Once a year for the last couple of years MTV and the good folks at Viacom have put out a list that is referred to as the “Hottest MCs in the Game”. I have no idea what their criterion for “Hot” is, but I’m going to assume that it consists of the following: Press/Media buzz, Lyrics, Swagger, and Cultural Trends. MTV places a panel of people who supposedly know about hip-hop in a room and they debate on ten MCs and their deserving rankings. (The fact that the panel is moderated by Sway is even more disappointing. He should know better.)
Each year we have ended up with a list consisting of hip-hop mainstays who may not be considered super stars but are well known, a few wtfs, and some well deserving all time greats. Each year I have disagreed with the lists. Why? Well mainly I’m just a disagreeable person, and the second reason is simply because I can.
So last night when NCIS went to a commercial break I took a look at MTV’s list for 2009. Here it goes
1. Jay-Z
2. Lil Wayne
3. Drake
4. Kanye West
5. Rick Ross
6. Gucci Mane
7. Young Jeezy
8. Fabolous
9. 50 Cent
10. Raekwon
So that’s MTV’s list of whom they think hip-hop heads are checking for. Personally, I think this list is utter horse $@%&, but my standards may or not be too high. A few of these cats I can’t argue with. Some are questionable as hell and need to be amended.
Chime in and let me know what you think about this list and we can have a good old-fashioned debate about hip-hop. When the smoke clears we’ll come up with a list of our own.
Honestly, I think we can do better.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Who's Gonna Save My Soul Now
“If God didn't want them sheared, he would not have made them sheep.”
Eli Wallach as Calvera in the Magnificent Seven ©
I don’t like church. More specifically, I’ve got church issues. There, I said it.
When I say I have church issues I mean I have beaucoup church issues. These issues are Ike and Tina sized issues. Wolverine/Sabertooth issues. Whitney Houston/sobriety issues. Israeli/Palestinian issues. Right-wing Republicans/common sense issues.
Yep, these issues are that big
Before y’all cast me out as heretic, hear me out. I know black folks love us some Jesus, but this has nothing to do with him or his Dad. This has to do specifically with churches. Maybe this will make sense to you and I’ll come around in the way I view organized religion. Then again…
On Sunday I had the absolute worst experience within the four walls of what is supposed to be a church in my life. I found myself praying like Jenny from Forrest Gump, “Wanting to be taken far, far away”. I’ll explain that later but to understand my position here’s a brief rundown with my relationship with church.
From as far back as I could remember I have never actually enjoyed going to church. As a child I would do my best to over sleep to avoid going. There were a million other places that I would rather be than at St. Luke Baptist church in Fairfax, SC (Stand up!) on a Sunday morning. I would find myself sitting in a place I didn’t want to be, wearing clothes that I didn’t want to wear, listening to the same songs week after week; all the while I was bored to death. I did listen to most of the sermons, but I did find myself not caring about what the guest preachers had to say.
Overall, I simply didn’t care to be there!
My apathy continued, as I got older. I got baptized while in middle school. This was mostly because of parental pressure. “When are you and your brother going to join the church?” This would be the question that I would be frequently asked by my parents. So during revival my Brother and I got baptized.
“I Shouldn’t Have Done it” Slick Rick ©
Not once during this process did any one explain what taking the literal plunge meant. Granted, if I had been paying attention I would have known, but I didn’t pay attention and the story continues. So, physically, mentally, and spiritually nothing changed for me during the following years. I still prayed, believed in God, but I can honestly say that I did not fully understand what it meant to be “saved”. Sure, my church was filled with nice people but this changed nothing in my eyes. What I did know was that I had ton of questions and I couldn’t find any tangible answers.
When I did get answers they didn’t make sense with me. Phrases like “They are filled with the spirit” were tossed about but nothing that I thought was usable was given to me. I would also hear Bible verses uses as answers to these questions, but they only added to the confusion of an over analytical teenager.
So by the time I became an upperclassman in high school I’m starting to chalk my train of thought up to me just being a cynic. The hooping, hollering, and the rest of the show baffled me. No, I didn’t attend a holiness church where the church scene from the Blues Brothers was a common thing, but I watched people act as if they were perfect angels for a couple of hours on Sunday but come Monday morning they would sit poised to rain hell for the next six days. The blatantly, obvious, fakeness, or what I perceived to be fakeness of “church folk” would become my next issue with the church. At this point I began to think that the literal church was ok, but it is just the church people who were askew.
This was a possible answer that I went with for a while but upon further thought I came to this conclusion:
The church is both an organization and a building. If both an organization and a building are built with shoddy materials, or ran by shoddy people, isn’t structural failure of some sort eventually going to occur? But again, I think to myself “You’re a cynic, who is being cynical. It’s not them. It’s you.”
Questions would arise that I couldn’t answer. Are these people actually filled with the “Spirit”? Is it the music? Or are they just putting on?
As I grew into adult-hood the actual leaders of the church would become my next point of contention. Who are these people? Really, who are these people? What qualifies them to watch over the souls and spiritual well being of their flock? (Remember that word, flock kids.) Has anyone besides me ever questioned this?
“I was called to preach.” Is what I would hear. Okay, this may or may not be true but how does John Q. Public sitting in the pews know this? Because you said so is isn’t a good enough answer for me. Under idea circumstances I would love to believe that is the case but I could never just sit back and believe this without a ton questions. I know preachers and such are people too and since we hold them in such high regards shouldn’t our standard for them be higher too?
So at this point I’m a grown man. Until Sunday I had not set foot in a church for about a year. See my Girlfriend was actually was raised in the church and I just went to church. (There is a difference.) During the past few years we both have questioned the set-up and actions of the church. At the behest of one of my girlfriend’s coworker we went to church. We entered the church at 11:15 and our next moments of happiness would not occur until we exited at three something that afternoon. (Read that last sentence again, and take it all in.)
First of all, this was “holiness” church. This “church” was not in an actually church. It was in the back of a recreation center near the Amtrak station in North Charleston. When we finally found the place there were a bunch of janky looking men dressed like a cross between Steve Harvey and T.D. Jakes. Not a good sign but things stood to get worse. As we approach the church I hear someone “speaking in tongues”. As we entered we found a seat and some old bat is onstage saying, “we decree, various things over and over followed by plain old gibberish”.
I was also puzzled by the ratio of women to men in the church. All of the men in the church over the age of 35 seemed to have held some type of position within the church. The rest of the male make up of the church were boys under the age of 21. There were only two other men who fell in between these ages beside myself who were not affiliated with this “church”. This led to the question: why do so many women fall for the shady church trap?
With that being said, the hooping and hollering increased more and more while the band set up. The old bat that was initially warming up the crowd passed the microphone to one of the aforementioned janky individuals. He continued on asking everyone to please stand. With this the real show began. More speaking in tongues and other glittering generalities were spat toward the crowd and things really began to get interesting.
After a while I realized that we have been in this “church” for almost and hour and there has not been one single thing resembling a prayer. Although we did not know it yet, it was almost time for the first fleecing of the flock of the day. The way the preachers controlled the congregation was somewhat masterful. Using the music, the gibberish, and various glittering generalities the preacher types got the mostly ovarian crowd excited to the point where they were willingly to give as much money away as possible! Knowing this, the first of the janky preacher types called for the first of the collections and the crowd, in their sweaty state, was willing to pay for the goodness that they were warmed up for.
Things at this point calm down a tad and another preacher steps up to take his turn. Again, with the help of the music another spiritual orgy commences. This one was much more intense than the previous one. The fervor and the strength of the message increased ten fold. This preacher called for more hooping and hollering, instructing the crowd to dance at his instructions, and dance they did. With the smell of baby powder, church lady perfume, and sweat in the air the tension in the room increased even more.
At this point I realized what Ms. Moneypenny and I had gotten ourselves involved in, A prosperity ministry. From that point on all of the talk involved money. With the addition of money rhetoric the preacher began to ramp things up to a higher level. It started off again when the preacher asked a lackey to go to his car and get the $500 out of his trunk.(Sometime during this madness a small Louis V treasure chest was placed at the foot of the pulpit.) This started another frenzy although, he did not speak in tongues (I’m guessing he was the straight-man ) Minutes later, after constant talk of the Lord making you rich, preacher says “Y’all know what I’m gonna do? I’m going to dance over my STUFF.” Repeating his phrase “I said I’m going to dance over MY STUFF!!!”
This sets the crowd off to a point where everyone, and I mean everyone not named Keith Francis Young or Crystal D. Cade started dancing.(Well there was another dude in the back who looked more shook that we did.) During the dance over his stuff, the preacher makes his way to the corner of the pulpit and begins to dance in front of who I could only assume to be the mastermind. The crowd goes even crazier. The congregation then lost control of themselves, their common sense, and their pocket books. In mass, they rushed the stage where the main preacher began laying hands. This was our chance to bounce but we hesitated and we would pay dearly for this. As the congregation carried more money up to the preacher, the more hands were laid.
True to fashion the crowd calmed down again as the Main preacher approached the microphone. (Still not a single prayer.) Instead of standing and preaching two of his lackeys bring his throne preaches. He opens with asking everyone to stand. He then adds this bit of knowledge “People still call me Bishop because they don’t recognize my anointing. I am an Apostle!”
Here are the highlights of his sermon: like chair to the front and he has another lackey hold his Bible while he
God wants you to get paid.
He declared that some woman in the congregation was cured of fibroid cysts due to the laying of hands. (I learned later on that afternoon that this was another glittering generality. Crystal informed me that black women tend to have a larger percentage of fibroid cysts than white women. We were in a room filled with black women.) Just to cover his behind he adds a disclaimer, “Check with your doctor to make sure.”
He is hated because he wants to include prostitutes and faggots in his ministry.
He says a prophecy that one day he and his brother (who turned out to be the second preacher, that danced over his stuff) will start a ministry in Africa and “blow up!”
He informs the crowd that Jesus was not a poor, humble man, but in fact he was a man of wealth who owned property.
He points out the young lady who was sitting next to me and tells her to get up and shout. She does it but not to his liking so he implores her to continue. She does and she pokes me in the eye this time.
He was constantly drinking a blue beverage from a wine glass during the sermon.
I could continue, but we all know where this tirade was going to end. That’s right kids; we got to see another hallelujah orgy which then ended with yet another quasi-orgasmic offering.
With the soul stirring finally reaching a crescendo the blood and the body was brought to the front of the church. At this point I’m thinking myself “I honestly can’t take communion here.” So all of the sheep get in line after their sheering to take in the body and the blood. Crystal and I also get in line, but at the last minute we bolt with another couple for the door.
Nothing about what you just read is made up. I have a witness who will back every last aspect of this story up. I know I shouldn’t judge all churches by this one but my questions are much bigger than this church although this church, an extreme example, did bring up a lot of feeling that I need to work out. Crystal and I can’t be the only logical people who feel this way about the institution of the church and the people who run it. Do people actually want to hold on to something that bad that they would willingly follow Apostles like the one I was witnessed to yesterday? I was almost expecting to see Daddy Rich and The Pointer Sisters stroll in.
I’m not the best man walking around the Earth, but I know when something isn’t right. I take the Doc Holiday approach to life. I’m very much aware of my hypocrisies and I try to only let them go so far. Something is deadly wrong when you find yourself in church praying for forgiveness for having come to church. (Read that last line twice to take it all in.)
I need some answers. I can’t just be me. Or is it?
Eli Wallach as Calvera in the Magnificent Seven ©
I don’t like church. More specifically, I’ve got church issues. There, I said it.
When I say I have church issues I mean I have beaucoup church issues. These issues are Ike and Tina sized issues. Wolverine/Sabertooth issues. Whitney Houston/sobriety issues. Israeli/Palestinian issues. Right-wing Republicans/common sense issues.
Yep, these issues are that big
Before y’all cast me out as heretic, hear me out. I know black folks love us some Jesus, but this has nothing to do with him or his Dad. This has to do specifically with churches. Maybe this will make sense to you and I’ll come around in the way I view organized religion. Then again…
On Sunday I had the absolute worst experience within the four walls of what is supposed to be a church in my life. I found myself praying like Jenny from Forrest Gump, “Wanting to be taken far, far away”. I’ll explain that later but to understand my position here’s a brief rundown with my relationship with church.
From as far back as I could remember I have never actually enjoyed going to church. As a child I would do my best to over sleep to avoid going. There were a million other places that I would rather be than at St. Luke Baptist church in Fairfax, SC (Stand up!) on a Sunday morning. I would find myself sitting in a place I didn’t want to be, wearing clothes that I didn’t want to wear, listening to the same songs week after week; all the while I was bored to death. I did listen to most of the sermons, but I did find myself not caring about what the guest preachers had to say.
Overall, I simply didn’t care to be there!
My apathy continued, as I got older. I got baptized while in middle school. This was mostly because of parental pressure. “When are you and your brother going to join the church?” This would be the question that I would be frequently asked by my parents. So during revival my Brother and I got baptized.
“I Shouldn’t Have Done it” Slick Rick ©
Not once during this process did any one explain what taking the literal plunge meant. Granted, if I had been paying attention I would have known, but I didn’t pay attention and the story continues. So, physically, mentally, and spiritually nothing changed for me during the following years. I still prayed, believed in God, but I can honestly say that I did not fully understand what it meant to be “saved”. Sure, my church was filled with nice people but this changed nothing in my eyes. What I did know was that I had ton of questions and I couldn’t find any tangible answers.
