilities for the end of the night for horny guys. If you can get her to dance, whisper a little something in her ear, buy a couple of drinks it's over. If you came to the club hunting for pussy, you're talking about the difference between having a good night and a great night . Her legend travels the city like a folk song on the wagon trail. Dudes that harass women in the club are looking for her. Problem is SHE LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU!! She's a regular lady that gets it in her mind to f*#$ somebody that night. She doesn't bare the mark of the beast. She isn't hideously deformed. She isn't even immediately recognizable. Dudes have to find her. She's not always there but she comes there enough to inspire dudes like an old Negro spiritual.

(deep Negro baritone)
I'mma goin' hoooomme (GOIN" HOME)
Ta git in dat aaaass (GET THAT AAASS)
Goin' hoooooome (GOIN' HOME)
oh Lawd
Ta git in dat ass (GIT IN DAT ASS)

Dudes come to the club to find that "chick". She is all dressed up dancing around in the crowd of all the other women. The time tested, certified, absolute best way to find that "chick" is to play the law of averages. Simply put you got to have that Baseball game.

Think about it like this. An average major league hitter on a REALLY good year averages a .300. Usually you're looking at about a .200 or less. That means he is successful roughly 20% of his attempts at bat. He fails 80% of the time! Hits 2 out of 10 balls, and he's good! He'll keep his job and will be back tomorrow. When he does connect there's no guarantee he'll get past first. He keeps going because he knows eventually he's gonna connect and its gonna be one of those sweet homeruns.

Right out of the park and he can jog home to the roar of the crowd. He does that for like 200 games a season. He keeps going and striking out. 25, 30 games no hits. Running to first, maybe scoring maybe not. End of the season you only remember the sweet homeruns.

Apply that principle to the club. Everytime a dude goes holla at a girl he's at bat. He's striking out 80% of the time. Girls walk away, throw drinks in his face, cuss him out, give him fake numbers. He gets no love 80% of the time. The rest of the time he might get a number, maybe see her again, probably not. Then out of the blue he gets with that "chick" and hits it out of the park. Mission accomplished. That one time assures him he is doing something right. He keeps going.

It has nothing to do with you ladies. I know it's annoying as hell but how else do you get a girl in the club? Its proven in the law of averages. Your odds of succeeding increase by increasing the number of attempts. They have no choice but to keep going and holla at everybody they see if they want to achieve that goal. You never know which girl is that "chick".

Oh but it gets deeper..
It gets deeper...

!!

2006-06-27T15:08:00.000-04:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JENNY B!!

In Da Club

2006-06-26T10:54:00.000-04:00

I never realized how traumatizing it is for a woman to go to the club. As much as women flock in droves to get up in the spot I thought they were having a wonderful time.

The way I look at it women spend about 8 to 12 hours in preparations for one night the club. A night is not even a whole night, we're talking 4 hours max. You have to figure in hair, nails, shopping for clothes, make up, coordinating schedules for friends and rides, babysitters in some cases. I peeped you out in the club, shawty, I'm tacking on another hour for practicing those moves. (You ain't come up with that little dip and twist move out of the blue.) I'm thinking to myself, logically who would devote that much time to something and not enjoy it? Especially when you are not only not getting paid but are paying to have be there. Fine women will drink for free and get in free but I've never heard of a fine women not getting hit up for parking. It might be possible though.

Talking it over with some friends this weekend they hit me with the ill horror stories. I've heard about the "Dance Floor Rapist" tales.

Just like being in the wilds of Africa, women go to the club in groups for protection. One of the girls always gets separated from the pack. That's when the hyenas swoop in. They move in quickly. Strategically positioning their widebacked monstrous selves between the pack and the unlucky slacker. Obstructing the view. Suddenly she's all alone in the middle of a crowd with this dude. Touching and feeling and groping. Putting his "equipment" all over her. Breathing his hot breath. Luckily another girl saw her struggling to get away and saved her. Man makes you wonder how many girls go home with mysterious wet spot on their clothes. That s#*$ ain't cool.

I had not heard the "Mr. Celebrity" story before. The girl is barely 5 ft tall. Dark chocolate, island sista. Very petite, very heavy Trini accent, very cute. She's in the club and this tall ass dude comes over to her. (Tall guys love short women.)He hovers over her like the last piece of chicken. After sucking up all her air he tells her to come with him, so he can show her something. She says no and pushes him up off of her. Dude goes into this tirade. "Don't you know who I am?! You should be beggin' to come with me! Don't you know who I am?! You know how many women want to be with me!" Dude geeks out so hard she grabs her friends and heads to the bouncer for protection. Dude won't let up. She points him out and the bouncer says, "Don't you know who that is? He's such and such. He plays for the Clippers." She's a PhD candidate in chemistry from Trinidad, she don't know nothing about American basketball players. Ask her about organic compounds or chemical bonds and she's all over it. I'm from America and I wouldn't recognize a Clipper player even if they had their full uniform on a basketball court with cameras following them around. Dude was out of order but she had to leave! How f#*$d up is that?

Put that with all the "Gold-toothed Po Pimps" and the "Ugmo Nights at Visions" and the "In Love Sloppy Drunks" I don't see how women can have any fun. What is the point really if all this bad stuff is very likely to happen on any given night. Is it worth all the stress, time, and money?

Apparently it is.

Stick Me for My Paper

2006-06-21T10:36:00.000-04:00

Don't you love ambiguous titles for stuff. Take for instance this title. "Stick Me for My Paper" You think I'm about to go into my little thing about Biggie Smalls but no I'm not talking about Biggie. The Biggie argument is a moot point to me. I love B.I.G. but I think a little romanticism is going on with that. It's gotten to be real cool to shout him out, quote his lyrics and say he's your favorite of all time. I don't want to have that argument today.

Could I be talking about Lego? Lego has been making those little blocks for 2000 years or so. Now they are closing their American facility to move it to Mexico. They say times have gotten bad for them. With all the Playstations and XBoxes and gameboys kids don't want any real toys. You give a kid a Lego set you might get cussed out. ("Wha the hell am I s'pose ta do wit dat?") What is Christmas without spending 2 hours covered in little plastic blocks of varying sizes, shapes, and colors looking at a little tiny folded piece of paper trying to make a dinosaur adventure island for your G.I. Joes? I can see the benefit of moving to Mexico though. If I was in the ivory tower and somebody told me I could stop paying people $7.50 an hour with benefits and move my plant to Mexico where I could start paying people 45 cent an hour and a loaf a bread a week, there wouldn't be much discussion after that. Yet I'm not talking about sticking hard working Americans up for their paper either.

I'm talking about the King Papers. Coretta and Martin are gone. As much as we talk about how much we love them and how much respect we have for everything they did for us (especially Martin), respect and love don't keep the lights on. The King children need that cash. They don't have the money to maintain the King center, or probably to maintain their lifestyles. Unfortunately whatever gifts Martin and Coretta had they didn't quite translate to their babies. Their claim to fame is that their parents were great people. Doesn't make them great people. They really can't get the money coming to the foundation with the figure head gone now. I don't think anyone pays to go see the King children.

The solution to their problems are to let Suthebys auctions off the old documents of their father. Drafts of the "I have a dream speech", His Nobel peace prize speech. Letters. Notes to Coretta telling her not to fix Sista Rosa's jumbalaya any more because it gave him gas. All kinds of stuff. They are expecting between 15 and 30 million for the lot. Automatically people are getting upset because they say the King papers should stay in the black community. Black owned so to speak. Selling the papers is like selling our heritage to them. I agree and disagree.

I agree because Martin Luther The King was the key to the civil rights movement. If King didn't do it, it wasn't gonna happen. He got 5 million people to march on Washington and until he flew down in his pastor suit with flowing red cape and turned water in to wine we were a lost people. Victims of racist America. Maybe there is a little romanticism there too. Truth is more people marched in the Million Man March than the march on Washington. Black leaders chastised him for taking a stance against Vietnam. He was considered revolutionary and danger until Malcom came a long. History glosses over that stuff. Martin is our saint though. It would be good for us as a people to show how we can take care of our own history. Keep his papers for prosperity on display at Morehouse for all to see and be proud of.

I disagree because in addition to being black I'm also an intellectual and a realist. I know anybody that buys the King papers are not going to destroy them, hide them, or burn them. Who would pay $15+ million dollars to get some kindling for the fireplace? (Besides the paper are all digitally archived now) I know white people value King's legacy almost as much as black people do. In some cases more so. I know of all kinds of public institutions with the funds and knowledge to keep the papers in pristine condition for damn ever. Would it make me any less proud of the King legacy to see his papers in a huge elaborate display at the Smithsonian compared to somewhere not as elaborate on Morehouse campus? I don't think so.

Actually I might feel better about it. No I'm not an Uncle Tom that doesn't care about "our history". I care a great deal about it. I think it would be wonderful to walk through an archive of American history and see the King legacy proudly represented. That's what we were fighting for, right?

John

2006-06-18T16:24:00.000-04:00

John
18"x25"
watercolor

Another Solomon original. Inspired by me thinking "I wonder what a black and white protrait over a solid color would look like. The meaning would be changed by the color. What if it was red. A bright splashed on dripping wild red. What if I..."

Let me know what you think.

Attack of the Co-workers

2006-06-16T15:26:00.000-04:00

Read TGIF and The Cypher first.

Still not doing...

A
GOT
DAMN
THANG
...at work. My boy Dave has pointed out how no matter what job you go to there is always one disgruntled black person. Most of the time its an old black dude. You have to ask yourself, why is he so mad? Is the job really that bad or is his life f&$%d up?

I wonder if it's the same for people at other jobs. I wonder if CEO's pull up to the job first day and a black guy walks up to him and goes "Man this job ain't s#*$. You see that little ass plane they give us? How they expect us to get by with $20,000 a month expense account? Those damn stockholders always calling and want to know what we doing all the time. It's f*#%d up man. This s#*$ sucks." Depends on you perspective I guess. I can see how even the greatest job in the world will get on your nerves after 18 years of doing the same s&*# every damn day.

I think every job has certain stereotypes. Like a fat person. Something like 40% of Americans are obiest now so maybe that's the reason for that. But why is the fat person always snacking on something healthy like yogurt and granola bars and fruit? If I see a fat person eating cake and ice cream all the time I can comprehend that. You know how many granola bars you have to eat to not only stay fat but get fatter? What is the point of eating healthy at all?

There always the uppity ass dude. He swears he knows everything about every damn thing. They always want to explain s#&$. If I ask you about this one file in this one project I don't need to hear anything about the history of the company, how they name the file because the sign couldn't fit in sideways, and how they had to change the materials due to cost. DUDE, I DON'T CARE! GIVE ME THE F&$%IN FILE AND SHUT THE F&#$ UP!

Who else has a little woman that wears 3 inch heels but can hardly walk in them?

How about a big booty chick? There is always one big booty chick that walks by the guys and waves like she don't know we looking at her ass. I couldn't pick her out of a crowd.

Uh oh...about time to go home. I have not done...

A
GOT
DAMN
THANG

...all day. Time for the weekend. This job is alright. F#&$ what dude talking 'bout.

The Cypher

2006-06-16T12:34:00.000-04:00

Read TGIF first.

"Yo"

Bum boom boom boom
Bum boom boom boom

"Yo"

Bum boom boom boom

"Go head, Trev"

Bum boom boom boom

"yo, yo
Yo Reg is on my team, Dee's on my team, Chris on my team, you know what I mean, I sit back and dream, want to drink Mo' like a fiend, drive cars and get mad c.r.e.a.m., but I'm in this classroom, teacher in the bathroom, gettin drunk, yo she smell like a skunk, yo Dee stop laughin, you mess'dup the beat"

"You stupid man. Cmon Reg."

Bum boom boom boom
Bum boom boom boom
Bum boom
Bum boom
Bum boom boom boom

"Who the f#&$ is this, rappin in the claaass, if Renada walk I'm gonna smack that aaaass, cause its so phat, I'll get it from the back like ratta-tat-tat, all up in the crack (oh!), I'm grimey, crazy, vicious, when I finish she'll say "that was magically delicious", I go coo coo for that coco, crazy like a do do, open up those lips and put it in real slow slow, I take a girl like Tasha ("Don't talk about me, boy"), bet I make her holla, she says "stop its too big", aye yo I give it to her harder. Stop throwing stuff. Stop playin, girl. You know you want me."

Bum boom boom boom

"She was lookin at your ass the other day, yo."

Bum boom boom boom

"I know she was. You can holla at me girl. I'll f&$ you."

Bum boom boom boom (laughing)

"Yo you see his face! He took the hell off! She ain't gonna catch that guy. Big Chris you got it."

Bum boom boom boom
Bum boom boom boom

"Aight"

Bum boom boom boom

"What, what, what, yo, yo"

Bum boom boom boom

"You gonna spit or keep saying that s$&%?"

Bum boom boom boom

"I got this man.yo
give it to you like this, or that, I ball, I rap, I'm muthaf&#%in' man like method, take the word don't test it, eat my steak feed you carrots like a rabbit, fresh cut, new kicks and a jacket, i'm so fresh all the bitches call me magic,("Get Tony yo") Tony been cutting grass with them shoes, white with green stains that s#&% ain't cool, don't mean to be rude, I went to his house, smack'd his mama in the mouth("OOOOOOh"), I ask'd to use the bathroom, she wouldn't let me piss, I went outside let it go in a ditch, outside by the flowers, when I f$*% his mama, she charge me by the hour, she start sucking and kaboom! black juice fill the room!!"

"OOOOHHHHH!! Damn yo! HAHAHA He got you, Tony. HAHAHA He got you good yo. You dirty Chris. You dirty yo."

"What you back there doin, Detron? I can't leave the class good and you start cackling like a.."

"Like a what? A monkey?"

(class laughs)

"Y'all get back to work."

This is just a random ass memory. Just laughing my ass off at old stuff while I'm sitting here not doing...

A
GOT
DAMN
THANG

TGIF

2006-06-15T21:33:00.000-04:00

It might be because its Friday. It might be because it was hot this morning. Or because I had to take my car to the shop today. But you know what I feel lucky. Lucky enough that I'm not doing a gotdamnthang at work today.

A
GOT
DAMN
THANG

All day long. No preparing next week. No cleaning up from this week. No organizing. No designing. Nothing. Not...

A
GOT
DAMN
THANG

I'm taking the day off from work... at work. Anybody that tries to stop me or make me do something is getting the Kunta Kinte special. I'm chopping off feet today, bitches. Don't push me.

I'm gonna do this tag from Fallen Angel. Identify and give a shout out of appreciation to those who have helped or are helping me in my life. That's what I'm gonna do. Get your ipods out put on Anthony Hamilton Coming from Where I'm From, track one. "Mama Knew Love". I know its the same beat as Jay Z "Mama Loves Me" but Anthony Hamilton got that soul in his voice that makes it that much better. Look, you like having 2 feet right? Just do it.

The Fam gets a big shout out. I don't go through the day without thinking about them. All of them. Ma, Pop, 2 brothers, 2 sisters, 3 nephews. Can't live without them. Move to ATLANTA!!

Magic Mike and Reggie Lee. My other brothers. It's been like 18 years now right? Its way easier to deal with life when you have real friends like that. Reggie is in the desert doing his super soldier thing. I still match wits with Mike weekly. Reg is married with a cute little girl and Mike is on his way to owning Lowes. When we talk its like we're still cruisin through the country in a battleship gray Festiva. No power steering! All muscle taking the curves, remember that?!

Shirley the first person I met at ECU. Made leaving home for the first time much easier and much more fun.

Josh P the greatest roommate ever. Frat brother supreme. Talking in the room eating hotdogs on the George Foreman helped me keep my cool. Dez was there too. Can't forget my boy D.

Dre, James, Stan. They brought me into the mighty Iota Phi Theta Fraternity Incorporated. Gave me a purpose when I needed it and some wild ass memories. We ain't had to be throwin' it up like that Dre!! RICOLA!!

Alexis made that time in Greenville worth living. You don't know how much I hated being around Greenville til we became friends again. Move to ATLANTA!

