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.
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