When I did get answers they didn’t make sense with me. Phrases like “They are filled with the spirit” were tossed about but nothing that I thought was usable was given to me. I would also hear Bible verses uses as answers to these questions, but they only added to the confusion of an over analytical teenager.
So by the time I became an upperclassman in high school I’m starting to chalk my train of thought up to me just being a cynic. The hooping, hollering, and the rest of the show baffled me. No, I didn’t attend a holiness church where the church scene from the Blues Brothers was a common thing, but I watched people act as if they were perfect angels for a couple of hours on Sunday but come Monday morning they would sit poised to rain hell for the next six days. The blatantly, obvious, fakeness, or what I perceived to be fakeness of “church folk” would become my next issue with the church. At this point I began to think that the literal church was ok, but it is just the church people who were askew.
This was a possible answer that I went with for a while but upon further thought I came to this conclusion:
The church is both an organization and a building. If both an organization and a building are built with shoddy materials, or ran by shoddy people, isn’t structural failure of some sort eventually going to occur? But again, I think to myself “You’re a cynic, who is being cynical. It’s not them. It’s you.”
Questions would arise that I couldn’t answer. Are these people actually filled with the “Spirit”? Is it the music? Or are they just putting on?
As I grew into adult-hood the actual leaders of the church would become my next point of contention. Who are these people? Really, who are these people? What qualifies them to watch over the souls and spiritual well being of their flock? (Remember that word, flock kids.) Has anyone besides me ever questioned this?
“I was called to preach.” Is what I would hear. Okay, this may or may not be true but how does John Q. Public sitting in the pews know this? Because you said so is isn’t a good enough answer for me. Under idea circumstances I would love to believe that is the case but I could never just sit back and believe this without a ton questions. I know preachers and such are people too and since we hold them in such high regards shouldn’t our standard for them be higher too?
So at this point I’m a grown man. Until Sunday I had not set foot in a church for about a year. See my Girlfriend was actually was raised in the church and I just went to church. (There is a difference.) During the past few years we both have questioned the set-up and actions of the church. At the behest of one of my girlfriend’s coworker we went to church. We entered the church at 11:15 and our next moments of happiness would not occur until we exited at three something that afternoon. (Read that last sentence again, and take it all in.)
First of all, this was “holiness” church. This “church” was not in an actually church. It was in the back of a recreation center near the Amtrak station in North Charleston. When we finally found the place there were a bunch of janky looking men dressed like a cross between Steve Harvey and T.D. Jakes. Not a good sign but things stood to get worse. As we approach the church I hear someone “speaking in tongues”. As we entered we found a seat and some old bat is onstage saying, “we decree, various things over and over followed by plain old gibberish”.
I was also puzzled by the ratio of women to men in the church. All of the men in the church over the age of 35 seemed to have held some type of position within the church. The rest of the male make up of the church were boys under the age of 21. There were only two other men who fell in between these ages beside myself who were not affiliated with this “church”. This led to the question: why do so many women fall for the shady church trap?
With that being said, the hooping and hollering increased more and more while the band set up. The old bat that was initially warming up the crowd passed the microphone to one of the aforementioned janky individuals. He continued on asking everyone to please stand. With this the real show began. More speaking in tongues and other glittering generalities were spat toward the crowd and things really began to get interesting.
After a while I realized that we have been in this “church” for almost and hour and there has not been one single thing resembling a prayer. Although we did not know it yet, it was almost time for the first fleecing of the flock of the day. The way the preachers controlled the congregation was somewhat masterful. Using the music, the gibberish, and various glittering generalities the preacher types got the mostly ovarian crowd excited to the point where they were willingly to give as much money away as possible! Knowing this, the first of the janky preacher types called for the first of the collections and the crowd, in their sweaty state, was willing to pay for the goodness that they were warmed up for.
Things at this point calm down a tad and another preacher steps up to take his turn. Again, with the help of the music another spiritual orgy commences. This one was much more intense than the previous one. The fervor and the strength of the message increased ten fold. This preacher called for more hooping and hollering, instructing the crowd to dance at his instructions, and dance they did. With the smell of baby powder, church lady perfume, and sweat in the air the tension in the room increased even more.
At this point I realized what Ms. Moneypenny and I had gotten ourselves involved in, A prosperity ministry. From that point on all of the talk involved money. With the addition of money rhetoric the preacher began to ramp things up to a higher level. It started off again when the preacher asked a lackey to go to his car and get the $500 out of his trunk.(Sometime during this madness a small Louis V treasure chest was placed at the foot of the pulpit.) This started another frenzy although, he did not speak in tongues (I’m guessing he was the straight-man ) Minutes later, after constant talk of the Lord making you rich, preacher says “Y’all know what I’m gonna do? I’m going to dance over my STUFF.” Repeating his phrase “I said I’m going to dance over MY STUFF!!!”
This sets the crowd off to a point where everyone, and I mean everyone not named Keith Francis Young or Crystal D. Cade started dancing.(Well there was another dude in the back who looked more shook that we did.) During the dance over his stuff, the preacher makes his way to the corner of the pulpit and begins to dance in front of who I could only assume to be the mastermind. The crowd goes even crazier. The congregation then lost control of themselves, their common sense, and their pocket books. In mass, they rushed the stage where the main preacher began laying hands. This was our chance to bounce but we hesitated and we would pay dearly for this. As the congregation carried more money up to the preacher, the more hands were laid.
True to fashion the crowd calmed down again as the Main preacher approached the microphone. (Still not a single prayer.) Instead of standing and preaching two of his lackeys bring his throne preaches. He opens with asking everyone to stand. He then adds this bit of knowledge “People still call me Bishop because they don’t recognize my anointing. I am an Apostle!”
Here are the highlights of his sermon: like chair to the front and he has another lackey hold his Bible while he
God wants you to get paid.
He declared that some woman in the congregation was cured of fibroid cysts due to the laying of hands. (I learned later on that afternoon that this was another glittering generality. Crystal informed me that black women tend to have a larger percentage of fibroid cysts than white women. We were in a room filled with black women.) Just to cover his behind he adds a disclaimer, “Check with your doctor to make sure.”
He is hated because he wants to include prostitutes and faggots in his ministry.
He says a prophecy that one day he and his brother (who turned out to be the second preacher, that danced over his stuff) will start a ministry in Africa and “blow up!”
He informs the crowd that Jesus was not a poor, humble man, but in fact he was a man of wealth who owned property.
He points out the young lady who was sitting next to me and tells her to get up and shout. She does it but not to his liking so he implores her to continue. She does and she pokes me in the eye this time.
He was constantly drinking a blue beverage from a wine glass during the sermon.
I could continue, but we all know where this tirade was going to end. That’s right kids; we got to see another hallelujah orgy which then ended with yet another quasi-orgasmic offering.
With the soul stirring finally reaching a crescendo the blood and the body was brought to the front of the church. At this point I’m thinking myself “I honestly can’t take communion here.” So all of the sheep get in line after their sheering to take in the body and the blood. Crystal and I also get in line, but at the last minute we bolt with another couple for the door.
Nothing about what you just read is made up. I have a witness who will back every last aspect of this story up. I know I shouldn’t judge all churches by this one but my questions are much bigger than this church although this church, an extreme example, did bring up a lot of feeling that I need to work out. Crystal and I can’t be the only logical people who feel this way about the institution of the church and the people who run it. Do people actually want to hold on to something that bad that they would willingly follow Apostles like the one I was witnessed to yesterday? I was almost expecting to see Daddy Rich and The Pointer Sisters stroll in.
I’m not the best man walking around the Earth, but I know when something isn’t right. I take the Doc Holiday approach to life. I’m very much aware of my hypocrisies and I try to only let them go so far. Something is deadly wrong when you find yourself in church praying for forgiveness for having come to church. (Read that last line twice to take it all in.)
I need some answers. I can’t just be me. Or is it?
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Random Thoughts: A Mid-Summer Morning’s Blog
Nothing in the world inspires me to talk about my random thoughts than a bunch of random *!&&*$ doing some random $!*$. This past weekend Crystal and I went to Charlotte to the Dub Magazine Car Show with another couple. I must admit I’m far from a car enthusiast (I’d rather watch things be blown up but I have issues.) but sometimes looking at shiny examples of conspicuous consumption can provide a nice day of escapism.
The trip up was as expected: I-26 was the usual gigantic cluster $%@* (that’s the status quo) but 77 was kind of quiet for the most part. So we made our way over to the other lovely couple’s house and we were on our way to Queen City. So we headed to the train station and hitched a ride to the Convention Center where the above mentioned car show was being held.(I do love the fact that you can park your car all day and use a train to get around downtown.)
Ah yes, the train. There is a theory called the “Butterfly Effect” which simply states that when a butterfly flaps its wings a specific set of events are set into motion. It would make more sense if it were called the “Ripple Effect” but butterflies are pretty.
Little did I know that when the four of us sat down on the train (For those of you at home who aren’t keeping up this would be the flapping of the pretty, pretty butterfly's wings.) a chain of the most niggerish events in recent history (Okay not in the recent history of the world but in my recent history. Meaning that day.) would be set in place.
So we begin our journey at the I-485 South stop on the train line and we settle in for the 15 ride down town. We chuckle at the conductor who boards the train walking with a pimp’s swagger and gives us a look that said “Yeah, you damn right I drive a train.” So two minutes later we pull into the next stop at Sharon Rd. and this is where fun starts. A brother gets on and takes a seat behind Crystal and me while the train starts moving again. Soon after we arrive at the next stop and the brother that sat behind us (who from this point on will be referred to as Random Cat # 1) approaches Crystal and I if we can give him four whole dollars for two dollars in quarters and two more dollars which were those stupid gold, one dollar coins that have that sellout Sacajawea on them. I answer for the both of us saying “No, I don’t have any dollars on me.” (People ask Crystal and me for change more often than you think. I’m not sure why because I’m really not that nice of a person. I’m not Joe Stalin or Hitler but I’m not exactly Fred Rogers either.)
Random Cat # 1 replies “You don’t need any change? Monday is coming.”
I’m still not exactly sure what he meant by “Monday is coming.” Or why I would need four dollars in change today either. (Maybe that’s another event set off by that pretty, pretty butterfly doing what it does.)
He then returned to his seat and says “Thank you.” This is also when the fun begins.
During our brief encounter about the change and dollar bills another random cat (Who will now be referred to as Random Cat # 2 or simply # 2) who got on the train that was looking kind of crackish started engaging Random Cat # 1 who asked for the change about “life.”
Random Cat # 2 begins pontificating, “Man you gotta make a clean living out here man. You just can’t go on day to day trying to get over on people.” Mind you at this point the first random cat, yes, the one who wanted the dollars is trying to no avail to ignore this guy. # 2 continued, “I just came from Atlanta and they sick down there! Every woman in Atlanta is a prostitute.” *If I may interject we all know that every woman in Atlanta is not a prostitute. Many of the fine young women in Atlanta are strippers. Y’all know that was funny.* As he moves this currently one-sided conversation along further he goes on to say “They all prostitutes… even the educated ones. Every time you approach a woman in Atlanta she wants to know what you bringing to the table. She just trying to get over.” (I thought this was particularly funny since this cat has obviously come to the conclusion that particular = prostitute.)
During this portion of the rant four women of an uncertain Central American origin boarded and sit directly in front of us. Then the super genius once again turns his attention the women of Atlanta, who as we all now know from his previous rants, are of ill-repute, to Mexican women. “I talked to one woman in Atlanta and she telling me not to mess with any Mexican women (as if they’d have him) because they dirty. Man I told her Mexican women are some good women—they work hard, take care of they kids, and they marry one man and stay with him.”
I’m not sure if the women of an uncertain Central American origin were Mexican or not but I do know that if they habla’d any English at all they had to have been mad uncomfortable at this point. Lucky for them and the guy who only wanted four whole dollars there stop came up.
At this point we are all trying not to die laughing or laugh out loud for that matter but things only get worse. As we all know there are a few steadfast rules in life and the fact that every male crack head has a female equal. After all Gator had Vivian didn’t he?
Some how during all of this madness a female who looked VERY crackish (who will no be referred to Random Crackish female) got onto the train looking like Moms Mably’s grand niece and low and behold she takes a seat right across from mister big-mouth.
Naturally they start chatting it up. You’d think two crackish individuals would talk about the things they have in common and the conversation would go like this.
“Do you like Wild Irish Roses out of the bottle or the cup?”
“Do they have the better rocks on Tryon or Betties Ford?” (Seriously if you know anything about Charlotte you know the answer to that one.)
“Who gives the best prices for stolen copper pipes?”
Unfortunately they did no such thing. The two idiots started arguing. Some how good ole # 2 started speaking on the state of black male manhood. This was his opening volley, “Everyone else in Atlanta is a faggot or a bull dagger. All the black men being brought up today are punks. They just soft!”
This is when Random Crackish Female starts to interject. “You right a lot of these boys are punks and I’ll tell you why. It’s there daddy’s fault a black woman don’t know how to raise a black man by herself. She can’t teach him how to be a man!”
# 2 strongly disagrees and to make a long story short a yelling match ensues. Harsh things were said and tempers flared.
“You ain’t nothing but a crack head prostitute.” Spouts # 2.
His female foil then returned fire with this gem “I may be a crack head but every body got a role in life. At least I know what I am and you ain’t $!%^! I’m too intelligent to talk to you. You making me look bad.” (Notice she did not deny either her crack head status or her prostitute status.)
With that last foray she manages to shut him down completely. After that massive embarrassment to the entire black race the conversation ends with a whimper and luckily we get off of the train.