ECU Dining Services for firing me. The best thing that ever happened to me.

Dave helped me get 2 jobs. Keeps me thinking about doing art as a career. We gon' make it Dave.

Jenny B. Who I love more than life. My measure for all real women. My first girlfriend. My biggest supporter. My best friend ever. Who showed me the joy of loving and being loved. One day the moon and stars will align and we will live in wedded bliss forever. For ever, ever? For ever, ever girl.

Outkast for making that good music that kept me up and hype for my late night paintings.

Everybody that read my blog and came back. You like me! You really like me!

That's it for now. Since I ain't doing..

A
GOT
DAMN
THANG

...at work today, I'm gonna write another blog.

Nice Try Billy Boy

2006-06-15T14:24:00.000-04:00

Sorry, Bill Campell, paying $60,000 in back taxes, a $6,300 fine and a 30 month sentence for being found guilty of 2 counts of tax evasion sounds about right to me. The judge says he factored in evidence from a friend about how you took records to hide evidence in the trial that might have worked against you. I can see that too.

I can't appreciate you and your supporter waving the black flag, so to speak, to make everybody all hyped up about your problems. I think you and bitch ass Frank Ski (a dj on the radio station down here in Atlanta) are about the only people that think race was involved. I was especially delighted at the responses from people on Frank's show yesterday.(Notes I hate listening to his show and I only catch it when people tell me something good like yesterday Is going on)

Frank had Atlanta's new major Shirley Franklin on their and was going on and on trying to make it seem like it was such a blow to black people in public office. Like now it was a big crusade out against black people in positions of power. Her response was to the effect of "No it doesn't make me nervous. I don't feel anymore nervous than any of my white counterparts that I talk to. Anyone in this office will be under a microscope because of the nature of the job. Its all about personal ethics." That's coming from a black woman mayor. Take that Frank Ski.

For some odd reason he also had one of the federal persecutors up there. Frank Ski has this complex where he thinks he's right and no one can argue against him. His mistake was bringing on a man that is trained to argue against other people that are trained to argue. He must be good because after all he is a federal prosecutor. After pointlessly trying to act like dude must be happy now that he got Bill Campbell. (like he must be really proud of himself) The guys beaks Frank's face in half. He tells him about how his daughter kept him up last night and how bad that was. He goes on to explain how he doesn't care about convicting Bill Campbell. He goes to work, he gets a case and he prosecutes. Black, white, man, or woman if you bring him evidence about somebody breaking the law he'll review it. If he reviews it and finds that its credible, he prosecutes. That's what he does. Its his job. He's already prepping his next case. He doesn't know Bill Campbell doesn't care about him in the least. Way more important than the fact that Campbell was black was that he was an alledged corrupt mayor.

He explained the case against Frank's buddy Bill like this: Aside from the fact that 10 people in his administration have been proven guilty of accepting bribes, there were records that proved undeniably all of Mr. Campbell's exploits. Trips with a news anchor in a prolonged affair, high stakes gambling, lavish gifts for mistresses, etc. Going through the records there was $160,000 spent beyond his salary and money received from being mayor and other engagements, that can be directly connected to him. Money that was not reported to the government at any point. Bill has yet to give any reasonable explanation for where the excess money came from. There is no way all that money came from him gambling. That is tax evasion, plain and simple. In the grand scheme it is impossible for the government to justify taking half of the money a person at McDonalds earns and not hold public officials to the same standard. They should in fact be held to a higher standard because they are officers of the government.

What can you say to that?

Frank had to agree with that. He didn't want to and tried to change the subject to discredit the person that came forward with charges of evidence tampering. Bill apparently came to his house and took paper records of all that gambling he was doing. He tried to say how wild it is for this guy keep track of the money at the gambling nights. They apparently gambled at his house every week and he was the banker. He wrote down he got loaned money and who owed who and who paid what. "Who keeps records of gambling between friends?" says Frank desperate to stop his point from disappearing into thin air. That's not even a whole argument. Who jumps out of a plane and gets married on the way down? Who washes their car and dries it with a diaper? Who goes out and rapes a five year old to cure AIDS? It all happens. The fact you have never seen it is irrelevant in court.

It takes me back to my age old motto. I'm not supporting anything just because. It has to have some logical sense behind it. I can't support anybody or anything based simply on the fact that they are black. It is very possible for a man to do amazing things and still be a jackass. Bill Campbell (supposedly) did a lot for black people in Atlanta as mayor. That's cool. I as a resident of Atlanta appreciate it. As a black man well aware of the struggles we encounter everyday, I commend you, Mr. Campbell.

So where'd the money come from?

Dinner for 2

2006-06-11T17:46:00.000-04:00

The boots match the necklace. The purse matches the skirt. The earrings match the belt. The nails match eyes. The shirt drapes over her torso ever so softly revealing her amazingly soft creamy skin which is accented by her flowing expertly highlighted hair. The goddess strolls into the room blessing the world with her beauty. She is the caramel Venus, down amongst the trolls. The ultimate winner of the genetics melting pot. The best of 3 heritages shining greater than any before her. I'm breathless as always.

Her entrance is as grand as it has ever been. A magical stroll of gorgeous detachment. She navigates the mortal realm as a specter floating through space above everything, save what interests her at the time. The universe is recreated for her every morning when she wakes and ceases to exist when she closes her eyes at night. There is nothing beyond herself. Her eyes meet mine and my heart jumps still. She leads, as always with that dagger of a smile, beaming of an almost insane confidence. Not true confidence but the appearance of it.

She never loved me but she loved having me there for her. I supported her with an efficiency of an unrequited lover. I once thought of myself to be her favorite toy. She treated me as such. I hate myself for ever having liked it and for liking it the way I did. I was the movie friend. The dinner companion. The hang out buddy. I would have ran into burning building to fetch her ice water for the chance to have her around for one more minute. I dreamed of touching her in the most pathetic sort of way. Brushing against her arm, her leaning against me or (gasp) holding her hand. I could never imagine such happiness as a kiss.

That was the downfall I think. I respected her above all else, more than she even respected herself I believe. I wore my infatuation with her like a big puffy, purple mink coat. After a long day of going out and being used and abused by everything and everyone I was the her favorite couch to relax on. That's where she wanted me and that's where I was.

I was under the spell. I don't know why. All the time we spent together, gave me a chance to thoroughly inventory her. I lived for her star qualities and I knew her every flaw. From how she mispronounced "prescription" (perstription) to her nearly palpable forgetfulness about everything. I've come to see now that she was the most needy and weak minded person I had ever met. Something about being stunningly beautiful robbed her of any desire to do for herself. Any solution to any problem involved her getting someone to do something about it for her. To her, everything could be fixed with a kind word and that smile. That ethereal smile. The rare times that did not work, her usefulness evaporated like water in the desert. She would wait for someone to restore it by acknowledging her beauty and correct her life for her. It was the most pathetic and attractive thing about her.

The main pitfall for us is her insatiable need for attention. She was a status vulture. Her substantial investment in the time, money and energy into being blindingly alluring necessitated her having a companion of the utmost potential to draw attention. He had to be her ultimate accessory. She needed the president of the Alphas. The biggest and baddest Q dog and I was just an Iota. She needed the quarterback and I was a sometime fan in the stands. I would never be enough for her because I was recognized and respected by everyone that knew my name. She wanted someone revered by all.

I grew tired of wearing my smiling mask. It hid my resentment, my jealousy, my crying eyes from her sight. It was too heavy for me to carry any longer. It had gotten to the point of everyday visits and every weekend wasted catering to my pedestal princess. I had had enough. I had matured greatly over the course of our affair. I'd gained strength and knowledge of life. I knew I was choosing stagnation, a voluntary servitude to a woman devoid of the ability to connect with me. I forfilled her need for true male companion ship and she left me wanting for everything. She adored my affection and let me down ever so gently when I dared ask for more from her.

Here we are. On my rare visit home she caught me at my friends house and arranged our dinner. After her spectacular entrance, I sit and eat with the most beautiful woman I have ever known. A woman that drives a Mercedes that she can't afford. A woman that has spent a small fortune to feed on the attention of people she doesn't even know. A woman with a smile to die for, that hasn't read a book in 5 years. A woman that is now the opposite of perfect for me because I am now the opposite of infatuated with her.

The spell is broken. I toasted my emancipation in a silent happiness.

Vaguely

2006-06-11T10:13:00.000-04:00

Vaguely
18"x24"
charcoal

You can kinda remember things about someone but the picture is not always perfect.

Dateline's Funniest Home Videos

2006-06-08T21:58:00.000-04:00

Dateline has came up with the funniest TV series since Sienfeld. Their "To Catch A Predator" series is the most hilarious show out right now.

The set up is so basic, its genius. A group of volunteers pose as underage girls online. They wait around and sure enough the perverts start to line up. After having a few conversations the jump into the dirty talk. That leads up to the pervs arranging a meeting with the girl when her parents aren't home. When the guys show up, out comes Chris Hanson and he interviews these jackasses. That is the most hilarious part, they sit down and talk to him about what's going on. What the f#&$?! They do the sloppiest backtracking ever caught on TV. Pervs caught red handed. The best part is they start to leave feeling embarrassed yet relieved that they got away. Suddenly they get swarmed by cops! HAHAHA! You stupid pervs! You thought you were getting away! HAHAHAH!

This is definitely the thing that is perfect about reality TV. Not the faux reality TV on most stations. Stuff like Real World, The Apprentice, etc are damn near scripted sitcoms. The stories that these freaks have are so amazing Dean Koontz couldn't make this up. Firefighters, teachers, priests. They stroll up the drive way looking around with armfuls of Mike's Hard Lemonade and beer. Condoms in their pockets. They come in happily identifying themselves, all the while imagining getting some of that underaged nookie. All the way up until Chris comes out like, "Excuse me. What are you doing?" HAHAHA! They look at him like he's a the boogie man. A clear mix shock and guilt. If you look closely their bodies jerk like they just stopped themselves from taking off in a full sprint. It amazes me every single time that they sit down and talk to him.

"What were you coming over here to do?"
"I came to hang out." or "Came to talk and make some new friends."
"To hang out alone in a house with an 15 year old. What is the beer for?"
"I was thirsty." (HAHAHAHA!!) or "I uh..its..uh"
"That's not what you said in your chat. You said you wanted to lick her virgin body and give her great pleasure like a real man. You talk, quite explicitly about various sexual acts. I didn't know you could do all that with a potato. Sniffing pubic hair. Masturbation. You were very explicit. You want to beep his beep and beep his long beep beep I can't even say this stuff out loud. Did you bring condoms, Mr. (insert sexually explicit screen name)?"
"Yeah. But I..uh..I always carry condoms with me." They say while shifting on the stool uncomfortably.
"So you thought it was ok for a 42 year old man to bring alcohol and condoms to meet a 13 year old girl. You're a married man with kids. What was your plan tonight? What would have happened in this house if me and me television crew had not been here?"
(uncomfortable silence) HAHAHAHA!!

Dateline has been doing this a while. They started coming up with stuff to make it more challenging. They use decoy little boys. Web cams. They have these crazy voice over recreating the online conversations. They set up the houses way out in the country so the pervs have to drive like 200 miles to get there. They catch almost 20 dudes every episode. The really bad part is that some of the people have seen the other Dateline shows!

I give major kudos to Dateline for this one. They catch the pervs and provide some of the most classic moments of TV in the last 5 years. I swear I almost died when that dude came in the house and got ass out naked, walking around dick swangin' waiting for a 14 year old girl to come out. When he tried to say all he wanted was to talk, Chris Hanson said "Marvin, you're naked." HAHAHAHAHAH
HAHAHAHAHA!!

Wooooooo. oh man You crazy Chris Hanson.

Some Get Back

2006-06-06T19:50:00.000-04:00

I have always had this innate desire to go back and confront adults from my childhood. It's nothing incredibly serious. (No I wasn't molested or abused. I had a very nice childhood all things considered.) I got issues with some folks. The people I'm talking about never hurt me you see. They shattered my world none the less. They showed me how ugly it is on the other side of my front door. I remember them distinctly because the moments of our faithful interactions are etched into my brain. I'm secretly incredibly bitter about my mental scars. I don't want to fight them. I just want to talk s#$& to them.

I would go to the Hull Street Market (the sto' like my grandma says it). I was about 8 or 9 and there was this bum that lived on the street around there. I hated going to the store because he always popped up. I hated how he talked to me like I was an adult. He used to always harass me about my mama's change. "Hey let me see what's in your bag, little man? Your mama don't need all that change, let me get me something to drink. It's hot as hell out here. You just gonna act like a ol bitch and not say nothing. I ought to smack you and take your change. See what your punk ass daddy does about that." Imagine how traumatizing it is for an old evil looking man to threaten a little kid. I remember that day vividly because soon as I turned the corner I took off running back home. I fell and messed up my favorite He-Man t-shirt (I'm an 80's baby). I want to go back to that moment and mush that dude in the face. "What the hell you doing out here talking to little kids like that?! Get the hell on somewhere with your old ass! Looking like Roger Troutman on crack! Go comb your knappy ass beard and go back to Cameo with you old ass! Word Up Nigga!" Then I would mush the korean lady at the register. "Why you let that dude harass your customers? Call the police or something. Now give me a sugar daddy and some red hots."

Then it's on to Ms Weaver. Sixth grade P.E. teacher extraordinaire. Damien and Trevor had me in a damn head lock. They had ripped my shirt and dragged me across the gym. She sends all 3 of us to In School Suspension for playing while she was talking. I made direct clear eye contact with her with my one good eye that wasn't compressed against his forearm. My face was bright red. I was choking and gasping for breath under his musty arms. "Woman are you blind or something? You so fascinated with kickball, that you can't see past your puffy mustache and help somebody. Fix your wig, bitch, and get a clue. This dude is 6'2" 215 how the hell was I playing with his big gorilla ass. Pick those sagging ass titties up when I'm talking to you."

I really got fire for one person in particular. It was 1996. I was 16 riding my bike down the road from Reggie's house going home. It was just starting to get dark outside. I'm riding along enjoying myself when I see lights approaching from behind. I move to get into the next lane out of the way, at the same time this dude accelerates in the next lane to pass me. BOOM! I black out at the initial impact and wake up seconds later in total pain with a mouth full of dirt and blood. I remember trying to move and not being able to. I start crying. I make myself notice of every second, thinking I'm going to die on the side of the road. I listen to my every breath praying for the next sweet inhale of life. This dude gets out the car and starts cussing at me! He's mad about his car!! I black out again thinking, "what kind of s#&$ is this? I live a good life for 16 years and the last thing I'm going to hear is a guy cussing at me about his car".

I have to come in with the Kill Bill red light and the crazy synthesizer music. EEEEHHHH! OOOOOOO! EEEEEHHH! OOOOO! " Muthaf#$&a!! You hit me!! I'm sitting here dying on the ground and you talking about your punk ass Maxima! F#&$ your car Nigga! You gonna cuss at me about some bulls#*%! Get some help! Stop bitchin and ask me am I ok or something! You country ass bastard, driving like you ain't got no damn sense! Where the F#&$ you going that you got to run down people to get there? It's f#&$in Roanoke Rapids, It ain't nowhere to go nigga!! You Big Bird looking mutha f#*%a!"

I'm not holding a grudge on anyone. After dude scared me I got the "don't let people get to you" speech. It built up my defenses to the world at large. In ISS I actually sat down and talked to Damien and Trevor on some real talk and we kinda became friends (kinda, but not really. They never did that extreme stuff again). I survived that accident. Haven't rode a bike since but I lived to leave small town life forever. You might say they made me stronger by doing me wrong but they were wrong regardless. I may forgave them for their transgresses, but they still need to be cussed out.

(P.S. I'm still with abolish the N word, it slipped in there today)

Stone Cold

2006-06-05T18:46:00.000-04:00

How about you save the Proof tributes for someone that gives a damn.