I learned a lot in that 15 minute time span on the train. Number one don’t do crack and Number two don’t date chicks from Atlanta.
More Random Thoughts
A rapper named 2 Pistols was one of the opening acts and he may be the most horrible person on the face of the Earth. First he threw money into the crowd and got pissed when he was told to stop. He then asked the females in the audience if their “p@$$^$ were clean?” Initially I ignored that comment but I was informed later that some women in the audience actually answered. He was then asked to stop cursing so Mr. Pistols became irate and then decided to do what every quasi-thug rapper does while performing; he took off his shirt and continues to curse. 2 Pistols you sir are a coon and it’s no ones’ fault but your own. I would have rather seen Plies or Gucci Mane.
2 Pistols not only are you a horrible rapper but you are a horrible person. There is nothing good about who you are or what you do!
The trip up was as expected: I-26 was the usual gigantic cluster $%@* (that’s the status quo) but 77 was kind of quiet for the most part. So we made our way over to the other lovely couple’s house and we were on our way to Queen City. So we headed to the train station and hitched a ride to the Convention Center where the above mentioned car show was being held.(I do love the fact that you can park your car all day and use a train to get around downtown.)
Ah yes, the train. There is a theory called the “Butterfly Effect” which simply states that when a butterfly flaps its wings a specific set of events are set into motion. It would make more sense if it were called the “Ripple Effect” but butterflies are pretty.
Little did I know that when the four of us sat down on the train (For those of you at home who aren’t keeping up this would be the flapping of the pretty, pretty butterfly's wings.) a chain of the most niggerish events in recent history (Okay not in the recent history of the world but in my recent history. Meaning that day.) would be set in place.
So we begin our journey at the I-485 South stop on the train line and we settle in for the 15 ride down town. We chuckle at the conductor who boards the train walking with a pimp’s swagger and gives us a look that said “Yeah, you damn right I drive a train.” So two minutes later we pull into the next stop at Sharon Rd. and this is where fun starts. A brother gets on and takes a seat behind Crystal and me while the train starts moving again. Soon after we arrive at the next stop and the brother that sat behind us (who from this point on will be referred to as Random Cat # 1) approaches Crystal and I if we can give him four whole dollars for two dollars in quarters and two more dollars which were those stupid gold, one dollar coins that have that sellout Sacajawea on them. I answer for the both of us saying “No, I don’t have any dollars on me.” (People ask Crystal and me for change more often than you think. I’m not sure why because I’m really not that nice of a person. I’m not Joe Stalin or Hitler but I’m not exactly Fred Rogers either.)
Random Cat # 1 replies “You don’t need any change? Monday is coming.”
I’m still not exactly sure what he meant by “Monday is coming.” Or why I would need four dollars in change today either. (Maybe that’s another event set off by that pretty, pretty butterfly doing what it does.)
He then returned to his seat and says “Thank you.” This is also when the fun begins.
During our brief encounter about the change and dollar bills another random cat (Who will now be referred to as Random Cat # 2 or simply # 2) who got on the train that was looking kind of crackish started engaging Random Cat # 1 who asked for the change about “life.”
Random Cat # 2 begins pontificating, “Man you gotta make a clean living out here man. You just can’t go on day to day trying to get over on people.” Mind you at this point the first random cat, yes, the one who wanted the dollars is trying to no avail to ignore this guy. # 2 continued, “I just came from Atlanta and they sick down there! Every woman in Atlanta is a prostitute.” *If I may interject we all know that every woman in Atlanta is not a prostitute. Many of the fine young women in Atlanta are strippers. Y’all know that was funny.* As he moves this currently one-sided conversation along further he goes on to say “They all prostitutes… even the educated ones. Every time you approach a woman in Atlanta she wants to know what you bringing to the table. She just trying to get over.” (I thought this was particularly funny since this cat has obviously come to the conclusion that particular = prostitute.)
During this portion of the rant four women of an uncertain Central American origin boarded and sit directly in front of us. Then the super genius once again turns his attention the women of Atlanta, who as we all now know from his previous rants, are of ill-repute, to Mexican women. “I talked to one woman in Atlanta and she telling me not to mess with any Mexican women (as if they’d have him) because they dirty. Man I told her Mexican women are some good women—they work hard, take care of they kids, and they marry one man and stay with him.”
I’m not sure if the women of an uncertain Central American origin were Mexican or not but I do know that if they habla’d any English at all they had to have been mad uncomfortable at this point. Lucky for them and the guy who only wanted four whole dollars there stop came up.
At this point we are all trying not to die laughing or laugh out loud for that matter but things only get worse. As we all know there are a few steadfast rules in life and the fact that every male crack head has a female equal. After all Gator had Vivian didn’t he?
Some how during all of this madness a female who looked VERY crackish (who will no be referred to Random Crackish female) got onto the train looking like Moms Mably’s grand niece and low and behold she takes a seat right across from mister big-mouth.
Naturally they start chatting it up. You’d think two crackish individuals would talk about the things they have in common and the conversation would go like this.
“Do you like Wild Irish Roses out of the bottle or the cup?”
“Do they have the better rocks on Tryon or Betties Ford?” (Seriously if you know anything about Charlotte you know the answer to that one.)
“Who gives the best prices for stolen copper pipes?”
Unfortunately they did no such thing. The two idiots started arguing. Some how good ole # 2 started speaking on the state of black male manhood. This was his opening volley, “Everyone else in Atlanta is a faggot or a bull dagger. All the black men being brought up today are punks. They just soft!”
This is when Random Crackish Female starts to interject. “You right a lot of these boys are punks and I’ll tell you why. It’s there daddy’s fault a black woman don’t know how to raise a black man by herself. She can’t teach him how to be a man!”
# 2 strongly disagrees and to make a long story short a yelling match ensues. Harsh things were said and tempers flared.
“You ain’t nothing but a crack head prostitute.” Spouts # 2.
His female foil then returned fire with this gem “I may be a crack head but every body got a role in life. At least I know what I am and you ain’t $!%^! I’m too intelligent to talk to you. You making me look bad.” (Notice she did not deny either her crack head status or her prostitute status.)
With that last foray she manages to shut him down completely. After that massive embarrassment to the entire black race the conversation ends with a whimper and luckily we get off of the train.
I learned a lot in that 15 minute time span on the train. Number one don’t do crack and Number two don’t date chicks from Atlanta.
More Random Thoughts
A rapper named 2 Pistols was one of the opening acts and he may be the most horrible person on the face of the Earth. First he threw money into the crowd and got pissed when he was told to stop. He then asked the females in the audience if their “p@$$^$ were clean?” Initially I ignored that comment but I was informed later that some women in the audience actually answered. He was then asked to stop cursing so Mr. Pistols became irate and then decided to do what every quasi-thug rapper does while performing; he took off his shirt and continues to curse. 2 Pistols you sir are a coon and it’s no ones’ fault but your own. I would have rather seen Plies or Gucci Mane.
2 Pistols not only are you a horrible rapper but you are a horrible person. There is nothing good about who you are or what you do!
Friday, March 28, 2008
Lighten Up
Disclaimer: If the above image offends you as a black man, woman, or child please don’t read the rest of this blog. Instead of scrolling down and having your jaw tighten up because of something I wrote then I have some suggestions of what you can do lieu of reading any further. For example you could go play some checkers. There are a few Terri McMillan novels that you could go pick-up. Might I suggest a Tyler Perry film? (I’m pretty sure three new ones are being released this weekend.) Maybe watch the replay of Nancy Grace’s show from last night. Or perhaps you could just take some time, lighten-up, have some prune juice, and remove that stick from your butt.
Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way let’s get down to it. Lebron James is the first black man to ever grace the cover of Vogue magazine. He shared the cover with tom Brady’s walking MVP trophy, supermodel Gisele Bundchen. (I just objectified her didn’t I?) King James is only the third male to appear on the cover ever. Under most circumstances black folk would say “Way to go Lebron.”
In fact many did. That was until this article was posted on ESPN.com http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=hill/080320&sportCat=nba The article was written by Jemele Hill who is a black woman that I think should get more face time on ESPN because she is obviously a lot more talented than some of the men who work of the network. (Skip Bayless and Jim Rome comes to mind.) The premise of Hill’s article was set up with these three paragraphs:
“LeBron's image clearly means a lot to him, maybe even as much as pursuing a championship. And that's why I can't understand why he would allow Vogue to feature him with supermodel Gisele Bundchen in such a distasteful manner.
In case you haven't seen the cover, LeBron has Gisele in one hand and a basketball in the other. LeBron is dressed in basketball gear, with his muscles flexing, tattoos showing and bared teeth. Gisele, on the other hand, is wearing a gorgeous slim-fitting dress, and smiling.
She looks like she's on her way to something fashionable and exciting. He looks like he's on his way to a pickup game for serial killers.”
Serial Killers? Tattoos make you a serial killer? Hill missed the point of the cover by a damn mile with this article. She all but stated that the picture conjures images that have plagued men of my ilk every sense we arrived in the Diaspora (I love that word.) Think of it as Birth of a Nation Version 8.0. The thuggery, the tattoos, the muscles, and the white women are or are not what Middle America thinks of when they see a black athlete.
During the course of the day I have my pro-black and afro-centric moments, but this is just reaching. Of all of the images I’ve seen of black athletes in the past 10 years this may be one of the more benign. Hill on the other hand saw this image of the hyper-sexual black male that stalks urban jungle, and rural areas around the planet. Spreading his seed as irresponsibly as possible to any woman he sees, especially white ones!
Just like my afro-centric moments I have just as many “BWTF?” (Translation Bo, what in the fuck?) moments too. Reading this article and then listening to the various discussions caused by said article causes one of those aforementioned “BWTF?” moments. I read the article twice for posterity then I thought to myself, “Has Jemele Hill been possessed by Uncle Ruckus or Stanley Crouch?
In the past I’ve read a lot more into things than they actually may be (Hell, I still think the Wolverine and Spiderman are analogies for the average man trudging the face of the Earth but then again I think too much from time to time.) So I’m not going to knock Jemele Hill for her opinion on this cover. My main problem is that I think Hill missed the very conspicuous point of the cover article.
The magazine specifically says on the cover:
“Shape Issue:
Secrets of the Best Bodies. Gisele & Lebron + The
World’s Top Models and Athletes.”
Hmm… me thinks Ms. Hill overlooked a few things. First of all, this is the “Shape Issue” meaning that it is a tribute two specific groups of people’s bodies: Models and Athletes.
Last time I check models like Gisele got big bucks for showing off their bodies. This is often done in one of those “gorgeous, slim-fitting dresses” that Hill mentioned. Lebron on the other hand is an athlete. A basketball player to be exact. So what do basketball players usually wear? Sleeve-less shirts and shorts that just like Gisele’s dress just happens to show off Lebron’s body.
So my question is a simple one: Is this cover projecting Lebron as a muscle-bound, big-lipped, sex machine who is out to vanquish the pretty white girl or is he just flexing to show off his shape in “The Shape” issue? Please let me know what you think.
I’ll leave you with a two final questions: If this were a picture of David Beckham or Tom Brady doing the same thing to Beyonce or Gabrielle Union would that same picture be seen as just another example of white-male hegemony and imperialism? (I.e. the world is mine and I shall have every thing in it.) Or is it just two beautiful people posing for a picture that is relevant to the article that it accompanies?
Please let me know. I want a real discussion with this one.
Y’all have a good weekend. Now talk amongst yourselves © Barbara Richardson.
Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way let’s get down to it. Lebron James is the first black man to ever grace the cover of Vogue magazine. He shared the cover with tom Brady’s walking MVP trophy, supermodel Gisele Bundchen. (I just objectified her didn’t I?) King James is only the third male to appear on the cover ever. Under most circumstances black folk would say “Way to go Lebron.”
In fact many did. That was until this article was posted on ESPN.com http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=hill/080320&sportCat=nba The article was written by Jemele Hill who is a black woman that I think should get more face time on ESPN because she is obviously a lot more talented than some of the men who work of the network. (Skip Bayless and Jim Rome comes to mind.) The premise of Hill’s article was set up with these three paragraphs:
“LeBron's image clearly means a lot to him, maybe even as much as pursuing a championship. And that's why I can't understand why he would allow Vogue to feature him with supermodel Gisele Bundchen in such a distasteful manner.
In case you haven't seen the cover, LeBron has Gisele in one hand and a basketball in the other. LeBron is dressed in basketball gear, with his muscles flexing, tattoos showing and bared teeth. Gisele, on the other hand, is wearing a gorgeous slim-fitting dress, and smiling.
She looks like she's on her way to something fashionable and exciting. He looks like he's on his way to a pickup game for serial killers.”
Serial Killers? Tattoos make you a serial killer? Hill missed the point of the cover by a damn mile with this article. She all but stated that the picture conjures images that have plagued men of my ilk every sense we arrived in the Diaspora (I love that word.) Think of it as Birth of a Nation Version 8.0. The thuggery, the tattoos, the muscles, and the white women are or are not what Middle America thinks of when they see a black athlete.
During the course of the day I have my pro-black and afro-centric moments, but this is just reaching. Of all of the images I’ve seen of black athletes in the past 10 years this may be one of the more benign. Hill on the other hand saw this image of the hyper-sexual black male that stalks urban jungle, and rural areas around the planet. Spreading his seed as irresponsibly as possible to any woman he sees, especially white ones!
Just like my afro-centric moments I have just as many “BWTF?” (Translation Bo, what in the fuck?) moments too. Reading this article and then listening to the various discussions caused by said article causes one of those aforementioned “BWTF?” moments. I read the article twice for posterity then I thought to myself, “Has Jemele Hill been possessed by Uncle Ruckus or Stanley Crouch?