Let's face the facts on this one. His greatest contribution to hiphop was holding Eminem's keys while he was on stage performing. Somehow while he was keeping Em's sodas cold he managed to release a wack ass cd. Let's not mention his wack ass D12 cds. I'm not saying he probably wasn't a nice guy. Hell he might have been a really fun loving guy. The thing is not even 2 minutes before he caught one in the head he pistol whipped a guy and then SHOT HIM IN THE HEAD! He f*#$in killed a guy over an argument about what? Who was the king of Detroit? That kinda over rides all the other good stuff he might have done in his life. He should've got shot for that. His best friend is super rich. All he had to do was get the crowd to wave their hands side to side and make sure their was a jar of all green M&M's in the dressing room. No this dummy wants to pistol whip and shoot people in the club cause he wants everybody to know he's the "king" of one of the poorest cities in America. Dummy.

Just as dumb as those teenagers that ran up on that marine in Midtown. Five MIDDLE CLASS TEENAGERS decided to ride around in their mom's caddy and rob people. They aren't even poor and desperate for money. Two of their parents are teachers. They lived in a brand new subdivision. Who robs people for no reason? Apparently all the trouble started when the girl was working at Six Flags and started dating another dude that was working there. They get together listen to rap music and decided how cool those gansta lyrics sounded. So cool they decided that was what they needed to do. They go patrolling the streets 2 days before graduation. They see a waiter just getting off work. They pull up and jump not knowing this dude is really Batman. I smile to myself imagining the slow motion "Oh S#@*!" as he kicks the gun out of somebody's hand.(I know for sure somebody let out an "Oh S#$%!". It was an "Oh S&#%!" let out by somebody at that scene). When its all said and done the only injury the waiter has is a cut on the hand (a self inflicted cut) and an elevated heart rate. Two of the dudes are in custody. Two other dudes stabbed up in critical condition. The girl is dead. Turns out the waiter had $8 in his pocket. Dummies.

I don't have sympathy for dummies. All of the before mention idiots made incredibly destructive choices and they got what was coming to them. When Proof finished pistol whipping that cat and he turned the gun around to shoot him in the head, what the f#&$ did he think was going to happen? Did he think the crowd would all fall to their knees and start to worship him? Did he look up to the sky and feel his record sales about to go up because he now had the ultimate street cred? Did he imagine himself going home and his wife and child patting him on the back for handling his business like a real thug? How about the teenagers. Did they laugh and shake with excitement as they grabbed the shotguns and hopped into mommy's caddy? Did they already make plans to go to Sonic for root beer floats after pulling off a real life crime? I don't feel sorry for Proof's murdering ass and I damn sure don't feel sorry for those kids. Two shotguns and a pistol that situation could have easily been way different with one flick of a trigger. The waiter could have been taken out. All he's guilty of is walking home after work.

"Damn you cold, Solomon. Do you feel sorry for anybody?"

Yes I do, my friend.

Midgets.

Midgets are cursed to live in a world made and maintained by people three times their size. Imagine having a fully functioning, fully capable mind locked in the body of a Cabbage Patch Doll. You ask somebody to hand you a napkin and all they say is "Look at your cute little arm. You are just as cute as you can be. Yes you are. Yes you are as cute as a itty bitty button wutton". Ten year old want to pick you up all the time and kiss you on the face. You have to always be the elf at the Christmas party. The second you get mad and cuss out some kid for staring at you and people call you an angry leprechaun. You can't win. That's tough.

And on the Count of 3...

2006-06-04T21:34:00.000-04:00

Go

Full stride out the door. Head for the fence. Cut left at the wall and go straight. He imagines it all before he makes a move. It has to be flawless if he has any chance to get away.

Go

Legs burning, chest heaving. Running harder than ever before. He should have never worn his bright white shirt and yellow and blue Nikes. Too late to change. No time for regrets. He doesn't think they saw him head this way. Regardless if they did or not he's committed. This route has to work. The smooth fluid movement he imagined, bouncing off the gate and through the cut opening in the broken fence, fails painfully. He's face down in the dirt.

Go

He hops up from the ground and lets the wind blow off the dirt. He's made it to the hard part, running the broad side of the building unnoticed. He focuses straight ahead not wanting to check for them, lest he finds what he's looking for. He watches the distance between him and salvation steadily lessen. He wishes he was the Flash. He could make it there in a blur of an instance. He wishes he could be carried away in a breeze to escape this part and return to his normal life. His legs burn, his chest heaves. His eyes focus on his next obstacle.

Go

Over the 4 foot opening he feels the sweat running down his back. He becomes aware of the stinging from the cuts on his arms. He tries to savor the brief moment but can only think of how he got himself into this predicament. His grandma would laugh and say he's finally wrote the check his ass couldn't cash. His dad would say he should have listened and never went that route in the first place. Too late to change. No time for regrets.

Go

The fence ends. Straight shot now. Legs burning, chest heaving. He strides even harder now that safety is within reach. Suddenly a push from behind sends him falling through the grass. He rolls twice, stopping face down just feet from home. He punches the grass in frustration, then turns to his assailant. They stand menacingly over him. He looks up with determination.

Tag.

He's it.

Not for long he vows, clenching his fist. Not for long.

(I know this is not what Common was thinking on that song but this is what I imagined this weekend. Nobody wants to be it.)

The Great Walter Mosley

2006-06-01T18:15:00.000-04:00

It ain't no secret that me and Walter Mosley books are quite fond of one another.

Seriously I love to read. You can't pay my older sister to pick up a book. Same parents, same upbringing and she's allergic to reading. That really has nothing to do with anything but I just wanted to mention her (luv u Shaunda!)

Anyway I've read a lot of books. For the longest time I thought something was wrong with me because I could never get into black authors. I used to think it was because black authors for the most part are only promoted if they operate within the confinements of "African American Literature". (you know that little section off to the side at the bookstore) What that means to me is over the top relationship dramas with over sexed, over-stereotyped character (the thug, the good man, the professional conflicted sexy main character, the mother, the gossipy friends,etc..) with a quaint religious overtone and weird endings. Never liked them. Still don't. Then there is the black erotica with Zane leading the way. Personally, speaking just for me of course, 10 pages describing a sex scene is too much for me (let me get this right a sorority that does what?). Then you got your "Gansta/Street Novels" Iceberg Slim and Donald Goings inspired writings describing the thug life and pimping. I got into these slightly a little more. Whoreson was decent. Pimp was decent. I didn't get excited by it especially. (*note if reading Pimp changed your life you had a suck ass life).

I've read the classics. Autobiography of Malcom X, The Color Purple, stuff like that. Why did I always have to read about blacks struggling in the ghetto or having sex? Where is the action, the suspense, the mystery....the imagination. Sure black authors write about what they know. The struggles of ghetto life and violence and sex are something we see everyday. I know, I know. That's why I started reading. In a small town a ghetto child too smart for public school doesn't have many choices. Play sports and hang with a bunch of dudes all day (negative captain). Walk up and down the streets getting into trouble (not happening). Find a creative outlet and dream about tomorrow (ding ding ding!!). Black authors stories never soared above my surroundings. They explained exactly what I figured I wanted to avoid. They left me tired and bored. Til I read Devil in a Blue Dress.

It was everything I liked about reading. Easy Rawlins is a man with a tough, colorful life story, a dangerous best friend, a pention for doing favors, and a skill for getting in and out of trouble. Over all the Easy Rawlins' Mysteries , Mr. Mosley has built a world of very believable people(black and white) dealing with all the major events of US history and confronting issues of race, class, life, and death. The stories are very well written and keep you engaged. It changed my mind about black authors. Now I realize what is promoted is not a complete picture of the black author.

Cinnamon Kiss is the latest of the Easy Rawlins Mysteries. I love this one just as much as the others. This time around Easy's daughter Feather is dying of a rare blood disorder. Easy has to come up with $30,000 for a treatment. He's about to turn back to the streets with a plan Mouse cooked up to get a lot of fast money, when he's hired to find a missing woman known as Cinnamon. As always things get more complicated as things go on with Feather's life in the balance. It's a good book.

Now I see that black authors are like all authors. The good ones are always there and they are covered by the millions of wack writers in the world. I just have to look for them.

Feel free to read the entire Easy Rawlins collection:
Devil in a Blue Dress, White Butterfly, A Red Death, Little Yellow Dog, Black Betty, Big Bad Brawly Brown, and Little Scarlet.

Old Man Solomon

2006-05-30T15:41:00.000-04:00

It is impossible to be the old man in the neighborhood anymore.

When I was growing up there were old people in the neighborhood that just loved kids. Not in a "let me touch your soft baby bottom" kind of way. They raised 15 kids over 30 years. They enjoyed talking to young people and helping them out. Giving those kids joy gave them joy. Its all they knew how to do. They were truly mothers and fathers. Nurturing and caring for all the little ones they could.

We got icebergs from them. If you never had a blue iceberg from an old person you missed out. Imagine sweet blue KoolAid frozen in a big white plastic cup (by the way, what kind of KoolAid is blue?) You scrape a hole through the middle with a little flat wooden spoon type thing. You sit on the porch on a hot summer day with the old people and listen to them talk about people and gossip. It's nothing like it. At the time it was just regular with Ruth and Pearlie Mae watching you. Now I realize that it was blue-mouthed summertime heaven.

Two little girls and a little boy on a bike knocked on my door this weekend. They had a sheet of paper with a hand drawn chart on it that said "Petition" at the top. The little light skin girl was the ring leader, I could tell by the way she balanced her "Petition" on her hip. Apparently they were outside playing and one of them said they need a pool. They probably all got up and asked mama if they could have a pool built in the subdivision. Mama probably said they had to get permission for all the neighbors, so they needed a petition. That's what they did.

I couldn't stop smiling. Life was so simple then. Its hot so we need a pool. All we got to do is get them to sign this and we can get a pool. Off they go door to door asking for support for a pool. I wanted to make icebergs for them. Tell them they are doing a good thing by being productive with their time. Trying to change stuff. I could sit them down and tell crazy childhood stories they would never believe my old ass ever did.

Thanks to all the Catholic priest and perverts I can't do that. I'm not at the "Oh that's old man Solomon" age. I'm at the "ain't Solomon too old to be hanging with kids" age. Something has to be wrong with me if I'm nice to kids. I got to be trying to "do something" to the little girls. The fat little girl on rollerblades busted her ass right in front of my trash can the other day. I can't help her up and wipe her off. That's improper touching of a minor. I'd have to be a registered sex offender.

Now I have to wait another 30 or 40 years to be nice to the little kids. They might not even eat icebergs by then. Its a damn shame.

Where Do the Lovers Go

2006-05-29T11:15:00.000-04:00

He saw Her.

In Walmart of course. The new city hall of everywhere. She was walking past the Nabisco snacks to the deli meats. Pushing that grey buggy with a 2 liter Pepsi sitting in the top. He didn't know what to do. Talk to her, after all this time. Walk away, like "They" never happened.

It's hard to hear that thing in my boy's voice. It can't really be described. Men especially don't want to show emotional pain. We've been conditioned to not respond to that. A little boy falls on the playground and a cacophony of voice start immediately. "Don't cry" "Stop acting like a little girl" "Suck it up and keep going". We bury that pain and hurt. Never let it show. It happens again and we bury that too. You can't cry in the open. You can't hurt out loud. If you hide it, you get rewarded. Cheered off the field. Loved and adored. Called brave and strong. A man. If you do cry you're ridiculed. Talked about and laughed at. Called a cry baby and weak. So he won't cry for it. He won't say it hurts. Atleast not to me. He'll curse himself for still feeling for her. Curse his weakness.

He wasn't weak then. When he met her she was a fresh new face working at school. He was confident and courageous. She was cute and willing. He talked to her and made her feel like she had never felt before. Somewhere in those late night exchanges she made him feel the same. The kisses they exchanged distracted them long enough for love to sneak in the room. They lived with love for 2 years inspite of themselves. Her outspoken independence and his masculine pride were at constant opposition. "They" ended as spectacularly as it began. It happened because people are dynamic and complicated. Personal connections are so frail.

I tell him life is based on yesterday, not about yesterday. "They" happened yesterday. The conversations. The exchanged glances. The late nights. The soft touches. The kisses. The love happened. Life continued. New jobs, new houses, new loves. The choices you made then, were made then. You can try to take them back and re-live it all but you really can't. It happened. It's not everything you are remembering it to be. It was more. Much more. It was every second you spent with Her. It was feeling Her there with you even when she wasn't. It was two people connected in a moment in time. That moment is forever. That moment made you the person you are.

That thing in his voice was those moments. Everything that you remember (and don't remember) from being with Her comes to your chest, locks up your breath and floods your mind. It's the comparison of that feeling to right now. That longing for the magic of it back. That regret for it having left. Those feelings are all you have left. You can't go back because you can never be that same man that loved Her then. But that lover is still there. It hurts but you live through it.

After we talked a little more, he hung up the phone and I imagined myself in his position. Standing between the Swiss cheese and the 2 ply Charmins Big Rolls. I can see Her there, smiling. Living Her life based on Her yesterdays. Putting Her red hot Jimmy Dean patties in the cart next to the Hawaiian rolls. I can smell Her hair, hear Her voice. I can feel Her. A cool breeze carries Her name across the frozen foods into my ear.

I loved Her.

Then.

Sean Coonery

2006-05-28T13:55:00.000-04:00

No this is not Resident Evil, but it's definitely Rac-coon City out here.
Yeah I'm gonna go ahead and call it what it is. The boys are really coonin' right now. Its all on the radio, all in the video. Everywhere. They are promoting these race traitors like show dogs. They puff their coats, trim their nails, but their hair in pretty barrettes and walk them coon ass dudes on cute little leashes. These little coons are loving it. They don't see how they are perpetuating the stereotypes these white people have put on us. Loud, violent thugs. Drunken, dancing monkeys. Mysogynistic, lazy hooligans.

"oh Solomon you don't get it cause you one of them smarty art niggas"
"oh Solomon you just mad you ain't doin it big like them"
"oh Solomon you just a hater"

hate - v. 1a. To feel hostility or animosity toward. b. To detest.
2. To feel dislike or distaste for: hates washing dishes.

hat' er- n. 1. a person who hates
2. I don't have any defense against your argument, so I'm going to use this word to dismiss your criticism because I don't feel I am intellectually equipped to engage you in this conversation.

I'm indicting Atlanta rappers for Cooning in the First Degree. I know I'm always in this blog for saying how bad rappers are. I'm sorry but these dudes are really cooning out here.

Exhibit 1 Dem Framchise Boys "Ridin Rims" These dummies made a song talking totally about cars. It advertises big rims. They make no money off the sale of big rims. They don't own any part of any rim company. These jerks and a whole lot of other rappers are providing free advertising for a lot of companies. Then on top of that they buy the stuff. That makes them ty-coons.

Exhibit 2 Young Joc. meet me in the mall, going down. meet me in the trap its going down. meet me in the hood its going down. anywhere you see me its guaranteed to go down. What is it? Cooning. The little motorcycle revving move makes it a full blown minstrel show complete with singing and dancing. A whole crowd of clowns revving an invisible motorcycle....wow.

Exhibit 3 "snap music" Bouncy beats, mush mouth nonsenseical lyrics, more goofy dancing.

There's more but I don't want to waste my whole Memorial Day weekend talking about this. I just got upset by these fools out there. I'm sorry I had to vent on people real quick. I apologize. One day I'll get over this.

Man vs. Thug

2006-05-25T15:07:00.000-04:00

Women want a thug, huh?

When I think of a thug I think of Sherman from 8th grade. He was definitely the hardest mofo around back in the day. He didn't take s#$& from nobody, even teachers. He smacked some teacher back then(I want to say it was Mr. Comer). I believe his little brother was in the high school at the time. Everybody marveled at how high he was as he walked around school. They used to make him go to class for some odd reason. All he would do was twist his dreads and holla out profanity laced answers so people could laugh at him. I think they finally passed him out of fear and frustration because he was by far the dumbest muthaf#&$a I have ever met. He sold drugs (what self respecting thug doesn't?), got into fights damn near everyday, stayed high, had sex on campus, bullied the "nerds", and had several kids by the time I graduated (I don't think he ever graduated). He was a thug. I don't think he cared about anybody other than himself, or did a single thing of any real consequence his whole life.

That's what they want, huh?

They want that edge in a mate. A little flash and excitement. Riding around with a concealed weapon and a stash of crack in his shoe is pretty exciting. They want to know that at any moment this guy could do something totally crazy without caring about the repercussions. When he runs up on some guy in the Burger King line for standing too close to his woman it shows how much he loves you. They always bring up that "can't nobody give it to me like a thug". They want that strong, rough love. God knows nothing says loving like the smell of weed and sweaty balls in your mouth. Your whole life around ten minutes of ghetto passion. Forgetting all about how he spent your rent money on rims for an unpainted '85 Cutlass and Hennessey. How embarrassed you were when he came up to your bank job in a long tee with that fake ass grill he bought on your credit card, talking about "Where Keisha at? Tella c'mon." How he ain't never got no money but always got some hustle going on. Don't forget the bail money and the baby mama he still has sex with on occasion.

I'll admit I'm a little biased. I'm not anything close to a thug. Never have been. Never will be. I equate thugs to ignorance and laziness. Why would I want to get into fights all the time? Why I want to act all hard and not care about life? Ask any woman and she doesn't want that part either. She doesn't want the drama. She wants the toughness and the machismo. Not the bad credit and drug charges.

They've been bamboozled. Hoodwinked. The wool is over their eyes. In all actuality what you want is a real man. The attributes of a real man have been attributed to a bunch of low lives. A man is someone that takes care of his home and his woman. That has a job, plans for the future, loyalty and heart. A man makes his woman feel safe and makes her feel special. I'm a nice guy, fun to be around, and smart(and incredibly handsome). Make no mistakes that I will beat the s#&$ out of anybody that lays a hand on my family or my woman. I'm not going around looking for fights but I won't be taken advantage of by anyone. I stand my ground and take responsibility for everything I do. I'm a man. Not a thug.

Funny thing is some women will go out and waste half their life with a slack ass fake thug, then come back around, expecting a man like me to treat them like queens. I am held to this high standard of conduct. He'll f#&% up their credit, f#&$ up their cars, f#&$ up their house, f#%& them all over the city and leave them broke with kids and bitter as hell. You want me to deal with that?

That's funny.

A real man could've been f&#%in' you all over the city. Just as good with half that drama.

?

2006-05-24T13:52:00.000-04:00

Who cares about the winner of American Idol this season? Taylor and Katherine have provide a lackluster end to the lamest Idol season to date. Nobody blew me away(Paris was really good though). Feels like nobody tried to blow me away. I don't know if they could if they tried. I can't remember why I watched the show in the first place. Oh wait its because I'm addicted to TV. That's right.

What was Rep. William Jefferson thinking? "Honey why is the turkey thawing out on my table?" " Oh yeah that. I had to make room for my bribe money baby." $90,000 in the freezer and nowhere to put your french fries sounds like a good problem to have. If its FBI marked $100 bills from a bribe they video taped you taking from a third party, it's not such a good thing. He says he's not guilty and won't step down. Then goes on to say the FBI was wrong to raid his house and offices. They should have asked him for the evidence. They day you can trust a corrupt Congressman to turn over evidence that will send him to jail is the day I smack my boss, piss on my desk, and run down 20 butt ass naked ("buckit nekkid!" like dude from player's club). It'd be the end of the world anyway.

When did Barbaro become the mascot for the US? What the hell do I care about a horse being forced to run around a track getting injured by running around a track? This is not news. They're treating it like a heartbreaking tale of a runner injured in a freak accident. Runners chose to be there and wants to win, that horse got a bit stuff in his mouth and runs because he's being beat little man with a whip. If the horse had a choice to race or not, I'm sure those people watching the Preakness would be the only one's there.

Where can a brotha just chill and have a good time? I don't want to be shot, stabbed, robbed, or beaten. I want to just go out, hang with some other intellectual black people, maybe have a little drink or something, listen to a little live music, something not hiphop all the time, just straight chill. Let me know what's really good.

Why is Bush so intent on making these speeches about the war when no one believes him? He knows everybody thinks he's full of crap. I know they see the polls. He was waiting for something, anything to happen good in Iraq so he can boost it up. So they picked a couple of officials. Its good. I guess. We're spending $10 billion a month on this worthless war he started. The economy is not as strong as you said with gas prices through the roof. Wake me up when my boy Reggie comes back home safe to his wife and daughter. Until then don't run your mouth about nonsense. Especially when Oprah has a primetime special scheduled.

Daddy Dearest

2006-05-21T21:28:00.000-04:00

I'm not going to say anything stupid and catchy like "Anybody can be a father, it takes a real man to be a dad". I think that's a pretty lame tagline. I can't be associated with such lame ass slogans.

I will agree with the sentiments of it. Connections are not made by blood. They are made from experience. Growing up my pops moved me and my family from Virginia to North Carolina. He worked hard at some jobs he absolutely hated to provide for his family. He was always did whatever he could to improve our surroundings. We planted bushes, built stuff (sheds, porches, fences), did yard work. Our relationship was built by everything he did for me and with me. It was built from everyday I woke up and saw him there watching out for me. It was built form every conversation we had, every dinner we ate together, every laughed we shared. All those things endeared him in my mind.

Another one of those lame slogan out there is "I don't need a man to help raise my kids." Yes you do. Parenting is a two person job: Mother and Father. Saying that their is no need for a father in a child's life (boy or girl) is like saying your kid doesn't need to eat everyday. Am I saying a woman can't raise a child properly on her own? Does that mean I'm calling women weak? Hell no. I commend you for raising your child inspite of the obstacles. That doesn't replace the influence of a good father. Never will. Proclaiming how strong you are all by yourself is cool but let's not take it so far as to say fathers are unnecessary, just because you may have picked the wrong man to get knocked up by.

There are those deadbeat muthaf#&%as. These are the lame ass dudes that never come around. That leave their kids waiting by the window wishing for the next car to be familiar. That swear to God they wouldn't miss your 8th grade graduation for the world and never show up. That promise to send you the money you need for school clothes and never send it. That torment their kids by making them feel like they aren't good enough to be loved by the man that made them.

I hate them. They make me want to go Ghostface on 'em ("I'll smack fire out ya ass son! Eat a dick muthaf#&$a!") Those filled with excuses cats. Those selfish bastards make me mad as hell. They don't stay completely out of the picture. They don't want to be too far away just in case their child does something special so they can jump in for the picture. It's too much for them to actually stop by and see their daughter for no reason, but suddenly they want to walk her down the isle when she gets married.

I want to stick up for men. I want to give them the benefit of the doubt because when my time comes around I don't want any precedents to keep me from being all up in my kid's lives. When those dumb sumbitches act up, responsible cats like myself get shorted by mothers scarred by worthless fathers. All the stories linger in the air, faceless and nameless, to be put on the next man up.

You see I'm a firm believer in the rights of fathers. I advocate for fathers every chance I get. I demand that women respect the rights of men as fathers all over the world. Fathers need to be included in decisions that have anything to do with their children. They need to have access to their kids. They shouldn't be relegated to being slapped with child support and whatever else the mother feels he should get.

Such is the nature of my problem. Soon as I plant my feet in the sand, ready to stand my ground, some dummy comes along ruining his kid's life. Torturing the babies by almost being there. He won't step up and help them. He doesn't have the decency to die and/or go away. That just makes it harder for everybody. For the mother for putting up with his ragedy ass, the child forever wanting to be be loved and accepted by his ragedy ass, and people like me trying to make sure fathers aren't marginalized socially and legally by his ragedy ass.

Ya sorry bastard.

Summer, Summer, Summertime

2006-05-19T15:07:00.000-04:00

I'm ready to go to the movies.

I'm always get a little excited when this time of the year comes around. I'm somewhat of a movie enthusiast and summertime is when the studios release their big budget, flashy movies. Big budgets don't equal good movies. They often equal fun movies however. Summertime movies are "wow" movies. It's Hollywood showing off what it can do. Like magicians, they conference for months on doing amazing illusions and performing dazzling slights of hand to better make your money and time disappear. Most of the time it happens. Last year they got caught slipping and failed to make anything worth seeing. Fantastic 4? You poor rich bastids. I could tell that movie was gonna suck ass before the previews.

I feel sorry for them having such a tough year last year because honestly I want to get got. Of all the things I waste my money on seeing a good movie bothers me the least. I get more upset spending money on food than a movie (this is just for the summertime though). In the summer it's hot, work is stressful and all I need is to be entertained for a few hours. I can stop being a warrior in the struggle for a couple hours.

I got a few scenes that remind me of the magic movies have. These scenes aren't necessarily from summer movies but they represent the things I go to movies for.

"You move like them." The Matrix.
For all the holes in the overall story I got the point of The Matrix. What I think they really did succeed at was creating a world in which the movie takes place. It was different from anything ever seen or even imagined by most people. When they went to rescue Morpheus they get into a fight on the rooftops with the Agents. Neo turns and empties his guns. The agent does an incredible dodge move so fast you see multiple images of him. Neo is empty. Stuck in the open. One on one. "Trinity help" Then boom. The greatest special effects moment on film. It was slow motion but they were moving and going backwards in a 3D the bullet trails flew by Neo. It came out of nowhere and changed all effects after it. That was truly amazing.

"I'm the police!" Training Day
Alonzo jumps off the screen in Training Day. To this day he's one of the most powerful characters I can remember in any movie. You can complain about how Denzel had to play a bad guy to get an Oscar and all you want but you can't deny how amazing he was in that movie. Better than Malcom X...well, I can have a serious conversation with you about that. You can pick any of he's numerous monologues in Training Day, I say the last rant because it was the culmination of the whole ride. He was a man all about control that lost control, lost everything, and was still clinging to his power. Desperately trying to hold on to himself. "What a mothaf*#$n day."

"Dash, run!" The Incredibles
Computer animation has destroyed traditional animation. The same thing happened when they invented the lighter. After it came out who was really still trying to rub sticks together? A Toy's Story caught everybody's attention and The Incredibles takes it that much further. Animated features give the creators a chance to control everything completely. The characters, pacing, lighting, music. It allows them to make perfect movies. This sequence on the island where they were trying to catch Dash was super hot to me. I was giggling like a little kid when he started running on water. A good animated movie should turn grown folks into kids. (P.S. I still make no apologies for taking that kid's seat. He knows who he is. Life lesson: Get there early, lil' man.)

Gladiator
No scene from Gladiator was any better than the next. It is one of the most well acted complete movies out there. It has action, a little romance, tragedy, triumph. It has everything. One of my favorite movies.

Only time will tell if any movie this year is added to the list of favorites. I'm looking forward to Superman, X Men 3, and The Proposition.

I'll have to come back and post a ghetto classics movie review.

Swordfighting

2006-05-17T20:44:00.000-04:00

Atlanta is the first place I have ever seen a dude actually holla at another dude in the mall. I'm talking about Dude #1 was standing on the wall at Lennox looking super gay with the extra breezy shirt on, and the leather band bracelet with the huge Dior shades on. Dude #2 is walking his way and catches Dude #1 checking him out. Dude #2 is extra crisp on some model s%&# with the razor thin beard. They looked at each other, exchange a few words, and Dude #1 whips out his celly. I don't hear the conversation but as Dude #2's body language leans closer to Dude #1, I know what is going down. I was witnessing my first gay hook-up.

I can't say I was as disgusted as I thought I would be. I don't know why I ever thought it would be so disgusting in the first place. I guess I've been sucked into the same thinking as the 74% of people in Georgia that voted to ban gay marriage. I heard the rhetoric about how nasty and evil it is for a man to be with a man. Pornography and southern rappers try to sell the lesbian angle. Woman on woman was supposed to be super sexy but I can't tell. I never really got down with it. Seeing a pretty woman kiss up with another chick unleashes my inner old man. ("I got sumthin for ya to kiss rite chea gurl"). Needless to say looking at another dudes ass is not my thing.

Seeing this little hook up changed my mind about the whole gay thing. Looking at those dudes, as captivated as I was, I couldn't help but notice how natural it was. No thunder and lightning. No tornado. No earthquake. It was a guy that likes guys, getting with another guy that likes guys. It makes perfect sense to me.

Where everything gets all mixed up is when people don't like it and decide to stop other people from living their lives. Dude #1 is not trying to fondle little boys. Dude #2 didn't grope every cat walking by. They were going about their day shopping and looking fabulous, when they looked up and heard violins. The world moved in slow motion as their eyes met from across the mall. Dude #2's shuttered with attraction, his eyes asking longingly "Are you..." Dude #1 nodded in a cool subtle reply. "Yessss"

Ok maybe it didn't go down that poetically. Maybe it was a little conversation, then back to the crib for a little swordfighting. I prefer not to think about that part.

The people out to ban gay marriage seem to be using the same argument they used to make black people slaves. God said it. They really don't have any good reason to logically suggest it is inherently wrong or detrimental in any way. Every point they have make comes down to "I don't think.." or "I feel..". It equals us legislating personal beliefs at the detriment of an entire category of people. They don't want homosexuals to be married because it undermines the institution of marriage. Last time I checked over half of heterosexual marriages end in divorce within 3 years, but no activist have come up to make it harder for people to get married all willy nilly.

They don't want homosexuals to adopt children because they ... are gay? I never have really got a real answer on why gay people can't raise kids. The adoption system in America is already over run with abandoned, abused, and neglected kids and almost 60% of them will live their whole lives in the foster care system. There is documented case after case of the sexual, mental and physical abuses they suffer in heterosexual foster care placements. Why won't you let a perfectly good couple with the will and the resources to love and care for a child, rescue that child from the wicked system that is steering them toward a life of substance abuse and criminal activity? Because you don't like gay people? That benefits you not the child. Who is this really supposed to be about?

My friend went to a graduation where the relatives got to hood the graduating class. Mothers hooded daughters. Aunts hooded nephews. At one point the announcer calls out a guys name and says he is being hooded by his "partner". She said people gasped and laughed, pointed, oooh'd and ahh'd. They need to stop with all that. Let that man spend his life with that other man, adopt(rescue) pretty black babies, go forth and prosper. He ain't bothering nobody. Long as they love each other who gives a damn. Not me.

There's Something About Cosby

2006-05-17T16:41:00.000-04:00

I'm trying hard to understand why everybody is so mad at Bill Cosby.

(Yes it is my birthday and yes I'm still talking my s#&$. I can't stop like Diddy. Take dat, take dat, take dat)

At the Spellman graduation this past weekend he made another one of his personal responsibility speeches. This time calling out for black women to step up and take control of their lives and the black community. He said something to the effect of 65% of black women attending college graduate compared to 35% of black men. Our men are not stepping up into the positions they are needed and women must not wait around for them to find their way. Women need to be prepared to lead. They need to use the power of education and success to change their communities. I'm sure he touched on the misguided youth and backwards thinking of the hiphop generation, that always gets the crowd going.

Michael Eric Dyson is pissed. Dr. Dyson super pissed. He's been ranting and raving all week about this. He can not stand these comments. His whole argument is Cosby's comments do nothing but reinforce the negative stereotypes prevalent in the America. Cosby is taking the elitist stand point over common black people and condemning them for their actions without considering the social, economical, and mental effects of racism that have put them in their desperate situations. He says Cosby is perched far above the rest of society buffered form the hardships we all endure by celebrity and money. His comments are unhealthy to the struggle and demoralizes black people.

Dr. Dyson and his fellow anti-racism buddies are sort of right. When Bill Cosby speaks about personal responsibility he say nothing of the systemic racism and dominant white privilege cultural thinking that has created(and in some ways continues to create) obstacles to slow and stop the progress of colored people. He says nothing to the white people about how wrong they have been and what they have done to harm black Americans.

Why can't Bill Cosby get up and address what he feels is causing the problems of his people? Why does he have to be a traitor to the race because he doesn't scream to the mountaintop about how evil white people are and how racism has hindered us?