In the past I’ve read a lot more into things than they actually may be (Hell, I still think the Wolverine and Spiderman are analogies for the average man trudging the face of the Earth but then again I think too much from time to time.) So I’m not going to knock Jemele Hill for her opinion on this cover. My main problem is that I think Hill missed the very conspicuous point of the cover article.
The magazine specifically says on the cover:
“Shape Issue:
Secrets of the Best Bodies. Gisele & Lebron + The
World’s Top Models and Athletes.”
Hmm… me thinks Ms. Hill overlooked a few things. First of all, this is the “Shape Issue” meaning that it is a tribute two specific groups of people’s bodies: Models and Athletes.
Last time I check models like Gisele got big bucks for showing off their bodies. This is often done in one of those “gorgeous, slim-fitting dresses” that Hill mentioned. Lebron on the other hand is an athlete. A basketball player to be exact. So what do basketball players usually wear? Sleeve-less shirts and shorts that just like Gisele’s dress just happens to show off Lebron’s body.
So my question is a simple one: Is this cover projecting Lebron as a muscle-bound, big-lipped, sex machine who is out to vanquish the pretty white girl or is he just flexing to show off his shape in “The Shape” issue? Please let me know what you think.
I’ll leave you with a two final questions: If this were a picture of David Beckham or Tom Brady doing the same thing to Beyonce or Gabrielle Union would that same picture be seen as just another example of white-male hegemony and imperialism? (I.e. the world is mine and I shall have every thing in it.) Or is it just two beautiful people posing for a picture that is relevant to the article that it accompanies?
Please let me know. I want a real discussion with this one.
Y’all have a good weekend. Now talk amongst yourselves © Barbara Richardson.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Sleep....
I haven't blogged in a while and I'm awake so why not reveal some of my inner demons to those that care. I've suffered from insomnia since I was 12 years old. It has never mattered how long I've been awake or how tired I am, I've always had the most difficult time falling asleep. Even when I do fall asleep, I'm very restless. I don't remember the last time I had a good, refreshing night of sleep. I have no idea what it's like to wake up feeling refreshed and energized as an adult. It really has me wondering what actually causes this behavior.
I don't know the exact moment, but I do remember the events surrounding my life during the time this condition was developed. But it is difficult to pinpoint the exact event that caused me to be cursed with the inability to fall asleep like a normal human being when the sun falls and the sky transforms to blackness. I'm not sure if it is fear, creativity, anxiety, or something that I don't have the words to describe yet. I'm not sure if its a strong fear within myself to not live up to the expectations I've set for myself, or if its the fear of the alcohol and drugs that influenced the person that I felt was supposed to protect me the most. Or maybe its all of the thoughts that enter my mind that helps to make me good at what I do when the sun is visible.
Maybe its the thoughts that enter my mind when my eyes finally close for the evening and the activity that my brain generates in a series of pictures that seem all too real.
Whatever it is that keeps me awake at night, I'm grateful for it instead of being angry about my lack of sleep. It has helped me gain wisdom beyond my years on earth. It gives me the time to decipher all the hectic things that take place throughout the day. It gives me an opportunity to make sense of what has become my life and to improve on who I am. It gives me the chance to look within to become a better person to all the people that count on me. Maybe my lack of sleep is God's way of telling me that there is more for me to learn about myself and the rest of the world. I guess I can sleep once I figure out the answers to those questions that have puzzled me since the dawn of my existence: "Who am I?" "Why am I here?" "Why have I been chosen to walk in this flesh that people know as Mario Washington?" I suppose that once those questions are answered, there won't be much of a reason to stay awake...
I don't know the exact moment, but I do remember the events surrounding my life during the time this condition was developed. But it is difficult to pinpoint the exact event that caused me to be cursed with the inability to fall asleep like a normal human being when the sun falls and the sky transforms to blackness. I'm not sure if it is fear, creativity, anxiety, or something that I don't have the words to describe yet. I'm not sure if its a strong fear within myself to not live up to the expectations I've set for myself, or if its the fear of the alcohol and drugs that influenced the person that I felt was supposed to protect me the most. Or maybe its all of the thoughts that enter my mind that helps to make me good at what I do when the sun is visible.
Maybe its the thoughts that enter my mind when my eyes finally close for the evening and the activity that my brain generates in a series of pictures that seem all too real.
Whatever it is that keeps me awake at night, I'm grateful for it instead of being angry about my lack of sleep. It has helped me gain wisdom beyond my years on earth. It gives me the time to decipher all the hectic things that take place throughout the day. It gives me an opportunity to make sense of what has become my life and to improve on who I am. It gives me the chance to look within to become a better person to all the people that count on me. Maybe my lack of sleep is God's way of telling me that there is more for me to learn about myself and the rest of the world. I guess I can sleep once I figure out the answers to those questions that have puzzled me since the dawn of my existence: "Who am I?" "Why am I here?" "Why have I been chosen to walk in this flesh that people know as Mario Washington?" I suppose that once those questions are answered, there won't be much of a reason to stay awake...
Friday, December 28, 2007
A man can dream can’t he? Or things I’d like to see happen in 2008. Pt 3
Just for a year I’d like to see the media not speak to us [the public] as if we are imbeciles. I know I’d be better of asking for world peace or a cure for cancer but there are good people who go to work each day and actually make an effort to stop both strife and cancer. Sensationalism, unbalanced coverage, sheer fluff is distracting good people from the real problems in the world.
Sensationalism
It seems that every year there is a boogie man that is lurking in the shadows that will be the rue of our existence. Muslims, hordes of Mexicans roaming outside of our boarder as if they were zombies, homosexuals, hip-hop, black men, and various life-threatening disease du jour. It’s always seems to be something.
Were you a victim of a Jihad? Did a Mexican take your job? Was your neighbor turned gay by shaking hands the choir director at church? Did Nelly swipe an AMEX card down your daughters butt? Seriously, have you ever met anyone with SARS?
I’m going to step out on a limb and say not to all of these questions. Except that thing about Nelly. That probably did happen. The point is that we always fall for these “talking points” that are spewed out on a weekly basis that only serve to keep us scared and thoughtless so please don’t fall for it in 2008.
Unbalanced Coverage
Ever notice how good the media is at creating villains and victims? Sometimes two men who are common criminals are treated in very a different manner. One was nefarious. The other weak and misguided.
Let’s say that you’re an All-Pro quarterback who embraces a let’s call it an “urban” lifestyle. You aren’t wise enough to strategically pick your friends so one arrest for weed ends up tearing your world asunder. So one small fuck-up alerts the rest of the world to a gigantic fuck-up. Long story short: you find out that there is not honor among thieves and the world learns that you are the head of criminal enterprise that includes gambling and severe cruelty to animals. Bye-bye endorsement deals.
Next, the media that once adored you begins to paint you an insidious villain that lurks in our back yards at night to snatch unsuspecting dogs and force them to battle each other for your delight. Your life is ruined. Your playing days are done.
So you are an elected official in the State of South Carolina. The Treasurer to be exact. You come from a well connected family. Attended the right schools. Your daddy has big-ole, brand spanking new bridge named after him too. Then you are indicted on cocaine distribution charges.
At first it’s a big deal. You are forced to step down. You go to rehab. Your daddy goes on TV and admits to the world that you have a problem with drugs. Then you plead guilty to drug distribution charges.
So you admit to essentially being a drug dealer but your attorneys walk in to a hearing with and straight face and ask for probation. Why? Because the dope wasn’t going to be sold but meted out between you and your friends.
Defendant number one that hurt animals gets 23 months in Federal Prison and now is viewed somewhere between Pol Pot and Joe Stalin on the people I’d want to marry my daughter list.
Defendant number two probably won’t see one solid hour behind bars because we all know that he is truly sorry for what he did. “No your honor, it won’t happen again.
My question is why does the media not raise as large a fuss about dope as it does for dead dogs?
So finally, I’d just like everything to be called down the middle in 2008. . . like it’s supposed to be!
Fluff
This one is simple. Rich people have always done drugs, smoked, and screwed everything with a pulse. See Jerry Garcia, Rick James, Ray Charles, Elvis, Cher, Billie Holiday, Jimi Hendrix, Johnny Cash, any Kennedy, Howard Hughes, and Charlie Parker. It’s no big shock so please don’t talk about it any more. We get it.
So please just tell us what’s going on. We only need the who, the what, the when, and the why. Please ma’am just the facts.
Sensationalism
It seems that every year there is a boogie man that is lurking in the shadows that will be the rue of our existence. Muslims, hordes of Mexicans roaming outside of our boarder as if they were zombies, homosexuals, hip-hop, black men, and various life-threatening disease du jour. It’s always seems to be something.
Were you a victim of a Jihad? Did a Mexican take your job? Was your neighbor turned gay by shaking hands the choir director at church? Did Nelly swipe an AMEX card down your daughters butt? Seriously, have you ever met anyone with SARS?
I’m going to step out on a limb and say not to all of these questions. Except that thing about Nelly. That probably did happen. The point is that we always fall for these “talking points” that are spewed out on a weekly basis that only serve to keep us scared and thoughtless so please don’t fall for it in 2008.
Unbalanced Coverage
Ever notice how good the media is at creating villains and victims? Sometimes two men who are common criminals are treated in very a different manner. One was nefarious. The other weak and misguided.
Let’s say that you’re an All-Pro quarterback who embraces a let’s call it an “urban” lifestyle. You aren’t wise enough to strategically pick your friends so one arrest for weed ends up tearing your world asunder. So one small fuck-up alerts the rest of the world to a gigantic fuck-up. Long story short: you find out that there is not honor among thieves and the world learns that you are the head of criminal enterprise that includes gambling and severe cruelty to animals. Bye-bye endorsement deals.
Next, the media that once adored you begins to paint you an insidious villain that lurks in our back yards at night to snatch unsuspecting dogs and force them to battle each other for your delight. Your life is ruined. Your playing days are done.
So you are an elected official in the State of South Carolina. The Treasurer to be exact. You come from a well connected family. Attended the right schools. Your daddy has big-ole, brand spanking new bridge named after him too. Then you are indicted on cocaine distribution charges.
At first it’s a big deal. You are forced to step down. You go to rehab. Your daddy goes on TV and admits to the world that you have a problem with drugs. Then you plead guilty to drug distribution charges.
So you admit to essentially being a drug dealer but your attorneys walk in to a hearing with and straight face and ask for probation. Why? Because the dope wasn’t going to be sold but meted out between you and your friends.
Defendant number one that hurt animals gets 23 months in Federal Prison and now is viewed somewhere between Pol Pot and Joe Stalin on the people I’d want to marry my daughter list.
Defendant number two probably won’t see one solid hour behind bars because we all know that he is truly sorry for what he did. “No your honor, it won’t happen again.
My question is why does the media not raise as large a fuss about dope as it does for dead dogs?
So finally, I’d just like everything to be called down the middle in 2008. . . like it’s supposed to be!
Fluff
This one is simple. Rich people have always done drugs, smoked, and screwed everything with a pulse. See Jerry Garcia, Rick James, Ray Charles, Elvis, Cher, Billie Holiday, Jimi Hendrix, Johnny Cash, any Kennedy, Howard Hughes, and Charlie Parker. It’s no big shock so please don’t talk about it any more. We get it.
So please just tell us what’s going on. We only need the who, the what, the when, and the why. Please ma’am just the facts.
Friday, December 21, 2007
A man can dream can’t he? Or things I’d like to see happen in 2008. Pt 2
If you just happen to be an old, educated black person who grew up before, during, or after the “Civil Rights” movement just don’t read this. (Your old-ass shouldn’t even know what the hell Myspace or Blogger is any way. Seriously, just go read the local paper, ESPN, or Tom Joyner’s website because you my friend are in the wrong place.) This will offend you. That’s not my intent but I know how y’all are.
''Bill is every bit as black as Barack.''
''He's probably gone with more black women than Barack,''
''It's not a matter of being inexperienced. It's a matter of being young,'' Young said. ''There's a certain level of maturity ... you've got to learn to take a certain amount of (expletive).''
The above quotes were made by former Atlanta Mayor Andrew Young (in Uncle Ruckus’ voice “No relation.”) and are taken from a Chicago Sun-Times piece.
What would I like to see happen in ’08?
I would like “Civil Rights” era leaders such as Mr. Young and older people to think before the speak. It’s about time that the right to say anything you want because you are old enough to remember when dinosaurs roomed the Earth be revoked. (Scroll down and read “Mama’s Gun”.) In this case Mr. Young was trying to be funny for his audience at “News Makers Live” in Atlanta on September 5th but negro stop it. You’re not only embarrassing yourself but any thing your generation ever accomplished.
This isn’t necessarily in support of Obama or but it’s in support of Obama’s generation and those generations that will follow to do “our thing.” That is if “our thing” is productive, legal, or happens to fall into the non-cooning realm. I am in no way trying to be disrespectful, but lighten up. I understand that there will always be intergenerational friction but let’s try to be more constructive in our criticism and guidance of one another from here on out.
The last quote that I have about starts with “It’s not a matter of being Inexperienced. . .” but I would have assumed that some one of Mr. Young’s experience would know better to go on record tear another brother down in such a manner. Once again we are making the same mistakes that previous generations have made. We cannot afford to have any more disconnects between generations. I’m pretty sure some one had issues with MLK’s 27 year-old self leading the Civil Rights movement back in 1954. Then again maybe they didn’t.