That's not his agenda. Bill Cosby is like a Pepsi rep that comes by the grocery stores (I used to be a store manager in my former life). If you talk to the Pepsi rep you can't demand that he talk about all sodas. You definitely don't want to ask him about Diet Coke. He's pushing Pepsi products, he's gonna talk about Pepsi products. Personal responsibility is his product.

Bill Cosby holds a particular place in society thanks to the image he created on The Cosby Show and all the things he's done for people over the years of his extremely successful career. What Dr Dyson and all his critics want to hear from Bill are their own agendas. They want him to prove their point. They want to hear that same "racism is bad" "blame the white man" stuff they preach to the masses. They are upset because he has not got in line with them and has dared to take an approach that is super critical of black people themselves. They can't go on with their crusade against those who they have indentified as the oppressors of black Americans, if a figure embraced by both white and black people speaks of the wrongs we are doing to ourselves.

Dr Dyson should let him talk. He speaks for a lot more people than his critics give him credit for. He speaks for people like me that lived tough lives and have created a better situation for themselves through trials and tribulations. People like me that get more outraged at the people that riots and scream about injustice oh so quickly when once a month a white guy does something to a black person, and you hear nothing from them, NOTHING!, when every other day of the month black people rob, rape and kill other black people. Racism didn't take my couch. I want to help my people by getting them to see and correct the weakness and wrongs in their lives. Not to judge them or codemn them. To give them the hope that they are missing in their lives that causes people to give up and settle and become victims of the system.

Like I always say no situation in life if as simple as it seems. Every piece of life that adds to the problem has to be addressed and corrected. You don't lose weight by excersing and keeping your diet the same. You don't become successful by getting a college degree then going home and watching tv all day. Our social, economic and mental problems as a people won't be solved by just fighting racism and blaming it for everything that has ever gone wrong in every black persons life. Like wise it won't be solved by just shaming everybody by citing their every flaw.

It can be helped, if not solved, by doing both. All the time Dr. Dyson spends challenging, dismissing, and vilifying Dr. Cosby he could be blazing his own trail to saving our people. I'm sure the two paths will meet somewhere between here and racial empowerment.

Besides all that ranting about the same thing all the time makes his show pretty boring.

Ice Cream Therapy

2006-05-12T13:00:00.000-04:00

It's been a tough week for a lot of people. I'm sure my own personal struggles would surely bore you to pieces so I'll stick to the world at large. I'm passing out ice cream sandwiches to people today to help them cope with their hardships. Sitting back and enjoying a delicious ice cream sandwich goes perfectly with wallowing self pity.

(Disclaimer: The pity party ends when the sandwich ends. I can only tolerate that "whoa is me" s#$% but for so long. If creamy vanilla ice cream packed in between two chocolatey delicious wafers doesn't cheer you up, seek professional help because you got a problem)

Chris Daughtry got voted off American Idol. All you ever heard this whole season is how great Chris was. "Chris is a real artist." "Chris you're so wonderful" "Chris let me suck you off " Despite all that Chris got voted off in "an Idol shocker." Every since then this guy has done hundreds of interviews about how shocked he was. How disappointed he is at the outcome. How he just can't seem to understand what happened. How everybody told him he was gonna win. Dude! Get a hold of yourself! Eat this ice cream sandwich and listen to all the people complain about how they called your number and ended up voting for Katherine "I screech therefore I am" McPhee. You'll be alright. Now you can go learn how to take the wireless mic off the stand so you won't walk with it like a jerk. That s*#% was annoying.

Barry Bonds is getting shafted by the press and everybody. As he slowly but oh so steadily climbs past Babe Ruths homerun record nobody is showing this guy love. The MLB said they won't acknowledge him breaking that record because that other ni..uh..Hank Aaron already beat it into the ground. They won't celebrate twice. The press hates how he won't squirm and bow down to the almighty media. They want to put an asterisk beside his career numbers because of that pesky performance enhancing drugs thing. Fans say he's ruined the sport. They throw stuff at him. Not the regular comic-relief stuff from Looney Toons. like tomatoes, lettuce, eggs, that kind of stuff. They throw syringes. ?! What is that all about? Bottles and s*$%. They are really trying to take him out sometimes. Damn Barry. You get 2 delicious ice cream sandwiches dude.

This is very much out of character for me but I have to give George Bush an ice cream sandwich. I'll toss it to him 'cause I don't want that guy too close to me. When things were going good in his presidency he could get Congress to lick his ass clean after a good visit to the s#*$ter and all he had to worry about was those whining ass democrats. Now that guy gets no love from anybody. He was dickin around with the budget for a year then boom 9/11. Then the war goes way off track. The vice president starts hunting the elderly. Then the leaks start coming. People are jumping ship. It's now to the point that he gets blamed for everything. I personally blame him for my toilet getting stopped up the other day. I swear I saw a new report blaming him for the sun going down at the end of the day.
Then again he made a very long series of decisions that have ran the country into a ditch and made America the enemy of the known world. Gimme my ice cream sandwich back!

I don't know if I have enough sandwiches for this last one, so its first come first serve. Ice cream sandwiches for the whole rap industry. Outkast has dropped "The Mighty O" on yall and has made everyone of you look like fools! The beat is hard, the raps are hard AND CREATIVE!!. The hook is catchy and addictive. They have done it again suckas!

MIGHTY IGHT IGHTY YYYIIII!!
OHTY OOHTY OHTY OOOO!!

Oh Boy (cott)

2006-05-11T19:39:00.000-04:00

I'm all for activism. Its not my thing but if you're going to commit yourself to walk in a 4 foot circle for 6 hours holding a homemade sign, then you go right ahead. I'll be thinking about you while I'm at work sending nasty emails to whoever you tell me has done you wrong (hey I got bills shawty). Not to say I can't be inspired to drag my ass out there and join people in the struggle. If this were the 50's or 60's I'd be out there with the dogs and the hoses. I might have to stop and get my raincoat like Grampa Freeman but I would definitely be there. We'd probably have to go shopping for some better sneakers, I don't think these loafers were designed with the wear and tear of protesting in mind. Somebody might have to call and remind me too, 'cause I'll start drawing and lose all track of time. But I digress.

The problem is I like to fully comprehend the situation before I get all righteous. This blind following business is not for me. I want to look at things with a level head and understand the issue at hand. I keep an open mind about the facts. I make the best decision possible given the information I have. After that if it's wrong, you got me. If it all make sense I'm all for it. That's not complicated at all.

The first proposal July 4th gas strike. Some random ass guy that used to be some head honcho at one of the oil companies put it out there that a gas boycott would get the oil people to lower prices (you can just about tell where I'm going with this already). Somebody else picked it up and took it a little further. "If we boycott for a whole weekend they would really feel the burn." Somebody else got the hand off and takes it home. "If we boycott on Independence Day weekend that'll really show those slick suited bastards."

There has been no dumber idea raised in the last couple of years than the idea of boycotting gas. We built our entire economy on gas. We can't live our lives without gas. This happened way back when big oil companies were little baby oil companies dreaming of fleasing the whole world of their hard earned dollars. Generations of conniving executives provided their reserves and everybody took advantage. The Model T clenched the title for the boys. Killed the transport train, moved horses to the stables, polluted the world. Oil reign supreme. They have so much money they threaten to challenge any new fuel technology that comes along. Its all kinds of "alternatives" to gas. Nobody, I repeat NOBODY, wants to invest in the wrong new age fuel system. That's millions, billions, of dollars gone. Poof. Oil still reigns supreme.

The solution to our gas problem isn't playing tic tac toe with them fools. Begging for them not to take all our money and make record profits, "Just take all the money you usually take. Please Mr Oil Man don't shove the gas nozzle any further up our asses. " Its absurd. Bottom line, if we didn't get gas on the Saturday and Sunday we'd just be filling up on Friday. We won't win that battle.

I'll pass on the gas boycott, thank you. Call me when its time to support sugar cars like they have in Brazil. They distill sugar juice for gas. You can't beat that.

Second proposal boycott the Da Vinci Code movie. This movie is allegedly against all things religious. It exists solely to smear the reputation of the Vatican and flies in the face of 2000 years of history. The bible is the most sacred of text and it is deplorable that a fictional book would dare question the absolute truth of it. They should not allow this movie to show. If they show it they should put a disclaimer in front of the movie saying its not real....alright I can't even finish this one.

I've read the Da Vinci Code. Its based on some very controversial ideas. BASED ON. It's a book. A WORK OF FICTION. The ideas that inspire the story have existed for years. It's nothing new. It's not even anti-christian really. It's a damn good book. Putting a disclaimer in front of a movie? C'mon. Does Mission Impossible have a disclaimer in front of it? Everybody knows its a movie. This movie is not going to cause this huge crisis of faith they want to cry about.

I think I'll pass on the Da Vinci Code movie boycott and if you're not here to buy a ticket you need to get in that other line. I've got to get my overpriced M&M's before the previews.

The Shuffle

2006-05-10T17:39:00.000-04:00

With my trusty college degree in hand I managed to get me one of them nice jobs they always talk about. Yeah I'm woefully under paid. Yeah yeah with all this artistic training and talent I should be doing something more creative. Yeah yeah yeah I shouldn't get so content as to say this job is "nice" when my hearts desire couldn't be further away from designing sign layouts and handling digital output. Look that is not the point of this blog. I have reasonable hours, my own desk (my own little slice of hell as they say) and as long as you never f&*# up an order or stall a project you can operate pretty much unchecked. The best part is I get to bring my ipod to work.

The ipod is the single greatest human achievement since the light bulb. Yeah the computer is decent but they give you too much trouble every now and then. The internet is cool but all that damn porn disguised as "self help" is getting out of hand (no pun intended). I've lost more remotes than I ever owned, so they don't qualify. Anyway that is not the point of this blog. For a person like me that loves music, to be given the power to listen to every song you have ever kind of liked is the most amazing thing ever. It's like somebody releasing a study that says eating ice cream and oreo cookies every night before you sleep prolongs life. Sweet! I put my head phones on, hit "shuffle songs" and zone out.

"Babygirl" by Musiq.

"Hey baby girl/ why don't you come home with me/ and let me show you/what good lovin' can be/ cause I got so much love inside/ and I want to give it all to you baby girl"

I dig Musiq. All his albums have a good vibe to them. He always has the hot slow love songs "Love" and "Whoknows". "Halfcrazy" is my favorite joint though. A lot of people think he's too laid back. I knew we would be cool when I heard "Just Friends (Sunny)". Its about time for him to come back out now. He should pick up Maxwell on his way back.

"She Don't Have to Know" by John Legend

"oooohh stealing moments just to be with you/though its wrong its hard to tell the truth/ she don't have to know"

Damn John Legend is a genius. He deserved that grammy and a few other people's. This song is so vivid to me and it happens to be the most played song on my computer. When I hear it I feel that same anxiety from knowing you are wrong, but it just being so sweet you can't let it go.

"ooohh it's getting crazy/ I don't want to hurt my baby/ and I know its supposed be the last time / with you and I/ but let's not end this way/ let's wait another day"

Just one more day, baby. Please.

"Sometimes" by Cee Lo

"To remain plain and simplistic/ realistic/ accurate/ articulate/ and absolutely artistic/uninhibited/ unadulterated/ unstoppable/ unfuckwitable and unforgettable/ but since I've been granted the power of choice to let God be the voice he is/ so all the credibility is his"

Cee Lo is one of those cats you have to think about. He's not going to give you the just blase-blah that you are used to hearing. He challenges you to follow him where he's taking you. Everything from him seems inspired somehow. There is nothing truer than to be yourself. I need to get that Gnarls Barkley while I'm running my mouth.
Just let that oh-so-simple groove get in your head. "Whoa"

"Out of the Sky" by Van Hunt

"I've reached the end of my story/ and I still don't understand the plot/ I've reached the end of the line/ can't do nothing but stop/ I've reached the end of my glory/ no one will forget me now/ I've reached the top of my high/ can't do nothing but drop/ (Out of the Skyyyyyyy)"

The winner of the most slept on award. Van Hunt is the future. I love lyrics. Nobody has lyrics like Van Hunt. "In Hell Wih You" "Dust" "Anything" This guy has got lyrics for your ass. He's got a funky rock kinda of sound. On his second album he's taken it further to a Prince, Lenny Kravitz sort of thing. Very Very Cool. Don't look for his cd under Van Hunt. Apparently Van is his first name. Which I still think is weird.

"Young at Heart" by Joss Stone

"You wasting/ your time trying to tear us two apart/ you can't stop our plans/ we were destined from the start/ he loves me/ I love him/ and even though we're young at heart/ you're the one in denial"

What?! A black man can't listen to Joss Stone?!

"Top Back" by T.I.

"I like my beat down low/ and my top let back/ you see me ridin' 24/ wit a choppa in the bak/ if ya like your kenwood high/ and ya top let back/ if yo rims sit high/ and yo windas pitch blak/ aye!!"

T.I. has got personality. Most southern rappers I hear sound the same. Blah blah blah hustlin' blah blah trap blah blah blah look at my chain and my rims. Atleast T.I. adds a little flair to it. He knows about song structure and is willing to try some different things. His album is really well put together. A big plus is he's never said anything outrageously wack like a lot of southern rappers do. Like "good googlely moogly/ that thang is juicy". But that's not what this blog is about.

"In My Lifetime Remix" by Jay Z

"It's the thought of a ride that gets my eyes wiiiide/ I'm caught up/ I'm tryna make/ all of my dreams/ materialiiiize/ so I sorta/ said my goodbyes to the straight and narrow/ I found a new route/ you bout to see my life change"

Don't get me started about this dude. The greatest to ever do it.

"How Deep is the Ocean" by Miles Davis
!!!
What can you say about Miles Davis?

Matter fact...

Music *click*

Artists *click*

Miles Davis *click*

All *play*

Holla

Passion

2006-05-09T16:19:00.000-04:00

I want to wake up one day and not know what damn time it is. That's when you know you slept hard. You lift your head and think to yourself "man it must be about 8 o'clock" It ends up being 2 in the afternoon. That's good sleeping.

I'm too focused for all that.

It be's like that sometimes, 'cause I can't control the rhyme.

I mean the inspiration, the urge to act. The longing for my mind to relinquish from its inner workings the ideas that burn within it. I have concepts that need to be expressed by color and line, by texture and techniques yet discovered. It calls me back to actuality to unburden myself of the ever growing weight of pre-creation that settles upon my shoulder, my back, my being with every unrealized masterpiece and every unforfilled prophecy of greatness that I visualize everyday. Not awakening from my slumber and refusing to succome to the clarion call of my God given gifts is tantamount to destroying the very essence of genius dwelling inside of myself that pleads for exposure.

The paintbrushes, the pencils, the pens are only the conduits of my understanding of my surroundings. The drawing, the painting, the utilization of media in the commission of creating artistic works are the manifestations of the continuous, unrelenting struggle to express the perceived realities of my existence. Any appreciation received is an embrace of my perspective and the acknowledgement of a minute triumph of one individual seeking to comprehend the world.

My art is the by product of my labors, not the end result.

The jubilation felt from showing my work and having just that moment of connection to another person, is dwarfed only by the momentary tranquility I feel from finally willing a piece of myself into reality. The birth of a thought to paper. I live to give my musings life and I would die were it taken from me.

That's passion.

Oprah's New Clothes

2006-05-07T11:01:00.000-04:00

Arguing with Oprah about her show, coincidentally called the Oprah Winfrey show, displays a certain amount of ignorance about the realities of life. It's the Oprah show. She owns it, produces it, directs it, makes hundreds of millions of dollars a year from it, has built an unrivaled empire based on it. You don't go to the Oprah show as a vehicle for yourself. That's not exactly how it works.

Ludacris learned the hard way that Oprah runs the Oprah show. She controls the content, the people, the editing. All of it. Start to finish. No questions. So when he went on the Oprah show, she didn't even want him to be on there. She finally let him on because he was in the movie. From what he says she wouldn't let him talk on the show and in the final edit cut out a lot of stuff he said. After the show she took him in a room and chastised him about his music degrading women and promoting violence. Luda took offense and now he's making a song about her. I know he's out doing his acting thing and wants all that to be separate from his rapping. He wanted to be looked at as an actor when he's out promoting his acting ventures. That's stupid, Luda.

The only reason you were even considered for the roles you get is because you were a famous rapper. You are not an acting talent. You are a rapper turned actor. Or rapper slash actor. You're always going to be a rapper unless you completely stop rapping, which you won't do. When you promote movies you request all you fans to see your movies and support you. That means all the fans you have from rapping, right? You want live off all the good things that come from rapping but get offended when when they talk about the bad stuff too. You can't do that.

Oprah doesn't like how rappers degrade women ("How you not gonna f*#$?/Bitch I'm me/ I'm the got damn reason you in VIP"). Oprah doesn't like how rappers exploit sex to sell records (Chinese splits,splits/ slide on down that pole, pole/ and feel this dick, dick/ get it out of control). Oprah doesn't like how rappers promote violence (hollow bullets, I pull it/ I'm about to live in vain/ and then I drill em, refill em/ make sure they feel the pain). Oprah doesn't like the vulgar language and the use of the "n word"( I be that nigga name Luda/aka L-O-V-A-L-O-V-A/ F&#*that s*&# nigga what you wanna say). Knowing all this I'm pretty sure she's not going to invite you or your fellow rapper on her show. Having you on there would be almost an endorsement of what you do. Promoting the very thing she not only doesn't like but she feels is ultimately adding to the troubles of the youth and therefore the world.

Now where as you can get on other shows because they need you and your audience for rating, Oprah left that point in her career a loooong time ago. She could care less about you bringing your audience to her show. She made like $300 million dollars from her show LAST YEAR! You and your petty audience, 1 million people maybe on a good day, are insignificant. She can do whatever the hell she wants to do. She has put herself in a position where her opinion is the only one that matters. Unlike you she doesn't have to go out and promote the things she does hoping it pays off.

I think Oprah did something that was very old school. She actually took him off to the side and told him how she felt about what he does. Not(I think) out of a hate, but out of a concern for what he is doing and how it affects people. Every young person has had an older person try to tell them about how the world works, how everything is not what you see and how you have to have a bigger perspective about life. Parents and family do that all the time. Try to give their opinions. Give you something to think about. Twenty years later it turns out they were right and you wish you had listened to them.

Instead of thinking the world revolves around him, Ludacris needs to concede his rapping does affect everything he does. Despite the mandatory 1 introspective song per album to show depth, most of his music is filled with violence and drugs and degrading women and all that. If you don't really want to listen, suck it up and don't go near Oprah again. Because we all know Oprah really is the center of the universe.

Get Your Mind Right

2006-05-04T15:00:00.000-04:00

Everytime some hiphop artist is involved in a shootout or beating or anything people always quick to get up in arms about violence in hiphop. "We need to do something about it" "This needs to stop" V103 even had the nerve, the audacity, to dust off "Self Destruction". Then after a long drawn out talkfest, in which they actually tried to convince me that the hiphop artists of today are out here as social activist and doing all they can to change the world, they proceeded to play the same music they always play. Violence, drug slinging and all. They're not ready to talk. Better yet they are ready to talk, but they're not ready to listen. So what are you going to talk about Solomon?

Water.

(Mos Def's voice)That cool refreshing drink.

I'm on that water. I was all up on soda for a minute. I loved me some sweet tea. I kept a pack of KoolAid in my jacket just in case something went down. What Dave Chappelle say? I want the purple stuff.

Thank the Lord for a little something called maturity. I went from big ass 5 sizes to big pants and t shirts to knowing what my actual size is with the hidden labels. Timbs and sneakers to Rockports and loafer. (I be killin 'em with the loafers yo). I also somewhere along the line managed to shake off my invincibility complex. I know people don't just live however they want without consequence. To live to be 80 or 90 you have to live like you want to be 80 or 90. That's why I got on that water. That cool refreshing drink.

Honestly I really don't feel that much physically better now that I'm on water. Its much more of a mental thing. Knowing that I'm drinking something that helps purify my body let's me feel like I'm doing the right thing. It made me take a closer look at all the other stuff I ingest daily. I changed my lifestyle. I'm all about nutrients and s&*#. Vitamins and s&*#. Living a long healthy life and s&*#. That's what I'm talking about.

I'm not smart enough to have come to this grand revelation all by myself. If it was up to me it would've been Rum and Coke to wash down my fried chicken and pizza. Huge, steroid chicken wings smothered in the closest artery clogging sauce. Thankfully, one day my beautiful fiance refused to turn the tv from Cheerleader Nation. I said "Is this what I have to look forward to for the next 20 years?" She replied "That's all I get is 20 years?" That's all it took to make me start to examine my life. I figured out how to make sure I was around for this lovely lady as long as possible. Now she gets to hear me complain about her tv shows for decades to come. Thanks to water.

That cool refreshing drink.

How Opal F#^$*D Up

2006-05-03T12:52:00.000-04:00

Poor, poor Kaavya Viswanathan.

We know she's pretty. We know she's smart, hell she got into Harvard. We know she has two loving parents that provided a good life for her. We know she had a bright future ahead of her (emphasis on had). Like a lot of young people all across the planet Earth, Kaavya f#@%&d up.

People f#$% up all the time. Everybody knows one girl that got pregnant by some random ass dude she didn't even like. Everybody knows somebody that wrecked their car being stupid running their mouth on the phone. Everybody has tried to bake a birthday cake and didn't check to make sure the oven was set to bake instead of broil (or is that just me?). Our mistakes, while equally stupid and tragic, wasn't as charted or monumental as Kaavya Viswanathan's.

A few weeks ago in Entertainment Weekly I read an article on a gifted young writer taking the book world to fresh new heights. The 19 year old Harvard student had just got a six figure multi-book deal. Her first book How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life was being lauded as a the pearl in the oyster of teen novels. I think they reviewed it as an A-. The author was doing interviews all around the New York Times, USAToday, the book tour of course, reported movie talks and everything was roses. Turns out those roses belonged to somebody else. Specifically British writer Sophie Kinsella, author of Can You Keep a Secret? and Megan McCafferty author of Sloppy Firsts and Second Helpings. The similarities between the books are described as "nearly identical passages"

Damn shawty. You f#*$@d up.

They yanked the books from the shelves. Movie talks are over. All that work you did at that internship is being reviewed with a super fine tooth comb. Harvard is considering expelling you. Katie Couric attacked you on the Today show. Any dream you might have imagined in the recesses of your mind of being any type of writer are over. Yeah I burnt the hell out of that cake but I can make more cakes. They probably won't let you sign credit card receipts at the Walmart checkout. Bic will refuse to sell you pens.

Its over. You're a plagiarist. That's a big word for a thief and a liar. I hear your excuses about how you didn't know. You "internalized" those books because you loved them so much. That holds about as much water as a fishing net. Sounds like the same things you hear from guys that get caught cheating by their girlfriend with an ol ugly chick. What else could she really say though?

Poor, poor Kaavya. Karma came around and got you. Not Carson Daily's sweet funny karma from my My Name is Earl but the big ol ugly boogey man looking karma that scares all the little plagiarist straight.

You f#$%*d up. Atleast you weren't on Oprah. After the way she treated that last guy for saying his book was true when it wasn't, I'd hate to imagine what she would've done to you.

Sista Lois

2006-05-02T12:36:00.000-04:00

There is no reason to be mad about Beyonce getting turned down for the role of Lois Lane in the Superman movie. She wouldn't have been that good anyway. Fighting Temptations and Austin Powers failed to move me into supporting her acting career. She(and all her other crossover entertaining, non acting friends) should stick to singing. The real travesty would have been the blatant, unwarranted manipulation of the Superman property that would have to happen to make Lois Lane black.

I'm a proud black man. I love my black people (especially my fine black sistas). I rarely go see movies without black leads or casts. I like seeing black people in movies just as much as anybody else. It's not about that. Besides its ridiculous for anyone to say that I have to support all black people because I'm black. Soul Plane. Need I say more?

As a comic book fan I would be outraged to see a black Lois Lane. A black Superman. A black Spiderman. A black Batman. I hated the fact that they made the Kingpin black in that wack ass Daredevil movie. I really hated that horrible black Catwoman (more because the movie was horrible in itself). Its not that the making them black disgraces them. It is a fundamental change to the character. It's like making an apple pie but instead of using apples you use cherries. That is not an apple pie.

For 60 years the Lois Lane and Superman characters have been burned into our subconscious. Superman the square-jawed, boy scout. Lois Lane the brunette, tough as nails reporter. Over the years they have been interpreted numerous ways. Frank Miller made Superman a government puppet fighting for an ideal that didn't exist. Tweaks can be made and liberties can be taken, but there will never be a day when Superman will answer the door and Louis Lane will be black on the other side. Why? Because it is not how they were created.

There is nothing wrong with creating a white character. There is nothing wrong with making a movie adaptation of your white character and wanting them to be played by a white person. I say exactly the same thing about classic black characters. It is something wrong with trying to make people change their ideas to fit your views of race. People want to force the new ideals of the race into old things. It's not always necessary. Lois Lane, Superman, comic book characters are not where racial battlegrounds should be fought. If we are bringing Superman into our new world of racial diversity let's give him some new black friends. Don't make people black all willy nilly.

It shows a huge amount of disrespect to a persons creation to make it something that it is not. There isn't much of a point in executing your artistic vision if people are just going to do whatever they want to with it. I want to be sure that all the stories, characters, and everything that I am working so hard to create and put out are properly represented the way I want them to be. That's not too much to ask for.

Why Is The Sky So Damn Blue?!

2006-04-27T19:40:00.000-04:00

I don't recomend driving from Greenville, NC to Atlanta late at night when you have to go to work in the morning. It's not a recipe for success. Matter of fact it will f$*# up your whole day. I guarantee it.

I opened my eyes and could not get up. Bad enough the immigrant I hired to set my alarm decided to take off and protest for today. I had to be woke up by all the ambient light coming through the blinds. (Why don't I have any damn curtains?) Nothing has been right.

The mouthwash burned my mouth more than usual, the water pressure in the shower was weaker than I remember. Why are all my socks so damn white? Who folded my shirts so nice and damn neat? What was i thinking by putting a bright ass light bulb in the closet? I have to go downstairs to fix breakfast? I reached in to get some waffles and the damn pack was unopened. So I had to open the pack of waffles and fix them.

I turn on the TV to see all the newcasters are right where they are supposed to be smiling and telling me how the world is falling apart all around me. The channel however is set to B E f#&$^!n T. BET always works my nerves. I hate BET. BET is to MTV what McDowell's was to McDonald's in Coming to America. Only its not full of colorful characters and its not anywhere near as funny. It wasn't bad enough that they unleashed argueablly to 2 worse reality shows on the world (College Hill and Countdown to Lockdown) and they had some of the worse host on any network at any given time for like the past 10 years (Ray J?!), but now it comes out that they want to be completely unoriginal and hit us with the new reality show centered around DMX and Keisha Cole. DMX AND KEISHA COLE?! Where the hell did this come from? Who out there demanded to see crazy ass DMX in a show? Who in their right mind asked for a Keisha Cole show? Keisha Cole?! What has she ever done to deserve a show? I can answer that one NOTHING!!! It makes no sense.

It really irritates me when things don't make sense. How could they tell Mary J Blige it was cool for her to rap under a different name in her song, knowing she is a wack rapper? How did Bucky make it to the final 12 on American Idol and not Gideon?

I'm not one of those guys running around screaming to the rooftops about the order of the universe, the golden ratio (1.61803398874989...), and all that jazz. Things should make sense though. Atleast a little bit of sense. Atleast for today.

Bomb Squad Gansta Clik Vol 412: Steady Bombin'

2006-04-24T11:32:00.000-04:00

USAToday did a nice size article on the mixtape business. They profiled Clue and DJ Drama. They talked about how the record companies have shifted strategies to the point that you HAVE to put out a hot mixtape to be picked up. It's become necessary. 50 Cent set the bar when he flooded the market with tapes and kicked off his career.

This morning in USAToday they profiled the undisputed all time king of underground mixtapes. This man has used his tapes and dvd's to give him an unprecedented amount of celebrity. He has whole government all over the world devoting billions of dollars to shut down his operation. They can't stop it. He won't stop it.

*sounds of an explosion*
Training Day clip "I watched that cock sucker operate with impunity for 15 years and I got him!!"
*more explosion, army gibberish over walkies*
"This sh*t is chess, it ain't checkers!!"
*more explosions*
dj lays down some ill scratches
"king-king-k-k-k-k king kong aint got sh*t- ain't got sh*t on m- me- me"
*50 Cent clip* Them Iraq niggaz are ROWDY ROWDY!
Them Afghan niggaz are some ROWDY NIGGAZ!
Al-Qaeda is the f*&#n ROWDYIEST!
*Jay Z clip* "Niggaz kick dirt get your whole block sweeped up!!"
*army gibberish* " He's not here" "Find Osama Bin-B-B-B-Bin Bin Laden"

Every couple of months like clock work, Big Bin aka the Desert Ninja aka Mr Invisible aka Bin Mutha F#*%*n Laden has another tape on the streets. It's crazy because all the reports at one time suggested his health was failing and he had to have a dialysis machine with him. He is still spitting hate and inspiring all the up and coming terrorist to keep their heads up. It's ridiculous that he's still alive. If he did mastermind 9/11 why haven't we caught this guy? He's good. I'll give him that.

Outside of catching him, I wonder how it would work if we STOP PLAYING THE DAMN TAPES!! Stop broadcasting the damn things to the whole world. Don't give this guy anymore shine. He get 80 spins a day!!

I think America loves Bin Laden. We love him because since the fall of Communism we have not had a visible thing we could look to as an enemy. We are against global warming, against all kinds of abstract injustices, (kinda against racism) but we need someone to but on a poster or a bumper sticker with the big red x on his face, that we can hate in public without judgment. Until we get someone new to hate, be looking out for Bomb Squad Gansta Clik Vol 413: Ride and Die.

Mr. Media

2006-04-22T12:02:00.000-04:00

Al Sharpton made a funny comment on the media on his show Sharp Talk.

He said he was talking to Jesse Jackson when he was running for president. Jesse said he was out on his boat when he saw the Pope in another boat. The Pope's boat was sinking. Jesse got out his boat and walked on the water over to the Pope. He picked him up and walked on the water back over to his boat. The next day the newspaper headline was "Jesse Jackson Can't Swim".

I'm not an Al Sharpton fan per se, but he has some good stuff to say sometimes. I thought that was pretty funny and poignant. As much as I depend on the news to keep up with what's going on in the world I have to keep reminding myself how slanted it can be. I think they call it spin. They present a story in a way that directs it to a particular audience. Boost up this fact, downplay the importance of that one. Not that I think they are making it up. More like selective editing. Nothing wrong with that.

The Duke rape case is an example. Unfortunately this case is kind of a basic everyday rape case. It happens way too often. Woman says she was raped by drunken, violent men. Men deny. Take that basic premise, add a prestigious university sports team. Make the woman black, the men white. Turn her from a black woman to a black stripper and a mother in a local historically black university. Mix with three parts public election season, two parts money for well paid, aggressive defense attorneys and one part negative DNA tests. Bake on high in a pressure cooker of racial and social implications in a city that already struggles with the same issues on a regular basis. Serve over a hot bed of various agendas and you've got the mess they have up there.

The central issue should be whether or not the woman was forced to have sex against her will. They have made it into a public trashing on both sides with sensational headlines and lots of presumptions and damnation. The media loves the underhanded comments, the leaks of information, the pandering, the whole spectacle it has become. I can't say the same.

"You Got a Little Something for Me?"

2006-04-21T15:04:00.000-04:00

Perception is reality.

The big city is the land of milk and honey. A lot of wealth and opportunity are concentrated in the shadows of high rises and business centers. Walking down the streets of Atlanta I percieve a lot of homeless people. Barely getting by in our capitalist society. They stroll up and down the streets eeking out their livings on donations of food and "tips" from performing menial, sometimes degrading, tasks.