Just like in “Mama’s Gun” where D-Lay brings about the point that younger generations screw ups just don’t happen but they are usually observed from some one who is older and supposedly wiser. So if Mr. Young if Obama or anybody that’s 45 and under happens to screw up from time to time just think back to that anti-drug commercial from the late ‘80’s where the kid’s father catches him getting high.
The father then asks “Where did you learn how to do this?”
The pot-head son responds, “I learned it from watching you!”
So older folks we love and respect y’all but remember the term “There’s nothing new under the sun.” So please make the new year new and think before your old-ass runs off with the mouth.
''Bill is every bit as black as Barack.''
''He's probably gone with more black women than Barack,''
''It's not a matter of being inexperienced. It's a matter of being young,'' Young said. ''There's a certain level of maturity ... you've got to learn to take a certain amount of (expletive).''
The above quotes were made by former Atlanta Mayor Andrew Young (in Uncle Ruckus’ voice “No relation.”) and are taken from a Chicago Sun-Times piece.
What would I like to see happen in ’08?
I would like “Civil Rights” era leaders such as Mr. Young and older people to think before the speak. It’s about time that the right to say anything you want because you are old enough to remember when dinosaurs roomed the Earth be revoked. (Scroll down and read “Mama’s Gun”.) In this case Mr. Young was trying to be funny for his audience at “News Makers Live” in Atlanta on September 5th but negro stop it. You’re not only embarrassing yourself but any thing your generation ever accomplished.
This isn’t necessarily in support of Obama or but it’s in support of Obama’s generation and those generations that will follow to do “our thing.” That is if “our thing” is productive, legal, or happens to fall into the non-cooning realm. I am in no way trying to be disrespectful, but lighten up. I understand that there will always be intergenerational friction but let’s try to be more constructive in our criticism and guidance of one another from here on out.
The last quote that I have about starts with “It’s not a matter of being Inexperienced. . .” but I would have assumed that some one of Mr. Young’s experience would know better to go on record tear another brother down in such a manner. Once again we are making the same mistakes that previous generations have made. We cannot afford to have any more disconnects between generations. I’m pretty sure some one had issues with MLK’s 27 year-old self leading the Civil Rights movement back in 1954. Then again maybe they didn’t.
Just like in “Mama’s Gun” where D-Lay brings about the point that younger generations screw ups just don’t happen but they are usually observed from some one who is older and supposedly wiser. So if Mr. Young if Obama or anybody that’s 45 and under happens to screw up from time to time just think back to that anti-drug commercial from the late ‘80’s where the kid’s father catches him getting high.
The father then asks “Where did you learn how to do this?”
The pot-head son responds, “I learned it from watching you!”
So older folks we love and respect y’all but remember the term “There’s nothing new under the sun.” So please make the new year new and think before your old-ass runs off with the mouth.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
A man can dream can’t he? Or things I’d like to see happen in 2008. Pt 1
If you are not a fan of coarse or harsh language including derisive words like drop-shot, scag, skank, town bicycle, and ho when used in the proper context then please don’t bother to read this blog. If you are offended and just happened to have ignored the first sentence of this disclaimer and read this blog anyway I will not apologize for any thing I say in the following blogs.
I’d love to see Superhead taken away to Guantanamo Bay.
“But Francis, she’s not a terrorist!”
If there ever was a terrorist putting foot to pavement and living among the good people of the U. S of A it’s this ho. (Yes that was in the proper context because she actually took money for services rendered in the realm of sex and “sex related acts.” So yes, she is a ho.)
So who exactly is Head’s target in this great insurgency?
Washed up NBA Centers?
Nope.
Shook-ass rappers who purchased a turn on Space Mountain with said terrorist and who are now scared shitless that the Mrs. may find out?
Wrong again.
She’s going after the little girls of out community. Superhead’s message mustn’t be heard by another adolescent girl again. Head seems hell bent on destroying the psyche of the daughters of the black community. Head’s books and “I can take a stickin’ and keep on making bank deposits” diatribe isn’t exactly what a young black girl who may just be thinking the road that is life may just be a little to bumpy to ride on in the future should be exposed too. Combine that with the wrong circumstances and a young girl in a bad situation may just take the easy way out and give up face to every longshoreman, small-time dope peddler, and Division 1 running back that may actually see the field on a Sunday in the near future. If it stops some young girl from screwing Gucci Mane in an I-Hop bathroom then I think it’s necessary. Damn it man, this is for our daughters, cousins, and their classmates. This is an outcome that we could possibly prevent by tossing Superhead in a cell. No this is far from a solution but it’s a start.
Then again having Superhead under the guard of that many men with steady paychecks would probably only serve to fatten her bank account, give her more practice in giving out the Hover treatment, and increase the number of cases of the clap in the Marine Corp. So I guess there isn’t a positive outcome after all.
I’d love to see Superhead taken away to Guantanamo Bay.
“But Francis, she’s not a terrorist!”
If there ever was a terrorist putting foot to pavement and living among the good people of the U. S of A it’s this ho. (Yes that was in the proper context because she actually took money for services rendered in the realm of sex and “sex related acts.” So yes, she is a ho.)
So who exactly is Head’s target in this great insurgency?
Washed up NBA Centers?
Nope.
Shook-ass rappers who purchased a turn on Space Mountain with said terrorist and who are now scared shitless that the Mrs. may find out?
Wrong again.
She’s going after the little girls of out community. Superhead’s message mustn’t be heard by another adolescent girl again. Head seems hell bent on destroying the psyche of the daughters of the black community. Head’s books and “I can take a stickin’ and keep on making bank deposits” diatribe isn’t exactly what a young black girl who may just be thinking the road that is life may just be a little to bumpy to ride on in the future should be exposed too. Combine that with the wrong circumstances and a young girl in a bad situation may just take the easy way out and give up face to every longshoreman, small-time dope peddler, and Division 1 running back that may actually see the field on a Sunday in the near future. If it stops some young girl from screwing Gucci Mane in an I-Hop bathroom then I think it’s necessary. Damn it man, this is for our daughters, cousins, and their classmates. This is an outcome that we could possibly prevent by tossing Superhead in a cell. No this is far from a solution but it’s a start.
Then again having Superhead under the guard of that many men with steady paychecks would probably only serve to fatten her bank account, give her more practice in giving out the Hover treatment, and increase the number of cases of the clap in the Marine Corp. So I guess there isn’t a positive outcome after all.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Do it for the kids man!
It’s been awhile . . . © Stain’d
Forgive me for the absence but I haven’t been exactly the chattiest cat for the last month or so. I just had some issues focusing but I decided to drop in and run my mouth for a paragraph or three.
Tuesday was the 6th anniversary of the second day that will go down in infamy. However this wasn’t mentioned to the kids. I found it to be very sad that on all of the media outlets that have a high 16-30 year old audience that 9/11 wasn’t that big of a factor. I know that kids don’t usually give a damn about what’s going on in the world around them but the little self-absorbed shits should be paying attention right about now.
Instead they were bombarded with talk of Kanyetudda and 50 squaring off on BET’s 106 & Park and via Lady Sounds can (With her stinkin’ ass.) Next up was Brittany’s horrible MTV Video Music Awards performance, two syphilitic rockers trading blows, and Kanye’s latest hissy fit. (I wonder if he cried in the store when his mom, Dr. Donda West wouldn’t by him a Hello Kitty doll when he was a kid? He probably did. I can see him now rolling around the floor in a Toys ‘R Us wearing some Brett Hart sunglasses crying over Hello Kitty.)
The kids probably don’t give two damns about Osama and George much in the same way that kids in the 30’s didn’t give a damn about Adolph, Tojo or FDR. That’s fine and in a perfect world that’s the way it should be. The thing is Osama and George care very much about the kids and the world is far from perfect.
The fact the kids have mp3s, flat screens, and respect their classmates who don’t pray to the same God that they do really lights a fire under Osama’s stinkin’ ass. (Seriously he must smell like an abandoned barn by now. He’s been living in a cave for the last 6 years so use your imaginations . . . eww.) The fact that the United States has places like Dearborn Michigan that have high concentrations of Arabs who have managed to carve out a piece of Americana and the Muslim kids there actually don’t hate their neighbors. This too pisses Uncle Osama off.
On the other side of the spectrum George and men of his ilk are very much concerned about the little white kid from a Montana who is about to turn 18 and will probably break a long standing family tradition and vote a little to the left. This is the same kid who thinks that his Sunday school teacher is an idiot for suggesting that Adam and Eve shared the Garden of Eden with velociraptors and T-Rexes. He is also the same kid that may think that the Jena 6 controversy is f*^$#!. (If it were ever on the news.)
My point is that someone should let the kids know that there are caves and rooms full of adults who they will never meet who are scripting their futures. Some of these adults are trying to get the kids to spend their allowance on Kanye or Curtis’ new CDs. Some of these adults are planning the kids’ deaths as martyrs or collateral damage. Some of these adults are adjusting interest rates or voting on county council resolutions that won’t matter in their lives until they are 30. You don’t have to bore the kids with the details of everything that’s going on because they’ll figure it out. Just let them know that there is more going on than what’s happening on Sweet 16.
Forgive me for the absence but I haven’t been exactly the chattiest cat for the last month or so. I just had some issues focusing but I decided to drop in and run my mouth for a paragraph or three.
Tuesday was the 6th anniversary of the second day that will go down in infamy. However this wasn’t mentioned to the kids. I found it to be very sad that on all of the media outlets that have a high 16-30 year old audience that 9/11 wasn’t that big of a factor. I know that kids don’t usually give a damn about what’s going on in the world around them but the little self-absorbed shits should be paying attention right about now.
Instead they were bombarded with talk of Kanyetudda and 50 squaring off on BET’s 106 & Park and via Lady Sounds can (With her stinkin’ ass.) Next up was Brittany’s horrible MTV Video Music Awards performance, two syphilitic rockers trading blows, and Kanye’s latest hissy fit. (I wonder if he cried in the store when his mom, Dr. Donda West wouldn’t by him a Hello Kitty doll when he was a kid? He probably did. I can see him now rolling around the floor in a Toys ‘R Us wearing some Brett Hart sunglasses crying over Hello Kitty.)
The kids probably don’t give two damns about Osama and George much in the same way that kids in the 30’s didn’t give a damn about Adolph, Tojo or FDR. That’s fine and in a perfect world that’s the way it should be. The thing is Osama and George care very much about the kids and the world is far from perfect.
The fact the kids have mp3s, flat screens, and respect their classmates who don’t pray to the same God that they do really lights a fire under Osama’s stinkin’ ass. (Seriously he must smell like an abandoned barn by now. He’s been living in a cave for the last 6 years so use your imaginations . . . eww.) The fact that the United States has places like Dearborn Michigan that have high concentrations of Arabs who have managed to carve out a piece of Americana and the Muslim kids there actually don’t hate their neighbors. This too pisses Uncle Osama off.
On the other side of the spectrum George and men of his ilk are very much concerned about the little white kid from a Montana who is about to turn 18 and will probably break a long standing family tradition and vote a little to the left. This is the same kid who thinks that his Sunday school teacher is an idiot for suggesting that Adam and Eve shared the Garden of Eden with velociraptors and T-Rexes. He is also the same kid that may think that the Jena 6 controversy is f*^$#!. (If it were ever on the news.)
My point is that someone should let the kids know that there are caves and rooms full of adults who they will never meet who are scripting their futures. Some of these adults are trying to get the kids to spend their allowance on Kanye or Curtis’ new CDs. Some of these adults are planning the kids’ deaths as martyrs or collateral damage. Some of these adults are adjusting interest rates or voting on county council resolutions that won’t matter in their lives until they are 30. You don’t have to bore the kids with the details of everything that’s going on because they’ll figure it out. Just let them know that there is more going on than what’s happening on Sweet 16.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Don't piss off Todd and Becky
It’s been a couple of weeks since my last post. I would apologize but I don’t owe y’all any damn explanations for my actions. Some things haven’t changed since my last foray on to the internets. © W. I still hate my job! Barry Lamar Bond’s still hasn’t broken any records. Charleston is still hot as hell in July and August. (Seriously, it’s Tarzan hot.) © Neil Simon. I still like Bud Light and sadly the young black male populous of Allendale County are still fond of shooting each other.
Some things have changed.
Pimp C is mad as hell and I love it. Please click the audio link at the end of the article.
(http://www.hiphopdx.com/index/news/id.5497/title.pimp-c-airs-out-russell-simmons-ne-yo-atlanta-and-much-more)
BET has managed to out Coon everybody once again. The network’s new shows are just plain embarrassing. “Slightly Offensive Behavior” which is hosted by D. L. Hughley is like “Punk’d” without the fake police harassing black people. “We’ve Got to Do Better” f/k/a “Hot Ghetto Mess” with Charlie Murphy isn’t very embarrassing but it just makes the average black person look as if they haven’t even heard of or read a newspaper in the last five years. “Hell Date” is another version of “Punk’d” but the show revolves around blind dates who are actors. The most disturbing thing about this show is that it features a black midget in a devil costume who pops out of now where to surprise the unsuspecting contestants. O.G. Bobby Johnson and Reginald Hudlin’s (Stick to writing the Black Panther comic.) new fall line up is one colossal poop sandwich.