My friend has grown immune to them. She like most other people have walked by the street dwellers multiple times a day, everyday she goes to work. It's a shock to come from a small town and see a man not living at an acceptible level. You look at his clothes which he's probably been wearing for a while, they are filthy. Unshaved. Ungroomed. You figure he's uneducated from the way he talks. Unsocialized from the way he approaches people. When I first saw that I was put off. I asked myself what could have happened in his life to lead him here? I concocted all kinds of scenarios in my mind to explain it.

Maybe he was one of those factory workers that dropped out of middle school to refine steel when he was ten. He worked for years in the mills 12 hours a day, sometimes 7 days a week. After 20 years the factory closes leaving him unemployed, unable to use the one skill he had developed in his lifetime, and suffering from years of exposure to dangerous toxin that have ravaged his body. After losing his wife and kids in a horrible accident, and lost in a world that has passed him by several times over, he turned to his best friend Jack and has been unable to recover. How could I not help my brother after everything he's been through? I give him 2 dollars and say "Stay up, brother"

The next time I see him it's the same thing. Same clothes, same smell, same knappy beard. I'm not as shocked this time. So maybe his wife and kids didn't die in a horrible accident. Maybe his wife left him after he lost his job. That's still bad. I give him a dollar and say "Be easy, man."

Remember perception is reality. Perception is warped by experience. My pops always told me you have to do for yourself and never give up. My mother showed me you have to work and do what you have to do to make it in life. My life has been struggle after struggle. Hard choices and long, harder days but I kept going to get what I have. In my perception of the world everybody should be doing the same.

Everyday I see this guy, same clothes, same breath, same ashy, dirty hands, I feel less and less sympathy. In my mind he goes from a victim of life and circumstance looking for a little relief from the storm to a lazy, drunk with no desire to do anything with his life harassing me for money...again... for the 1000th time.

It isn't right to feel like that. I should have more tolerance for people. I should open my heart to the less fortunate. but when I see dude, at the Underground, at Lennox, outside the High Museum, in Decatur, in Buckhead, he's damn everywhere! I blame him for his situation. He should spend that same energy he spends begging to get a job and do something with himself. He should have enough self respect and pride to get it together...I would.

I read once we are all the same and to see weakness in the next man is to see weakness in yourself. Until you can accept my own human short comings, you can never be truly connected to or sympathize with anyone else.

For good or bad, I haven't gotten to this magical point of oneness with humanity. The sympathy I had (or was that shock?), has been eroded away. When I see this dude (like I always do when I'm out trying to enjoy myself), same clothes, same hustle, same eyes fully of hopelessness and despair, I tell him the truth. To my own shame I say, "I ain't got it, man."

YEAH SON! ALL DAY ITS A MOVEMENT!!

2006-04-12T09:51:00.000-04:00

F#%K THAT YO!! I'M A HIP HOP ALL F#%*&N FAN ALL DAY! I'M SO DAMN HYPE ABOUT HIP HOP I GOTTA TYPE IN ALL CAPS AND CUSS IN EVERY F*#$$N SENTENCE YO! NO F&#*%N BODY CAN TELL ME ABOUT HIP HOP! EVRYBODY THAT DON'T KNOW NOTHIN BOUT WHAT I SAY IS A BITCH STRAIGHT UP! DON'T LET MY F*#&K'D UP LANGUAGES FOOL YOU SON I'M THE TRUTH!! ATL DIP UNIT HUSTLAS ALL F*#%$N DAY! ITS A MOVEMENT FOR REAL BITCHS!!

Why can't people sit back and have simple, open discussion on hip hop? Why it got to be all that, homie?

Anyway
The big fuss on the internet is the MTV list of the top MCs. It goes like this supposedly(the dude claims that hackers got to the the list on the MTV site, the actual list is being revealed slowly this week):
1. Jay-Z
2. Tupac
3. Notorious B.I.G.
4. Rakim
5. Nas
6. KRS-One
7. Big Daddy Kane
8. Ice Cube
9. Eminem
10. LL Cool J

Immediately the furor started. Check out the comments they are making on SOHH.com. People are really upset.

One thing they say is that MTV has no right to make a "greatest (insert anything hiphop)" list. They say that MTV doesn't know anything about hiphop and never supported us before so how can they talk about it now. How dare those MTV people comment on hiphop. We need somebody with some credibility to make the list.

It's not that serious is it? People make list all the time. Top 20 love songs. Top 100 celebrities. Top this. Most that. No list means anything more than what it is.. a list. It's not like they're going to put this list as an amendment in the constitution. Its not the Ultimate Never to Be Questioned Final Definite List as Decreed By God Himself(or Herself if you like). People are allowed to put out their opinions. Why not MTV? They play music don't they? Who would they rather have..BET? The same people that gave us those great bastions of hip hop culture Uncut and Lil' Kim Countdown to Lockdown. Or would it be the shining achievment of 106 & Park that gives BET hiphop credibility. They have Rap City, but Joe Clare and Big Lez are long gone and if you think those dummies they had since then are hip hop host, then I pity you. BET(or as i call it MTV Lite) is about as hiphop as a piece of iceberg lettuce. The only reason I have it is to keep channel 320 and 322 from crashing into each other in a fiery explosion and destroying my TV.

Let them have their opinion. They can, and do, explain why they ranked the way they did. It all makes sense to me. They even have an honorable mention section with more shot outs to the greats. It's just a good conversation builder to make a greatest MC list. What really needs to happen is sometime soon we have to let go of this Tupac and Biggie infatuation in hiphop. They were great but Tupac was not the greatest lyricist in the world. Biggie was great but he only had 2 albums (those Diddy albums were trash and don't count). Jay Z has a catalouge of albums that Biggie and Pac unfortunately never got a chance to make. Jay has verse after verse, style after style, years of proven success. Does that make him better? Not necessarily. It definitely gives him more of a chance to prove his worth. Think about this, if you are rookie of the year in the NFL and break your legs your second year, do you get to go to Canton because you were good? I don't think so.

Memories get distorted. It's a big up to Jay Z, not disrespect to the memory of our fallen brothers, for him to be on top of the list. My next blog I'm going to make a case for Jay Z as #1. I think I would put him on the top of my list if I made one. I got to relisten to my cd's right quick because you got to be on point. You know how those hiphop fans get.

Children Books

2006-04-11T10:24:00.000-04:00

I recently began to wonder about parenting. I wondered how much did my parents actually think about raising me as opposed to actually raising me. How much was raising my sisters and brothers just pure instincts and trial and error? Did they really sit down with books and read about everything that could happen? Were they worried about messing up our lives and not giving us all the tools we needed to succeed? For that matter, did they even know how to give me the tools they wanted me to have?

I came upon this train on thought this weekend at the outlet mall. I was walking around checking stuff out, when this big head baby came running towards the door. She was maybe a little past one year old. Obviously still learning how to move around in the world from her oh-so wobbly steps. Her mother jumps in front of her. "Now Ashley you have to stay with mommy. You have to stay here with me" The baby looks her mother in the face, rocks her big head side to side, does the slowest spin move ever pulled on a grown person, and takes off running. A full 1/4 mph sprint in another direction. The mother sighs and steps in front off Ashley again. I watch her do that 3 more times. I couldn't help but think she read that in a book. No one would sit back and conceive of talking to a child with the expectation of comprehension and obedience.

I've seen all these studies about child development. I once read about this doctor that said children should be encouraged to make there own decision and be self sufficient as soon as possible. Such as telling parents what they would like to eat and deciding when they should go to sleep. The doctor said children know what they need and will communicate it sufficiently. The doctor said this helps children develop a strong sense of self. All parents have to do is be there to provide those needs and talk to their children about what they suggest. Sounds like the same study that had Ashley's mother reasoning with her one year old. Sounds like a big load bullsh*t to me. Only in a book will you ever hear about giving that kind of power to a child.

I imagine parenting to be a much more fluid activity than what you read in a book. The book makes it seem so simple. "Do this when your child does this" " Do this so your child won't do this" I don't think it ever works like that. Life is never that easy.

Then I think to myself, it isn't even about the child. The book is for the parents. The book is there to give the parents a way out of the pressures and ramnifications of being the care giver and role model of another person. It's there to relieve them of the guilt they might feel later if their precious baby boy rapes a stripper from a local college that is trying to raise money for tuition. The book is a metaphor. Something akin to giving someone lost in a jungle a crooked line on a dirty hankerchief and saying its the way home. The book is hope against the uncertainty of the future.

Should she have talked to baby Ashley and let her say when she wants to go to bed? I don't know. If I was running for the door, my mama would pop me in the head and pulled me back. I would've stayed. She didn't read that in a book.

1000 Memories

2006-04-07T09:10:00.000-04:00

Dreams are strange.

Last night it was one of those really vivid ones that got me in my mood for today. One of those dreams where you see everybody you never even remember and you end up damn near remembering your whole life. The good and the bad moment are mixed in there.

I was watching my friend Tank, on Decatur St, Richmond Va, when I was 6 and used to live round the corner from my Grandma. He would run into the street and lay down and cars would roll right over him. I remember he would be so happy when he jumped up and ran back to where we were waiting for him. Who was waiting for him? Me and my middle school friends at William R Davie. Me, Mike, Reggie, Tasha Owens, Tobias, and somebody else were all laughing about how I wrote a story about flying on a paper airplane all over the world. We got up and left but walking out the caf doors opened into Miss Virginia's house. I had walked there from Hardee's about a mile away in the hot sun because she would take me home in her little red truck. She never went over 35 in that thing. She smiled and worked in her yard. She drops me off at Devan Newman's house and I know she's going back to heaven. Devan has the high top fade and the foot long rat tail because he had just moved to NC from California. We play football with Goo Goo and Bossley and jump or our bikes to go to to American history with Mr Clark. My cousins, Stacy, Mookie, Sheeda, Redd, Zurich all walk by the classroom and tell me come on to the cook out. Brenda and Shirley are leaving and they don't wait for nobody. My little sister, when she was 3, takes my hand and I walk her and my brothers across the street to see everybody at the family reunion. I had to go back to ECU at 2 so I could make it to Black Lit(and so I can get a seat so see fine ass Ebony in her Zeta coat). I walk pass everybody from Scott Hall to get to class, even James and Keenan. Class is cancelled again. I go to Mendenhall and Shirley, Sha, June (and her baby), Tiffany, Temia, Alexis are there waiting for April and Kara. I realize everbody from White Hall is there. Corey and Dwight are going to the rec. I go over to check the Spot schedule, then I go see Jennifer before she goes to Georgia Tech. I sit with her and take her bags to her old Maxima. When she pulls off, I check my watch cause I only have 30 minutes til I go see the boys and I better have this info tight to spit. Them damn Iota don't play! Jesse Palmer walks by and tells me he thought I deserved that award for drawing and I remember thinking how this guy is the best designer I've ever seen. Dre calls me and I have my old Alltell phone. Josh and Dez are bringing chips and stuff and all the SGRhos are coming to our cookout. Then I'm at the cookout on the Park West balcony with Cynthia, Keisha, Hope, Alexis several other girls I don't quite remember but I'm sure I know them. The balcony becomes the ocean and I'm alone. The waves crash. My phone goes off. Jennifer texts me to buy some grapes on my way home. I'm missing something. I can't remember what it is. I look in the sand but its not there. Where is it? It has to be here? What is that? Is that...Joyce Latell?

It was the damn radio alarm. Now I'm up at work and I can't shake the feeling I'm missing something. I don't know what it is. I can't help thinking how much what I lost meant to me. I regret losing it, whatever it was. I hope I can find it one night, hidden amongst all the other people and things that live in my dreams.

Change the Game?

2006-04-05T11:00:00.000-04:00

March Madness is over. The Champions are crowned. As the noise of the crowds die down for another year, I can once again hear the old debate again. The voices of activists and dreamers everywhere. Their arguement is just as simple as the vacuum world it would work in. "Pay the players!" they scream. I laugh tritely and listen to them ramble on.

The NCAA just signed a $6 billion dollar television contract, coaches make a million or more dollars a year for what they do, and nobody knows how much money the universities are making from apparel, recruiting students,etc. These young men are being worked over by a system where everybody makes money off of the things that they do. Full ride schlarships are all well and good but its nothing compared to the moeny the universities are making. They should be given a salary and then they can pay their own tuition. That would give them the opportunity to move their families out of the hood. They could afford to do other things. They deserve it for all the money the schools make off of them.

Ha ha ha. Thats funny.

I'll consider the arguement. College sports do mean big money for the university. The schools love it because a high profile sports program increase the notoriety of the school. Its not always the acadmeics that draw students to a school. Imagine the spike in enrollment after winning the tournament. Its the ultimate marketing tool. Take my alma mater East Carolina University for example. They built a new seating decks in the stadium, brand new sport medicine center, and a brand new workout facility. This was in the years that I was there. They put Petey the Pirate on everthing from frisbees to car tags, finger nail files to thongs (condoms coming soon). It all advertises the school and boosts enrollment. So yes there are huge amounts of time, effort, and money put into these programs.

To say that these players aren't paid is ridiculous. Add up the perks and free stuff they recieve. Tuition paid for, books, room & board, tutoring, clothes (not just univeristy clothes). Coaches help students get cars, apartments, and they still recieve monetary stipends. They are catered to from the day they step on campus until they leave. This goes on at ECU. Imagine the schools that actually win games!

The thing about college sports is it's an extension of the college or university. Its no different from high school sports. Its a school function. Endorsed by the university, funded by the university, for the university. If you go about paying the athletes you change the whole system from a university function to a job. They would be on the state payroll with the tenured professors and janitors. Tax payer money (most colleges are public instituions, you know) would pay them.

You make it a job and you take away every connection to the university aspect. They wouldn't necessarily have to have college students playing would they? Who would really "hire" a high school graduate with undeveloped talent to play on a team that's all about making money? It would be like a draft for every NBA/NFL/MLB reject out there. If all the students playing now were really any good they would pull a Lebron and ditch college all together. What student would still be a student if they are getting paid for real? What university would publicly spend money to fund a business venture which is essential a league in competition with the NBA or NFL? Would people go for that?

What effects would this have on the academics of these school? The money made from the powerhouse programs are not just handed out amongst a hand full of rich people sitting in an office running a slavery operation. The money funds the school itself. Dorms, dining services, professors, administrators, science labs, all this comes from that money. What happens when they start paying hired basketball employees to market the school and can no longer afford to pay the freshman psychology professor? What happens when its a choice between a new dorm and a 2 guard? Both the university and the team will suffer.

The complexities of the university system can't be summed up in the bottom line figure. College sports is not a system designed to financially benefit players. It benefits the whole university. Its the nature of the beast. You can't change it. No matter how unfair or unjust it may look.

Not Again

2006-04-01T10:28:00.000-05:00

This Cynthia McKinney story bothers me.

As the story goes Rep. Cynthia McKinney is going to a meeting at the Captiol Building. She goes to walk by the security check in and is stopped by a police officer. He touches or grabs her shoulder to stop her and she hits him.

She holds a press conference at Howard University with Harry "Bush is a Terrorist" Belafonte and Danny "I Can't Get a Cab" Glover and the shanigans begin.

"Cynthia McKinney, like thousands of average Americans across this country, is ... a victim of the excessive use of force by law enforcement officials because of how she looks and the color of her skin," said one of McKinney's lawyers, James Myart Jr.

"The whole incident was instigated by the inappropriate touching and stopping of me — a female, black congresswoman," McKinney said at a news conference, abandoning the apologetic tone she struck earlier in the week.

McKinney spoke on the campus of predominantly black Howard University, surrounded by more than a dozen African-American children from South Georgia's Coffee County who held signs reading "Is Cynthia a Target?" and "Recognize Our Congresswoman."