I usually don’t make sweeping generalizations about groups of people but I’m about to make one. The Iraqi National Soccer team managed not to murder each other for a few days and pulled together to win the Asia Cup (?) on Saturday. The people of Iraq took to the street to celebrate as a nation. Then I realize that the entire nation of Iraq is nuts. Footage of the nation wide celebration were all over the news and it became obvious to me that AK-47s are like I-Pods in Iraq. Due to this fact 7.62 x .39mm bullets provided the soundtrack for the “peaceful” celebration thusly causing two people to be killed. Even when Iraqis aren’t trying to kill each other they manage to kill each other. (Racism.)
*The Mike Vick Section*
I’m a firm believer in due process of the law. I don’t know if Mike Vick is guilty or innocent. I don’t care. I do know that dude is fucked! I would like to see Ron Mexico stand trial and let a jury of his peers and the courts decide his fate. I’m not a Mike Vick or a Falcons fan so I have nothing at stake. So why is Mike screwed?
Well we all know how white folks feel about dogs. (Yes, that was the aforementioned sweeping generalization of which I spoke of.) Don’t try to argue with me either. Just don’t come between our white friends and their pooches. It’s simply not a good move.
I like dogs too. I appreciate the loyalty that they show to their owners no matter what the situation even to the point of putting their own well-being ahead of their owners. I appreciate the fact that a faithful dog will actually get depressed when their person is out of pocket for an extended amount of time. I also like the fact that they aren’t very bright but they keep trying no matter what.
As much as I like dogs Todd and Becky like them even more. They sleep with them. Kiss them. Even dress them up for holidays. In the court of public opinion Todd and Becky have a lot of pull. They will convict you if you screw with their dog and you Mr. Vick have screwed with their precious dogs. Hence the term “Man’s best friend.” Remember the reaction when the Taliban put out the video gassing the yellow lab? I do. I also remember the reaction Mike. The next thing we knew were slapping around every Arab that bothered to get near an airport.
Having read the indictment which includes the charges I hope that Vick didn’t do any of this stuff simply because it was just plain wrong. I just hope Mike Vick realizes that Todd and Becky will remember what you did or allegedly did to the canines when it’s time to buy your shoes and jerseys.
Besides don’t give those idiots at PETA any more excuses to protest. So smarten up dum-dum.
That’s all for now.
“Giggdy Giggdy. Giggdy Goo . . . alright!”
Some things have changed.
Pimp C is mad as hell and I love it. Please click the audio link at the end of the article.
(http://www.hiphopdx.com/index/news/id.5497/title.pimp-c-airs-out-russell-simmons-ne-yo-atlanta-and-much-more)
BET has managed to out Coon everybody once again. The network’s new shows are just plain embarrassing. “Slightly Offensive Behavior” which is hosted by D. L. Hughley is like “Punk’d” without the fake police harassing black people. “We’ve Got to Do Better” f/k/a “Hot Ghetto Mess” with Charlie Murphy isn’t very embarrassing but it just makes the average black person look as if they haven’t even heard of or read a newspaper in the last five years. “Hell Date” is another version of “Punk’d” but the show revolves around blind dates who are actors. The most disturbing thing about this show is that it features a black midget in a devil costume who pops out of now where to surprise the unsuspecting contestants. O.G. Bobby Johnson and Reginald Hudlin’s (Stick to writing the Black Panther comic.) new fall line up is one colossal poop sandwich.
I usually don’t make sweeping generalizations about groups of people but I’m about to make one. The Iraqi National Soccer team managed not to murder each other for a few days and pulled together to win the Asia Cup (?) on Saturday. The people of Iraq took to the street to celebrate as a nation. Then I realize that the entire nation of Iraq is nuts. Footage of the nation wide celebration were all over the news and it became obvious to me that AK-47s are like I-Pods in Iraq. Due to this fact 7.62 x .39mm bullets provided the soundtrack for the “peaceful” celebration thusly causing two people to be killed. Even when Iraqis aren’t trying to kill each other they manage to kill each other. (Racism.)
*The Mike Vick Section*
I’m a firm believer in due process of the law. I don’t know if Mike Vick is guilty or innocent. I don’t care. I do know that dude is fucked! I would like to see Ron Mexico stand trial and let a jury of his peers and the courts decide his fate. I’m not a Mike Vick or a Falcons fan so I have nothing at stake. So why is Mike screwed?
Well we all know how white folks feel about dogs. (Yes, that was the aforementioned sweeping generalization of which I spoke of.) Don’t try to argue with me either. Just don’t come between our white friends and their pooches. It’s simply not a good move.
I like dogs too. I appreciate the loyalty that they show to their owners no matter what the situation even to the point of putting their own well-being ahead of their owners. I appreciate the fact that a faithful dog will actually get depressed when their person is out of pocket for an extended amount of time. I also like the fact that they aren’t very bright but they keep trying no matter what.
As much as I like dogs Todd and Becky like them even more. They sleep with them. Kiss them. Even dress them up for holidays. In the court of public opinion Todd and Becky have a lot of pull. They will convict you if you screw with their dog and you Mr. Vick have screwed with their precious dogs. Hence the term “Man’s best friend.” Remember the reaction when the Taliban put out the video gassing the yellow lab? I do. I also remember the reaction Mike. The next thing we knew were slapping around every Arab that bothered to get near an airport.
Having read the indictment which includes the charges I hope that Vick didn’t do any of this stuff simply because it was just plain wrong. I just hope Mike Vick realizes that Todd and Becky will remember what you did or allegedly did to the canines when it’s time to buy your shoes and jerseys.
Besides don’t give those idiots at PETA any more excuses to protest. So smarten up dum-dum.
That’s all for now.
“Giggdy Giggdy. Giggdy Goo . . . alright!”
Saturday, July 21, 2007
North Sea Jazz Festival
This past weekend, I had the pleasure of going to the North Sea Jazz Festival in Rotterdam, Netherlands. If you are a lover of music you have to go to one of these things. This is how it is....You pay a healthy price for tickets, but it includes ALMOST everything in the venue (select guest require an additional 20 Euro). They put a bunch of soulful music (of all genres) under one roof and just let them do their thing. But there are some exceptions, Snoop Dogg was there. I am just going to reflect on the weekend's events. Friday: Terence Blanchard, Bilal, Jamie Cullum ...excellent. The Roots were one of the best performances there, hands down!! Buena Vista Social Club- I looked at like a fool when I didn't know they were, but they were impressive. Apparently originators of the Cuban Jazz scene. Al Green was Al Green. Marcus Miller...good Bass player. Saturday: Raul Midon..had his CD for 3 years and performance was even better. India Arie surprised him on stage. He mistaken her for a man initially (He's blind). But after hitting higher notes, he got it. India Arie packed the largest room there and I don't think anyone left with a bad thing to say. She was awesome. Keb Mo (who used to always perform in Charleston but had never seen) was good! I enjoyed his blues. Oh, my mama would just eat that blues talk up! Lura, Portuguese Singer was cool...heavy African influence. Sunday: the worst night Amy Winehouse CANCELLED. This was the main show that I wanted to see and she pulled the okie-doke on us. Not sure I was surprised. Chanto Dominguez was entertaining with this flamboyant dude dancing up front. Good Spanish music + over the top dude dancing = great entertainment. Sly and the Family Stone were okay. Sly performed for about 20 minutes and looked like he was in pain. Not a good look. He still had some voice though. Snoop Dogg was good for what he is. I left during his show because all of THAT gets old. I realized that I am definitely not a fan of most of his songs. They could have, should have booked an old school rap or good hip hop artist. If you ever have the opportunity, go to major Jazz Festival near you. You can't beat getting good music like this under one roof.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
When you read this blog you say "A Bay Bay."
Top Five Wack Songs of the Moment
1. “A Bay Bay” - Hurricane Chris
2. “The Zoo” - Robert Kelly’s ignorant ass
3. “The Coffee Shop” - Young Joc
4. “Shawty” Plies - Tallahassee Pain
5. “Aunt Jackie” - Jason Fox ft The Hood Presidents (Please go to You Tube and see this for yourselves?)
Congrats to my boy Toro and his new Mrs. Cynthia for tying the knot on last Saturday. I hope y’all are extremely happy together. While I was at the reception I realized how so many black folks were kidnapped way back when and brought to the Diaspora. Imagine a boat load of Dutchmen or whatever filthy seafaring Euro-types you like dropping anchor in Sierra Leone and bringing a band out on the deck of the ship. The locals come to see what the white folks want and while gawking at the pink toes they hear what would become a familiar and beloved tune; “The Electric Slide.” So just like every other black person on the planet they found their way to the wooden deck of the would be slave ship and start dancing. I’m willing to bet one of my ancestors probably said this phrase in an African tongue “Girl, that’s my song!” The shackles were then applied thusly beginning 400 + years of misery!
Keep a black woman off of a pole today!!!
On last Monday (July 9th) the NAACP actually held a ceremony to bury the “N” word. Not that burying the “N” (“And by “N” word I mean nigger. There I said it” © White guy from the Chappelle show.) is a bad thing but let’s put some things into perspective. If every black person stop saying “nigger” tomorrow nothing would change for us. Why didn’t he NAACP bury the word “Colored” from their title? How about burying their lackluster leadership for the past 30 years. Screw it. Every black person should get together on a designated Saturday, we can rent a back hoe, and we could just spend all day barbequing and burying. Poverty could go in first. Then gang violence. Next would be institutionalized racism. Institutionalized racism would be promptly followed by our “plantation mentality” © Dr. Goodloe-Johnson. Our deep hatred and contempt for each other could be next in the hole. Gary Sheffield’s ability to speak could go in. Finally we could throw in our crappy school systems so that the next generation of kids doesn’t have to have this conversation! I’m just saying.
English footballer David Beckham is in America now and we still don’t care about soccer. Get over it.
I was flipping past the Jesus channel a while back and I saw Benny Hinn (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benny_hinn) preaching to a soccer stadium full of Africans. I was just wondering if anyone in the government is keeping tabs on what he does with his hand! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lvU-DislkI) I’ve seen this guy level bleachers filled with Koreans and no bodies doing anything about it.
Y’all have a good one.
1. “A Bay Bay” - Hurricane Chris
2. “The Zoo” - Robert Kelly’s ignorant ass
3. “The Coffee Shop” - Young Joc
4. “Shawty” Plies - Tallahassee Pain
5. “Aunt Jackie” - Jason Fox ft The Hood Presidents (Please go to You Tube and see this for yourselves?)
Congrats to my boy Toro and his new Mrs. Cynthia for tying the knot on last Saturday. I hope y’all are extremely happy together. While I was at the reception I realized how so many black folks were kidnapped way back when and brought to the Diaspora. Imagine a boat load of Dutchmen or whatever filthy seafaring Euro-types you like dropping anchor in Sierra Leone and bringing a band out on the deck of the ship. The locals come to see what the white folks want and while gawking at the pink toes they hear what would become a familiar and beloved tune; “The Electric Slide.” So just like every other black person on the planet they found their way to the wooden deck of the would be slave ship and start dancing. I’m willing to bet one of my ancestors probably said this phrase in an African tongue “Girl, that’s my song!” The shackles were then applied thusly beginning 400 + years of misery!
Keep a black woman off of a pole today!!!
On last Monday (July 9th) the NAACP actually held a ceremony to bury the “N” word. Not that burying the “N” (“And by “N” word I mean nigger. There I said it” © White guy from the Chappelle show.) is a bad thing but let’s put some things into perspective. If every black person stop saying “nigger” tomorrow nothing would change for us. Why didn’t he NAACP bury the word “Colored” from their title? How about burying their lackluster leadership for the past 30 years. Screw it. Every black person should get together on a designated Saturday, we can rent a back hoe, and we could just spend all day barbequing and burying. Poverty could go in first. Then gang violence. Next would be institutionalized racism. Institutionalized racism would be promptly followed by our “plantation mentality” © Dr. Goodloe-Johnson. Our deep hatred and contempt for each other could be next in the hole. Gary Sheffield’s ability to speak could go in. Finally we could throw in our crappy school systems so that the next generation of kids doesn’t have to have this conversation! I’m just saying.
English footballer David Beckham is in America now and we still don’t care about soccer. Get over it.
I was flipping past the Jesus channel a while back and I saw Benny Hinn (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benny_hinn) preaching to a soccer stadium full of Africans. I was just wondering if anyone in the government is keeping tabs on what he does with his hand! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lvU-DislkI) I’ve seen this guy level bleachers filled with Koreans and no bodies doing anything about it.
Y’all have a good one.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Mama's Gun
What does it say about a mother, when that mother states that the person that their daughter married is too good for them??? Well, those are the words that I heard coming out of the mouth of a family member. I was shocked. Not because she had that thought but the fact that she actually said it in front of me. Now, most people that know me, know that I couldn’t sit quietly and let this go by. I then asked the mother, well what does that say about you? She said that the daughter is nothing like her and that the daughter has problems. I then said, well you raised her. Then she just stated that, you raise your kids the best you can and then they have to make their own choices. Ok, you can make a statement like that if you actually raised your kids. I had to let it go. In past I have had the tendency to hurt older people’s feelings; I see no purpose in sparing feeling on the account of age (there are some exceptions)….I also have a problem with our elders thinking that they can say whatever they want, whenever they want. I was very happy for the marriage of the family member and saw this event as a turning point in her life. Well, not so much of a turning point. It was more of a sign of maturity.
Now back to the mother….All my life I have seen this mother do the most irresponsible things and say the most idiotic things. Some things were funny, but were very seldom moments of seriousness around this person. The person was absent much of the time when the daughter was growing up. There was the financial support of the mother, but she didn’t realize and still doesn’t realize that money will not mend or build a relationship between people that have not taken the time to relate. The thing that really pissed me off is that when I told the parent to look at herself for the personality “flaws” of her daughter, it went completely over her head.