Not this sh#t again. I must be getting Punk'd. This has to be some kind of sick twisted joke. The Twilight Zone or Outer Limits or something. These people can't be serious. Let me make sure I'm getting this straight. You are a representative of many years, who is well versed in all the systems set up to ensure you take full advantage of all the rights and privileges allotted to members of Congress. You don't follow the precedures (she admits to not wearing the congressional pin which is used to identify all members of Congress at check points) and when you get stopped, for not having the pin, your defense is he should have recognized you? Are you serious?! There are 535 members of Congress that change every 2 years or so, you expect every single security guard to memorize the faces of every single member. ARE YOU SERIOUS?! What has she ever done to warrant this celebrity she feels she has? Why does she feel so entitled and special that everybody should know her? I've never heard of Cynthia McKinney. I doubt if anybody outside of Georgia has. Much less recognize her. Sounds like a self esteem issue to me.

What really works my nerves is when people throw up the racism defense even when they are clearly wrong in a situation. I hate that. She knows damn well she didn't have any business hitting that officer. If you were not wearing your congressional pin and tried to go by a check point you should get stopped. In this post 9/11 world every measure has to be taken to ensure safety. Thats the whole point of the damn check point! If they just let anybody in he'd be fired! Now they are gonna make all this noise over her "incident" when she is obviously way out of pocket on this one. It takes all the fire out of claims of real racism. In new Orleans this weekend Al, Jesse and them are marching over the whole voting issue they have going on and protesting the "don't let them niggas in" incident with the cops on the bridge. That was racism! That is the stuff we need to be rallying about!

She's not the only using racism as a defense. I've seen plenty of times where my people were clearly in the wrong and threw up racism up because they had no real defense to go with. "Man, they pulled me over for cause I'm black." Man, you was doing 80 in a 45. "Man, them cops keep watching me cause I'm black." Nigga, you out here selling weed.

A few weeks ago the police kicked in the door of a house and arrested 3 black minors (a 14 year old, a 17 year old and an 18 year old) after a crowd of their white neighbors had gathered outside the house. That's racist right? The NAACP was holding press conferences, the mother was crying on TV, people were in an up roar. Well, turns out the the kids were breaking into the houses in the subdivision. They broke in while someone's 11 year daughter was home and she identified them. The house the police kicked in was full of stolen goods. The mother was selling the stuff on eBay. The cops busted in the house after the 14 and 17 year old beat another officer with sticks. Is it still racist?

Racism is out there, I'm not stupid. We need to fight racism on all fronts. I'm all for exposing the problems and fixing it so my kids won't be held back because of their skin color. We also need to fight this fake racism. We need to get to the point where we are acting in ways that doesn't give real racism anywhere to hide. We need to be able to sit back and see a situation for what it is, accept resposibility (that means you McKinney!) if we did something wrong and not throw the racism card without proper provacation. We are always looking for a reason the call a white person racist. Everything ain't racism.

The Fever

2006-03-30T18:50:00.000-05:00

Its getting hot down here. In Atlanta that can only mean 2 things. More music and more violence.
Its a sickness with us. Its something about the hot sun beaming down on you that makes you either want to dance or want to shoot somebody.

Every summer has a soundtrack. I don't know why music and heat go together. If its hot and music is playing maybe it feels like a club and that makes the day better. Maybe it just takes your mind off the heat. Whatever it is I know, as do a lot of people, that you can't go through a summer day without listening to music. Record companies know that. That's why the hot albums come out in the summer time. Everybody buys it, everybody plays it. It sets the mood for 3 hot months. "Its Dark and Hell Is Hot" is one of my picks for the ultimate summer album (name one person that wasn't rocking DMX that summer). I'm throwing T.I. "King" out there for an early pick for this summer (I am in ATL right now).

Now I'm a cool guy. I went to get gas one day my first summer here in the Atl. Standing at the pump (in the shade mind you) I was so hot that I would have hit the person pumping gas beside me if they were closer. However it was so hot I couldn't make it over in time to bust that bitch in the face like the heat was telling me to. (I'm sorry but everybody is a bitch when its that hot out). So I ended up getting in my car, hanging my head out the window screaming " SH#T!! ITS HOT!! IT'S MUHTAF#@KIN HOT AS A MUTHAF#@KA!!"

It makes you mad to be that hot. Its all around you and no matter what you do you can't escape it. You feel trapped. You feel completely helpless and hot. When crack heads start cooking on the sidewalk waiting for the MARTA, the heat starts to affect you. It clouds your mind. Its hard to think straight when it feels like you live in an oven. Everything aggrevates you. For whatever reason, could be they aren't as lazy as I am or could be they're more sensitive to the heat, people start lashing out. You're more likely to just say "F#@k it" and rob a liquor store when its 110 degrees outside and you don't have anything to do. You're more likely to pistol whip your spades partner for underbidding when all you see is heat lines past 10 feet from you. Domestic violence skyrockets because guys won't leave an air conditioned house to go bake outside and women won't back down because (and I quote) "It's too damn hot for me to be dealin' wit yo ass".

I woke up this morning and caught the news. Three black men were involved in a shoot out with a fifteen year old after an arguement. The fifteen year old was in critcal condition, another person was shot and aprehended. One suspect was shot but escaped on foot down Bankhead after what is being described as an "old west style shoot out". Weather man said today's high was 79 degrees.

Its gonna be a long summer.

Smoke, Mirrors, and Rappers

2006-03-28T09:52:00.000-05:00

TI is starring in a new movie with Big Boi. Trina guest starring on Desperate Housewives. Ludacris is on Law&Order. wow. I'm so excited. You ask me this whole rapper=actor thing is getting out of hand.

It works for all the companies involved. Think about it. You have a record label and a "hot" rapper. What better way is it to promote your artist to millions of people than to get them in a role (however small) in a movie or on a tv show? If you are the tv producer or movie producer, what better way is it to add to the buzz of a tv/movie than to attach the name of a "hot" artist to it (however small their role actually is)? If you are the "hot" artist, they are paying you a nice sum of money to recite some words. How could you say no to that?

Its the consumer that gets f#%ked over in the end. Once you get into adding buzz to a movie, making your movie "hot", you take away from the time spent making your movie GOOD. I go to movies to be wowed and entertained. I go to get away from the world and for 2 hours live in the movie. I go to see good actors with a good script and a good director come together and make magic. I go to see a GOOD movie.

What did Nelly add to "The Longest Yard"? Was 50's ode to himself "Get Rich or Die aTryin" even worth watching? Did Eve really qualify to be in "Barbershop"? Let's not talk about Ja Rule and the string of utterly worthless flicks he's unleashed on the masses.

People might try to stick up for their people. I hear your arguments. Ludacris was in "Crash". Well...the movie didn't exactly hinge on Luda. The script was superb and the direction was flawless. A trash can could've robbed Sandra Bullock and the movie would win an Oscar. It had Don Cheadle and Terrance Howard in it for God's sake. Let's not confuse making a movie good and not f#!kin up a movie.

I just don't like, what seems to be, this laziness taking over movies. Let's not go out to do a talent search and bank on a no-name, up-and-coming actor that might end up being the next Denzel, or the Halle Berry. Let's not go find that superstar in waiting that has a passion for the craft and true talent. Let's get that guy with that song out and put him in the movie. That's guaranteed money. It doesn't matter if the movie is good as long as we get that money.

Don't try to hustle me. Don't use smoke and mirrors and famous people to distract me from your horrible movie. The opportunity to see a famous person dressing up and reciting a few lines is not enough to get me to go see a movie. Let's get back to quality please. Keep these suck ass actors/rappers off the movie screens.

IF YOU AINT GOT...

2006-03-24T12:06:00.000-05:00

"some of the shit y'all pop to it, I ain't relatin'
if I don't like it I don't like it, that don't mean that I'm hatin'"
-Common "6th Sense"

I'm going to be honest right now. I hate a lot of music on the radio. I hate a lot of music out anywhere. I LOVE music but everytime I turn around some guy has tough ass beat on and is talking about absolutely nothing. Either that or some fine ass non-singing sista is trying to destroy my eardrums. Lyrics? Good songwriting? Originality? What's that?

Don't fret my true music lovers (and if you don't know the song where I got my beautiful opening quote I'm not talking to you). There is some good stuff out there (few and far between as they are). What I'm going to do is let you know what the good stuff is and why I think its good. So if you ain't got it...you f*#ckin suck. (excuse my language)

If you aint got Anthony Hamilton's "Ain't Nobody Worryin'" you f@#*kin suck.

There is not a man in the game right now that has more soul than Anthony Hamiliton. To compare him to anybody you have to go back to the 70's. He's cut from the same cloth as Marvin Gaye and Lou Rawls. He has that distinctive voice that carries all kinds of emotions with it and flows into your soul. It's something real genuine to it. Real natural. In the 20's, he would've been one of those guys that traveled the country with a guitar and a suitcase, hopping from boxcar to boxcar performing gigs for a place to sleep and a bottle of jack. A true artist. That's too real for y'all.

"Can't Let Go" comes on and he starts "Why must they try, to tear down my house when they, know its made from love, and they can never stand in our way, we made a vow to love, through it all, we are one, and no one has the right to tear my loving down"

That's good music. It's all about love. Not "let me beat them skins" "get naked so i can get up in it." It crosses that line from momentary sensation and lust, into being together and passion. You can't make good music without that passion.

It's something down home country about the whole album. Takes you back in time to your grandma's house. Where your daddy had to wear his Sunday best and introduce himself to your family in order to take your moms out to the drive in. "Cool like a fresh breeze, ooohh Please come with me, Let's take a ride, Swing to the other side, I'm much obliged to make your aquaintance, You're full of substance, and oh girl I love it" on "Southern Stuff".

You feel the music when it plays like on the wonderfully smooth "The Truth". "If you take a little walk with me, Girl I'll lead you to the truth, and you should never give up on me, Girl I'll share it all to you" He'll lead you to the truth girl! How can you not feel that? There are several songs on this album I think can be played for years to come. I want to play a couple of them in September when I do my thing. It's classic material people.

From the relationship troubles of "Where Did It Go Wrong" to the big girl shout out of "Sista Big Bones" to the love-fest of "Change Your World" this cd is a wonderful listen.

Bottom line, if you don't have it then you f#@*kin suck.

Come kick it with Jesus

2006-03-23T12:21:00.000-05:00

I think the bible is a wonderful book. Its a tool that gives a compass for morals and behaviors. It has the most wonderful stories in it. You can look to it for guidance on any subject you want. Not specificly but through interpretation there is something in there that relates to any situation.

That's the proverbial rub. It's all about interpretation.

Most of the bible was written and rewritten by poets and playrights hired by kings. Then it was copied, edited, rewritten, copied, translated, copied, and on and on for generations. The true word from the original writers is so diluted and manipulated it's a shame. Does that stop the zealots? Hell no. When faced with adversity what is a religious zealot to do? Well, take bits and pieces from the bible that work with your arguements and don't talk about the rest. Then quote your hand picked scripture to prove God is with you and condemn everything and everybody against your interpretation. That's all it is, whether they admit it or not, their personal interpretation of what they think God wants. I've got an interpretation too.

A white men, a black man and Jesus walk into a bar. The bartender for some reason or another says "My uncle passed away a little while ago and you know I been thinking about being up in this bar surrounded by all this sin. I must admit I've done a little bit of wrong myself. I don't know what to think about it all. I'm lost in this big ol' world and I don't know which way to go. You clean looking fellas look like exactly the type of people that can help me. What should I do?"

The white man stands up, waves his bible and says "First thing son, you're not gay are you?" "No" replies the bartender. "Good" continues the white man. "Tell me everything you ever did wrong, son. Live by this great book because everything in it is absolutely true and pledge your life to me. Repent all your sins and walk with me in Christ the Lord. Then we will travel the world forcing our teachings of love and respect and holinesson everybody. We will destroy anything and kill anyone that is even remotely against us until the whole world believes in what we do and follows us."

"What you need to do" says the black man "What ya need TO DOOOO, is uh, change your life, uh I said change YO LIIIIIFE. Live by the word of GOD as given to us straight from his mouth to the page to the bible,uh. Then fix this place up uh, get some marketing, and a gimmick, and put the butts in the seats, and get rich. By a Benz, get a house, uh I said you need to get RIIICH. Like God wants you to. Then when you give back 10% to GOD, uh for giving you all your riches that he wants you to have. Pray about your problems. I said PRAAAAAY ABOUT IT. Then donate to the church fund, and the pastor's fund, and this fund, and that fund. Then GOD will be with you and let you, uh, LET YOUUUUU, uh, INTO HEAVEN. Everybody else will burn in hell. You're not gay are?" "No sir" "Good"

The bartender looks at Jesus. "Is that how it is?"

"You know what, brother. Can I call you brother?" says Jesus. "I know you're a sinner. We're all sinners. But that was yesterday. I like you. Matter of fact I love you. My father does too. He's always going to love you. If you let me into your heart and follow my teachings of tolerance, love, and caring for your fellow man then you can come kick it with me and pops in heaven."

That's what I'm talking about. I'm kicking it with Jesus.

Sharp I tell you!

2006-03-22T13:44:00.000-05:00

I had a mind like a steel trap until I got a cell phone. I was a quiz bowl champion (OK, not a champion per se but we beat Weldon). I was sharp. Sharp I tell you!

Now I can't remember a phone number to save my life. I don't even know my new house number. God forbid I break this thing or lose it. I'd be lost as hell. It's eroded my memory very slowly but surely. I hate it but I love it. It does one thing I could never do...remember birthdays.

I'm anti-birthday. I never really got anything for my birthday so it was never special to me. Except for getting to change my age its served me no prupose for 25 years. I call myself transitioning into maturity as of late. Part of that is acknowledging that the world is more than just me. So I'm making and effort to right myself this year. Life causes people to value things differently. I accept that while my birthday this year will just be another Wednesday for me, birthdays for other people are another way to recieve love from their friends and family, another way to know that other people care about you.

I can dig that.

I'm anti-birthday but I'm not anti-spreading love. I apologize to every friend I ever had for not remembering their special day. I didn't mean to offend or hurt any of you.

I say all that to say....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALEXIS!!
I miss you girl. You're one of my best friends ever. I wouldn't trade you for the world. Have great day. Don't drink the whole bottle!

Next year...birthday presents...

Ignorance is Bliss

2006-03-21T18:21:00.000-05:00

"'cause they don't know no better baby."

That's what mom dukes used to say when I was a little man and would ask about all the bad stuff going on around me in Mosby Court. I woke up and saw some hardcore stuff. Drugs, fights, all the ghetto sins we witness every day. For the longest time I thought that was the answer. Now I know ma had it half right.

I woke up everyday in the same mess as everybody else, went to the same ragedy poor schools, same gunshot interupted sleep. I saw the same foul stuff. I made the tough choices everyday. I put in the extra work and worked hard to get somethng out of life. Then one faithful day in January 04 some random ass dude,or dudes, decides to break into my house and take everything they could even the damn couch.
The Damn Couch!!

"cause they dont know no better baby."

Ma they ate my pop tarts! They came in my house rambled through my stuff and before they left, they ate my pop tarts so they wouldn't get any hunger pains while carrying a loveseat on their backs. (tha bastids!!)
Yeah I'm still mad. I hate to give any excuses to those niggas that got me like that but I have got to concede a few points. First, America is not pro-black by any stretch of the imagination. Two, there are systems set up to keep African Americans down. Three, my generation has been devastated by crack, fatherless homes,blah blah blah. I can go on.

Maybe they don't know any better mama. I'll add to that. They don't want to know any better. I think that if they stepped outside of themselves and saw how they fell into the traps of the system, they would be depressed. If they ever looked at their lives and saw the crab mentality that had overtaken them and how they passed it down to the next generation through neglect and abuse, it would destroy what little self esteem they have. They would kill themselves if they ever woke up and realized that they had committed the most unforgivable offenses against their own people.

Don't worry niggas. Your ignorance will save you.

P.S.
I want to give a big shout out to the dumb ass, diaper wearing, mush mouthed, cockeyed, limp dicked, slew footed mutha fucka that stole my couch. I see you, you bitch ass muthafuka. Yeah I'm still mad!!