The point of my ranting on and on is, some people just do not think before they speak! There is the saying, “If you don’t have anything to say, don’t say it at all.” Well, I don’t believe in that saying because if there is nothing good to say, then I am not going to say anything good if I don’t want to. I just know who to say these things too. Evidently, this mother didn’t know who she was talking to because I lost so much respect as a result of the statement.
But who am I to tell a person how to raise their kids? And who am I to want people to start thinking before they speak. I have no kids and I often pop off at the mouth. The answer is, I don’t know. I just know what I know.
Now back to the mother….All my life I have seen this mother do the most irresponsible things and say the most idiotic things. Some things were funny, but were very seldom moments of seriousness around this person. The person was absent much of the time when the daughter was growing up. There was the financial support of the mother, but she didn’t realize and still doesn’t realize that money will not mend or build a relationship between people that have not taken the time to relate. The thing that really pissed me off is that when I told the parent to look at herself for the personality “flaws” of her daughter, it went completely over her head.
The point of my ranting on and on is, some people just do not think before they speak! There is the saying, “If you don’t have anything to say, don’t say it at all.” Well, I don’t believe in that saying because if there is nothing good to say, then I am not going to say anything good if I don’t want to. I just know who to say these things too. Evidently, this mother didn’t know who she was talking to because I lost so much respect as a result of the statement.
But who am I to tell a person how to raise their kids? And who am I to want people to start thinking before they speak. I have no kids and I often pop off at the mouth. The answer is, I don’t know. I just know what I know.
Monday, July 9, 2007
"Ooo baby you want me?"
Pharrell Williams, Chad Hugo, and Shea (N.E.R.D.) are geniuses. You may be asking where I’m going with this. Sit tight and it’ll all make sense soon. Uncle Frank promises you it will.
There was absolutely nothing worth watching on TV this weekend thusly breaking my sloth-like heart. So when I wasn’t with Ms. Moneypenny, wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating, and not sending and receiving a million text messages (Steve, Lane Bryant. WTF?) I flipped channels finding very little amusement. *Side not: History Channel I need more warfare and a little less ice road trucking.*
During my incessant channel-flipping I noticed that every time I flipped past a news or news type channel (That would be you FOX News.) I noticed potential presidential candidates or one of their family members talking to or pressing the flesh with “normal folks” throughout the lower 48. *Michelle Obama looks as if she could kick the ass of most men. I seriously wouldn’t piss Mrs. Obama off. Her hubby probably has the bruises to prove it.* Seeing all of the stumping going on made me think of one of the best extended metaphors ever used in hip-hop: The entire song “Lap Dance.” By N.E.R.D.
Pharrell and the young t-shirt crew took the time to masterfully compare politicians to skrippers. Know what? They were right. If you hold your lunch, imagine Bill Clinton approaching a female voter and saying in his sleaziest voice, “Hey sweet thing. What do I have to do to get you to vote for Hillary? I’ll do anything.”
Is that any different from you and your boys hanging out in some hole in the wall and fielding this query from a half-drunk, gum popping, bad weave wearing, cast off from a Luke video asking, “What I gotta do to get a dance?”
Overall it’s the same hustle. Just switch the false promises of getting rid of Mexicans and lowering taxes with an ideal of having big butt in you crotch for the length of a song with about 120 bpms (beats per minute.) After the election and the song is over all you have left is the feeling of wanting more. You may find yourself short about 20 bills, a campaign donation, and possibly a vote in the general election. Once all three transactions have transpired you probably just sit back and speculate if you money, time, and vote were spent wisely.
There was absolutely nothing worth watching on TV this weekend thusly breaking my sloth-like heart. So when I wasn’t with Ms. Moneypenny, wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating, and not sending and receiving a million text messages (Steve, Lane Bryant. WTF?) I flipped channels finding very little amusement. *Side not: History Channel I need more warfare and a little less ice road trucking.*
During my incessant channel-flipping I noticed that every time I flipped past a news or news type channel (That would be you FOX News.) I noticed potential presidential candidates or one of their family members talking to or pressing the flesh with “normal folks” throughout the lower 48. *Michelle Obama looks as if she could kick the ass of most men. I seriously wouldn’t piss Mrs. Obama off. Her hubby probably has the bruises to prove it.* Seeing all of the stumping going on made me think of one of the best extended metaphors ever used in hip-hop: The entire song “Lap Dance.” By N.E.R.D.
Pharrell and the young t-shirt crew took the time to masterfully compare politicians to skrippers. Know what? They were right. If you hold your lunch, imagine Bill Clinton approaching a female voter and saying in his sleaziest voice, “Hey sweet thing. What do I have to do to get you to vote for Hillary? I’ll do anything.”
Is that any different from you and your boys hanging out in some hole in the wall and fielding this query from a half-drunk, gum popping, bad weave wearing, cast off from a Luke video asking, “What I gotta do to get a dance?”
Overall it’s the same hustle. Just switch the false promises of getting rid of Mexicans and lowering taxes with an ideal of having big butt in you crotch for the length of a song with about 120 bpms (beats per minute.) After the election and the song is over all you have left is the feeling of wanting more. You may find yourself short about 20 bills, a campaign donation, and possibly a vote in the general election. Once all three transactions have transpired you probably just sit back and speculate if you money, time, and vote were spent wisely.
Friday, July 6, 2007
People you should be tired of. Or why Sean Combs needs to move to the Cong0
“Puffy. . . I hate that bastard!”
I uttered those words 10 years ago on a hot spring day while awaiting my parole hearing from Allendale Fairfax High with my boys Mario and Leonard. At this point in time Sean was just a minor nuisance. Much akin to a gnat or a bad child at the barbershop just annoying enough to get on your nerves but not annoying enough to piss you off. I still didn’t like him.
Biggie Smalls died a few months before this so there was a large void on Sean’s label Bad Boy. 112 has just started what at the time looked like a promising career. Sean then put Mase and the Lox on the corner in their shiny suits to start turning tricks for Sound Scan and TRL. *”The Benjamins” was hot but Jadakiss on TRL just doesn’t work.*
Taking all of this into consideration something about Sean Combs bothered me. More than Percy Miller ever could. Fast forward a couple of years and this clown had a firm foothold on the American conscience. He was everywhere: Pepsi Commercials, clothing ads *I can’t front Dude has nice clothes.* He was dating America’s favorite Puerto Rican, and having gun fights with Shyne. Sean was a certified star.
Sean decided to create “Made for TV” music groups. You know how it goes. Auditions are held. Wannabes are chosen and a band is ran through the ringer by Sean and his lackeys. He has done this four times what did we get? A hilarious spoof on the Chappelle’s Show that let us know Dylan was hot fire. Then we got Babs who was the world’s ugliest female rapper. (She makes Snoop from The Wire look like Jane Kennedy. [Mos Def c.]) Finally, we got Danity Kane (With D.Woods) who actually managed to sell more records then Puffy’s last CD “Press Play.”
His label released more than a few decent albums and actually put out good music. After all of this his ego got in the way and he continued to push him self and his label above his talented artists. That’s right kids before Cassie got a record deal for being cute while there was actually talent on Bad Boy once upon a time. During the last 10 years Sean managed to squander and misuse his once talented stable of artists. Faith bounced. John Legend did to Carl Thomas what R-Kelly did to Aaron Hall. 112 are on a milk carton somewhere and Total are waiting on their WIC vouchers.
Now Sean is back with the fourth installment of Making the Band. Silly Sean never learns does he? Groups created by yourself and Viacom never work and yet you keep whoring it up for the cameras. The kids on the show actually thing it’s about them when in reality the entire making the band franchise exists so that you can keep your name hot for just a little while longer. It’s a long way to the bottom Sean so before you fall just stop putting out crappy music or find some artists with real talent and go away.
I uttered those words 10 years ago on a hot spring day while awaiting my parole hearing from Allendale Fairfax High with my boys Mario and Leonard. At this point in time Sean was just a minor nuisance. Much akin to a gnat or a bad child at the barbershop just annoying enough to get on your nerves but not annoying enough to piss you off. I still didn’t like him.
Biggie Smalls died a few months before this so there was a large void on Sean’s label Bad Boy. 112 has just started what at the time looked like a promising career. Sean then put Mase and the Lox on the corner in their shiny suits to start turning tricks for Sound Scan and TRL. *”The Benjamins” was hot but Jadakiss on TRL just doesn’t work.*
Taking all of this into consideration something about Sean Combs bothered me. More than Percy Miller ever could. Fast forward a couple of years and this clown had a firm foothold on the American conscience. He was everywhere: Pepsi Commercials, clothing ads *I can’t front Dude has nice clothes.* He was dating America’s favorite Puerto Rican, and having gun fights with Shyne. Sean was a certified star.
Sean decided to create “Made for TV” music groups. You know how it goes. Auditions are held. Wannabes are chosen and a band is ran through the ringer by Sean and his lackeys. He has done this four times what did we get? A hilarious spoof on the Chappelle’s Show that let us know Dylan was hot fire. Then we got Babs who was the world’s ugliest female rapper. (She makes Snoop from The Wire look like Jane Kennedy. [Mos Def c.]) Finally, we got Danity Kane (With D.Woods) who actually managed to sell more records then Puffy’s last CD “Press Play.”
His label released more than a few decent albums and actually put out good music. After all of this his ego got in the way and he continued to push him self and his label above his talented artists. That’s right kids before Cassie got a record deal for being cute while there was actually talent on Bad Boy once upon a time. During the last 10 years Sean managed to squander and misuse his once talented stable of artists. Faith bounced. John Legend did to Carl Thomas what R-Kelly did to Aaron Hall. 112 are on a milk carton somewhere and Total are waiting on their WIC vouchers.
Now Sean is back with the fourth installment of Making the Band. Silly Sean never learns does he? Groups created by yourself and Viacom never work and yet you keep whoring it up for the cameras. The kids on the show actually thing it’s about them when in reality the entire making the band franchise exists so that you can keep your name hot for just a little while longer. It’s a long way to the bottom Sean so before you fall just stop putting out crappy music or find some artists with real talent and go away.
Random Thoughts: Never have an affiar with a man named Cutts.
Once again the B.E.T. awards aired and I didn’t watch it. I’m a better person for not seeing any of it. My soul, intelligence, and inner blackness thank me for not watching twice a day. No Hudson, Fantasia, T.I., Beyonce, and I feel great about it. I hate you B.E.T. (Except for Rocsi and Danella.) and the horse you rode in on.
Two weeks pro wrestler Chris Benoit flipped out and merced his entire family. He killed his wife on Friday. He killed his little boy on Saturday allegedly using his finishing move to do the deed. Finally on Sunday Benoit pulled a “von Erich” hanged himself thus completing the time honored “murder suicide” routine. (Somebody call Grissom, Nick, and Warrick.) Benoit’s costly flip out has been blamed on “roid rage” and illustrates something that anyone that has watched wrasslin’ has known for some time: Vince McMahon (Owner of the WWE) and everybody that is involved is on steroids. The average wrestler type is bigger than most NFL players and gets injured more often. Over the past 20 years wrestling has racked up a casualty rate than a group of rappers. Every death can be linked to three things: Steroids, liquor, and painkillers. I know wrestling is fake but steroids are still illegal. George Mitchell and the feds are spending a lot of time grilling baseball players but Barry Bonds has never killed anyone. *That we know of any way. If you dug up his back yard I wouldn’t be shocked if there were a couple of dead white women there.* Baseball players die of old age for the most part. Wrestlers can say that. I thought I’d never say this but leave Barry alone and do something about wrestling.
Competitive Eating is the most useless and vile acts ever shown on television. *NMN, whenever you get back to this coast you and I have a chicken wing eat-off to settle.*
*Disclaimer* I seldom jack other institutions or writers for their ideas but I doing it write now. This weeks sign that the apocalypse is upon us (Sports Illustrated c.) : Professional whore/pin cushion/rental bicycle/writer Karinne Stephens b/k/a Superhead is penning yet another books in which she plans to drop dimes on her former clients as well illustrate how low her self-esteem is. *I’d like to apologize to Ms. Moneypenny, my two sisters, and any other female who is about to read this but here it goes.* What about this logic makes sense? I hate myself inside. I think I’ll *&^ DMX, write a book about it, and go on Oprah and pretend I didn’t know what I was doing. Men please take care of your daughters because we can’t keep this letting this happening.
Last but no least it is time for our Silly Ass Negro of the week. His name is Bobby Cutts Jr. is the latest black man to pull and Othello (kill his white lover/baby mama/paramour) and come up with a hooky ass plan to try to cover it up thusly giving Nancy Grace’s bloated, shrill, and disturbingly pregnant ass something to talk about. Thanks for setting us back a few years.
Hang in there Mario.
Y’all have a good weekend.
Two weeks pro wrestler Chris Benoit flipped out and merced his entire family. He killed his wife on Friday. He killed his little boy on Saturday allegedly using his finishing move to do the deed. Finally on Sunday Benoit pulled a “von Erich” hanged himself thus completing the time honored “murder suicide” routine. (Somebody call Grissom, Nick, and Warrick.) Benoit’s costly flip out has been blamed on “roid rage” and illustrates something that anyone that has watched wrasslin’ has known for some time: Vince McMahon (Owner of the WWE) and everybody that is involved is on steroids. The average wrestler type is bigger than most NFL players and gets injured more often. Over the past 20 years wrestling has racked up a casualty rate than a group of rappers. Every death can be linked to three things: Steroids, liquor, and painkillers. I know wrestling is fake but steroids are still illegal. George Mitchell and the feds are spending a lot of time grilling baseball players but Barry Bonds has never killed anyone. *That we know of any way. If you dug up his back yard I wouldn’t be shocked if there were a couple of dead white women there.* Baseball players die of old age for the most part. Wrestlers can say that. I thought I’d never say this but leave Barry alone and do something about wrestling.
Competitive Eating is the most useless and vile acts ever shown on television. *NMN, whenever you get back to this coast you and I have a chicken wing eat-off to settle.*
*Disclaimer* I seldom jack other institutions or writers for their ideas but I doing it write now. This weeks sign that the apocalypse is upon us (Sports Illustrated c.) : Professional whore/pin cushion/rental bicycle/writer Karinne Stephens b/k/a Superhead is penning yet another books in which she plans to drop dimes on her former clients as well illustrate how low her self-esteem is. *I’d like to apologize to Ms. Moneypenny, my two sisters, and any other female who is about to read this but here it goes.* What about this logic makes sense? I hate myself inside. I think I’ll *&^ DMX, write a book about it, and go on Oprah and pretend I didn’t know what I was doing. Men please take care of your daughters because we can’t keep this letting this happening.
Last but no least it is time for our Silly Ass Negro of the week. His name is Bobby Cutts Jr. is the latest black man to pull and Othello (kill his white lover/baby mama/paramour) and come up with a hooky ass plan to try to cover it up thusly giving Nancy Grace’s bloated, shrill, and disturbingly pregnant ass something to talk about. Thanks for setting us back a few years.
Hang in there Mario.
Y’all have a good weekend.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
July 4th 2007----Last Call
July 4th 2007---Last Call
"I have taken my last drink!" For those of you that have known me for any extensive amount of time, you've probably heard me utter those words at one time or another. But today I said for the first time and I actually meant it.I've made promises to people on two separate ocassions that I would give up alcohol for good. Those promises lasted for about 24 to 48 hours, or whenever the next weekend was in sight. I looked my mother in the face and told her that I was giving up alcohol, which was an absolute lie. I then proceeded several months later to look in the mirror and say we're giving up alcohol; again I failed in my quest. But there is a difference today because of the person that I made the promise to. I've promised God that me and alcohol were divorcing. That's the person that I should have made the promise to years ago. But being the coward that I am, I needed an incident to occur that would forever change my view on alcohol and what we've been through together. Obviously, people do stupid things when they get drunk, but I am told that after cooking a dynamite 4th of July meal, I transformed into a different person and I reached a new low. I had been drinking for several hours and I continued to drink. I like to drink. It is one of my favorite things to do. I enjoy the taste of it. I wasn't abused as a child or anything like that, I just like to drink! Before I reveal the stupid thing that I did, let me give you a brief history of what alcohol does to me.
It is a drug! It is a controlled substance, yet still a drug! And just like any other drug, it can destroy your family. I am the great grandson of a man named Joe. I'm told that Joe would hop on his mule in Allendale, SC and go to town on pay day not to return unitl all of his money was spent on both alcohol and gambling. I'm told that Joe had a loving wife at home, and several daughters, one of whom was my grandmother. Joe passed on then my grandmother inherited his same passion for alcohol. I'm not sure that abuse of alcohol directly lead to her passing, but I am certain that it didn't help keep her alive. I never met her because she died some years before I was born, but the stories that I hear are epic. My grandmother had a two sons and several daughters with one of the sons being my father. My father also has abused alcohol for many years and he still does today. His son inherited the cycle and began abusing alcohol on a weekly basis.
People see alcoholism as something that only affects people that can't hold down a job or somebody that gets drung on a daily basis. But in reality, alcoholism comes in several different forms. An alcoholic is a person that abuses alcohol routinely. It could be daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, or whatever as long as it is a part of a routine. My abuse has been for a while weekly. People didn't know it, but I routinely abused alcohol. I was what people in elementary school told me when I was in the 4th grade a functioning alcoholic. I would get drunk, fall down, forget things, and other things. NONE of those things really enticed me to quit drinking. But what I did on the 4th of July 2007 forced me to change my view on the vice that I have grown to love over the last decade or so of my life.
After several drinks, I began to talk to my wife in a manner that no woman should ever be talked to. On the surface, you would think that this wasn't a serious problem so to speak. But the way that I talked to her was awful. Basically, I was talking to her in a controlling manner, telling her what she was going to do and when she was going to do it...pretty much the way that one would talk to an animal. What's worst is that I didn't remember any of it. She revealed to me when I woke up that I had said some mean things, but she left it at that. But my cousin Starr who was present during my rant explained to me in detail the awful truth of what I had done. It made me feel low. I began to think about my relationship with alcohol and all the bad things that I've done because of it. But nothing made me want to kick the habit more than me finding out I disrespected so disgustingly the woman that I make my home with. So I decided that I have taken my last drink, and I ain't going back!
Alcohol is poison. Now if you accidentally eat a pinch of poison, you get sick and you live to tell the story. But if you continue to eat the poison, then eventually you will die. Now I have never driven a vehicle drunk or anything like that, but I've had it with this. It will destroy me if I'm not careful, so the logical thing is to just give alcohol up for good.....and I'm really happy about it.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Environmental Consciousness-less Pt 2 Who Stole the Soul?
D-Lay, thanks for tagging me in on this one. Who stole the soul? That was an excellent question when Chuck D asked it way back when but I think is still more relevant now. Duane, who penned the first part of this blog and I were having a conversation a couple of weeks ago when he was stateside. We were headed to do some drinking (Imagine that: Duane and I drinking together. It never happens, honest.) and one of the things we always talk about is music. Duane made the comment that foreign artists still put soul into music. He continued to explain how “black “ music that comes from overseas still contains the raw emotions that American “black” music used to have. *No disrespect to American artists still doing their thing.*
D-Lay rests his head in the Netherlands so he knows what he’s talking about. I listen to the BBC’s “black” radio station, 1Xtra, at work from time to time and as far a straight R&B goes the Euro types seem to have figured it out. American artist whose careers faltered on this side of the Atlantic find new life in England and continental Europe. Honestly the music isn’t all great but it tends to be better than what the folks at Clear Channel are shoving down your throat every hour. Sure they listen to T-Pain in England but you don’t hear “Buy U a Drank” every three minutes.
The flag ship American artists continue to let me down every time. R-Kelly’s evil yet talented ass will mail in a song in a heartbeat. Come on man what is your problem? Kells, stop making music that your 12 year-old date would like and do some grown folks shit like we know you can! Paychecks withstanding don’t you have any pride? “I’m a Flirt” “Same Girl” are you serious negro? *How in the hell do two men as talented as Robert Kelly and Usher Raymond go into a studio and come out with a shitty track like that? That’s like Mike Jackson and Stevie Wonder do a collabo in 1983 and coming up with “Somebody’s Watching Me.”*
What kind of world do we live in when white folks are making better “black” music that black folks? *I meant that in a nice way. I have a lot of white friends, honest.* Amy Winehouse’s drunk ass and Jason Seaver’s baby boy are holding it down for the moment, but they didn’t steal the soul. They just found it laying in their neighbor’s trash and took inside to use it for themselves. Raphael Saadiq and Betty Wright let Joss Stone use some of their soul and guess what? It’s working. Black artists like Anthony Hamilton need your help to keep soul music ours. We threw away the blues and white folks took it. Let’s not do the same thing with R&B.
Fuck it. If T-Pain keeps recording I’m gonna start listening to Green Day!
D-Lay rests his head in the Netherlands so he knows what he’s talking about. I listen to the BBC’s “black” radio station, 1Xtra, at work from time to time and as far a straight R&B goes the Euro types seem to have figured it out. American artist whose careers faltered on this side of the Atlantic find new life in England and continental Europe. Honestly the music isn’t all great but it tends to be better than what the folks at Clear Channel are shoving down your throat every hour. Sure they listen to T-Pain in England but you don’t hear “Buy U a Drank” every three minutes.
The flag ship American artists continue to let me down every time. R-Kelly’s evil yet talented ass will mail in a song in a heartbeat. Come on man what is your problem? Kells, stop making music that your 12 year-old date would like and do some grown folks shit like we know you can! Paychecks withstanding don’t you have any pride? “I’m a Flirt” “Same Girl” are you serious negro? *How in the hell do two men as talented as Robert Kelly and Usher Raymond go into a studio and come out with a shitty track like that? That’s like Mike Jackson and Stevie Wonder do a collabo in 1983 and coming up with “Somebody’s Watching Me.”*
What kind of world do we live in when white folks are making better “black” music that black folks? *I meant that in a nice way. I have a lot of white friends, honest.* Amy Winehouse’s drunk ass and Jason Seaver’s baby boy are holding it down for the moment, but they didn’t steal the soul. They just found it laying in their neighbor’s trash and took inside to use it for themselves. Raphael Saadiq and Betty Wright let Joss Stone use some of their soul and guess what? It’s working. Black artists like Anthony Hamilton need your help to keep soul music ours. We threw away the blues and white folks took it. Let’s not do the same thing with R&B.
Fuck it. If T-Pain keeps recording I’m gonna start listening to Green Day!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Environmental Consciousness-less
Man, bad music is taking on the likeness of global warming. It seems like it is here to stay. Those who care want to stop it. Those who saw it coming tried to stop it. It is evident in our environments. It is even causing the people to dress and act differently. Now, the only difference there is that temperature will force people to change the way they dress. As for these folks that are being remote controlled with their style and behavior, I don’t think that Oprah can have a show that will affect their momentum.
Why everybody got to look so hard and try to be so tough? What’s happenin’?
Ok, alright…what I am saying may be a little cliché-ish. It is just that my sensitivity to this new “culture” has intensified since I have been across the water. Oh, the influence of this music is happening everywhere but at a much slower rate than the US. Man, the dudes are still wearing shags and the girls creating ‘baby hair’. (yeah, I am talking about the gel down hair-line edges and sideburns) All I could think when at home was, Don’t trust dem new niggas…. Now, on to what I heard when I came home, and what I saw in the videos.
People with this comment. Radio may need to be controlled in some way. Well, it already is because you hear the same things over and over again, but the things that they are allowing to be played over the wave are ridiculous. I have to listen to see which songs my little nephew is singing to. Although he may not know the meaning of what he is really saying, the population of young people understanding the music is growing out of control.
Before I went home a month ago, I was really looking forward to hearing the new music that was being played. The Netherlands are good for playing old hits of all genres. One day its Nelly and the next it is the Bee Gees or Shakira. If it isn’t that, it is house music. I didn’t really want to hear that at home. A lot of the soul music that can be found in the US doesn’t penetrate the rest of the world. That is what I wanted to hear….some true R&B, Soul and Hip-hop. All I got was T-Payne. Why?? Why do I get T-Payne people? Mr. Teddy Pender-ass-down! Come on dawg! You can’t come better than that? And these people are treating him as if he were the G.O.A.T. The content of the songs that are being played is terrible….its a bunch of Horse-sh**. Oh, and I cannot deal with another R. Kelly soap opera. Actually, If I am to go back to the global warming parallels form earlier, R. Kelly would be what ever is leaking through and continuing to expand the ozone hole over Antarctica.
I will get off of my soap box for now… but before I go, lean over to your neighbor and tell him/her to stop wearing dark sunglasses indoors, at night, etc… That was made for TV.
I will end with saying:
I love music, I love hip-hop (although a am green when compared to my boys Frank and Mario). I just hate the direction that MOST are taking it.
Peace. D-Lay
Why everybody got to look so hard and try to be so tough? What’s happenin’?
Ok, alright…what I am saying may be a little cliché-ish. It is just that my sensitivity to this new “culture” has intensified since I have been across the water. Oh, the influence of this music is happening everywhere but at a much slower rate than the US. Man, the dudes are still wearing shags and the girls creating ‘baby hair’. (yeah, I am talking about the gel down hair-line edges and sideburns) All I could think when at home was, Don’t trust dem new niggas…. Now, on to what I heard when I came home, and what I saw in the videos.
People with this comment. Radio may need to be controlled in some way. Well, it already is because you hear the same things over and over again, but the things that they are allowing to be played over the wave are ridiculous. I have to listen to see which songs my little nephew is singing to. Although he may not know the meaning of what he is really saying, the population of young people understanding the music is growing out of control.
Before I went home a month ago, I was really looking forward to hearing the new music that was being played. The Netherlands are good for playing old hits of all genres. One day its Nelly and the next it is the Bee Gees or Shakira. If it isn’t that, it is house music. I didn’t really want to hear that at home. A lot of the soul music that can be found in the US doesn’t penetrate the rest of the world. That is what I wanted to hear….some true R&B, Soul and Hip-hop. All I got was T-Payne. Why?? Why do I get T-Payne people? Mr. Teddy Pender-ass-down! Come on dawg! You can’t come better than that? And these people are treating him as if he were the G.O.A.T. The content of the songs that are being played is terrible….its a bunch of Horse-sh**. Oh, and I cannot deal with another R. Kelly soap opera. Actually, If I am to go back to the global warming parallels form earlier, R. Kelly would be what ever is leaking through and continuing to expand the ozone hole over Antarctica.
I will get off of my soap box for now… but before I go, lean over to your neighbor and tell him/her to stop wearing dark sunglasses indoors, at night, etc… That was made for TV.
I will end with saying:
I love music, I love hip-hop (although a am green when compared to my boys Frank and Mario). I just hate the direction that MOST are taking it.
Peace. D-Lay
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