Happy BLOG'iversary: Hot 100!

Hey, what’s good! Come on in…

Take off ya shoes…

Oh, you can put your gifts on the table next to the bar.

Huh?

Whatchu mean you didn’t bring no gifts??

::chuckling, looking past you out the door cuz I just KNOW you’re joking and there’s actually a cute little box with a tidy ribbon sitting outside::

Wow. Today’s my blog b-day AND my 100th post AND I redecorated and yall muhfcukas…who might I add, been coming thru unannounced, and at all hours of the day and night for an entire YEAR, offering [un]solicited advice and comments and shit…and you don’t think to bring a sista something just to say, ‘Wise, thanks for the nonsense.’ I expected more from you, blog ‘fam’.

But I could have never expected what this past year in blogland would mean to me.

I remember quite vividly how miserable my holidays were a year ago, for so many reasons. I remember seeing these blog urls in folks’ email taglines.

I remember visiting one. And then another. Following links and comments like a bird does crumbs. I was fascinated by the reach…you could literally go from one part of the world to another by living vicariously thru these scribes.

I found it oddly self-centered and sadistic. And I had the first few blog entries pre-written in my head long before I ever touched my fingers to the keyboard and registered with blog.ger.

Y’all are so damn hilarious and tragic and courageous and pathetic and boring and exhilarating and encouraging and dishonest and slutty and brilliant and challenging and eloquent and cliquish and real and fake and fun and bold and liberal and conservative and heathenish and pious and self-righteous and self-deprecating and proud and drunk and redundant and sentimental and sensitive and sensual and creative and thought-provoking and mindless. Beautifully diverse.

And I love that about you.

And I love that we been thru so much. Promotions and demotions and heartbreak and fantastic fcuks and questionable coitus and musical interludes and international travel and cocktails and poetry and commitment phobia and lost swagger and long distance relationships and office politics and puppy love and religious edicts and politics and plogging and slashing and arrests and afros and happy hours and unplanned pregnancies and deaths (and resurrections) and stalkers and shopping and graduations and embarrassments and triumphs.

I celebrate our journey with this the Official So…Wise Anniversary Yearender:

Inspiration for This Blog: Convos with younger guy friends who were absolutely perplexed about women. Then as I was first introduced to the blog world I noticed a few male bloggers writing about the same exact issues. And I thought, I have an answer for you AND it might be wrong.

Why the Name So…Wise…Sista: First and foremost I wanted a name that signified that I was a black chick bec I never planned to post a pic of myself. And since I was inspired by the idea of presenting (common sense) advice, it just sorta fit. Plus I figured that since the name sounds so disjointed and ridiculous that people would get that my tongue was planted firmly in cheek with that moniker.

My Fav Blog Entry: Anything about white girls, the gays, inebriation and cunnilingus…and not necessarily in that order either.

Fav Concept: The Crush concept was so much fun. And I truly did not use a site meter to try to find y’all out either. I’m not that damn corny. But you guys put me on to so many new blogs with that one…I believe that’s when I started following RD, Aquababie and Miss Ahmad and Amadeo among others. And there the term “blog-bi” was coined, and it seems many a blogger, present company included, have been diagnosed.

PS…My Neil, I will be in your crook of the world in 2007. You already know the deal if you were fcuking Wise.;)

Defining Moment: Clearly it was the How Wise is Wise, 5-parter. It took so much out of me, yet it flowed so easily. Plus there is something really fun about being vulnerable in public…to a bunch of people who don’t know me. One of my fav bloggers is Blah. No explanation necessary. She asked me why I’m so “mysterious”…never met up with any bloggers, etc. Truthfully, I don’t think up to that point that any bloggers had ever asked me out! I joked about being on the run…and in some ways I really am. Hence the pseudonym and restrictive one-eye Willy pic (or the lips). Yet I try to balance out the anonymity by being real…for better and worse. And coincidentally a bunch of people emailed me after that one just showing love.

Most Popular: A couple...

Loc'd Down...where we talked about cutting hair for a job...at a black company.

The time I got my sunshine waxed.

And the age old Thugs or Nerds debate.

Entry I Wish I Never Published: The one about that su!cidal wide-out.

Why I Blog: Because I’m just arrogant enough to believe that people will actually give a eff about what I have to say.

Because writing is the gift that I insist on neglecting.

Because in real life one preconceived notion or another might preclude me from ever knowing you all, and vice versa.

Because in real life I would never call y’all as often as I manage to visit your blogs. Ask my real friends.

Because the shit is comedy.

Sophomore Resolutions: Start a spin off collabo about turning 30. I see you Chanel!

Traveling is my biggest real-life goal for '07, and I’d love to holler at some bloggers when I hit the road. And I am beginning to see that the B-More bloggers be doing it big too and I feel left out. :)

My fav blogs: Scan the comment section of any given So…Wise entry, and there you will you find the answer.

PS…Anon Detroit…you were one of the very first people to leave me a comment. I have a feeling you got a blog, but wanna remain in the cut, but you need to holler at me.

The State of Blogging: [You know how anytime an ole school rapper is intvw’d they always ask about the state of hip-hop today.] Well, for me blogging is simply not as fun as it used to be. As with everything, newjacks who don’t respect the game came in and ruined it for me. Corporate greed (shameless pandering for comments) is wack. Outward proclamations of site meter analysis has caused me to stop effing with some. But my favs never seem to disappoint me. Always entertaining and provocative.

Most Personal Entry: Tough call, but by far any mention of my Dad is always pretty raw. Hey look, my homegirl recently sent me this other shot of me getting the tat...

Funniest Entry: I still laugh my azz off when I think about the little mixed girl who jetted out the aisle down at the Wa!mart when I asked if she needed help with her naps.

Bitch Dudes also make me giggle.

As does the Vegas series. (PS…My crew is doing LV again this year for the 30th bday Mar 22-26 and you’re all invited! No for real.)

My Blog Style: Equal parts sarcastic, LONG-winded, real and acerbic. I think I am just finding my niche with the more narrative entries, particularly the personal relationship ones.

The Entry People Still Emailing Me About: Fellatio Fallout…it’s also a personal fav of mine. :)

The one where I showed my legs.

The one where I blast hood au+hors. Had one particular author heated bout that one.

Most Bizarre Encounter Set Off by the Blog: I got an email from a kid who was one of my best friends in grade school. How did he find me? He googled himself, and found a link to a comment I made on another of my fav blogs in which I mentioned him by first and last name. He then went to my blog, saw I was a black girl and basically figured I was one of 3 sistas he was cool with back in the day. Turns out he lives in Germany now and is extra beautiful! Moral of the story: g00gle is the muhfcukin anti-Chr!st.

Biggest Disappointment: There have been a few. But I’d have to say learning that not all bloggers are effective (let alone active) communicators. [honorable mention goes to the day I sat in my car in the M*T bank parking lot listening to Y’landa Adams, boohoo crying after reading tributes about someone who “succumbed” to what actually killed my dad, and being touched by how often and boldly that person publicly praise the Lord. My Non-Denom!national azz almost caught the damn Holy Gh0st offa that shit. But the 2o/2o investigation that ensued all but made up for it. Shouts to the lead investigator on that one. You know we love you, girl!]

Greatest Blog Triumph: Being shouted out by bloggers I love reading.

The formation of the BlaqueScribbies.

Place I Most Wanna Visit Thanks to Bloggers: Vancouver, Brazil, U.K.

Place I Least Wanna Visit Thanks to Bloggers: ATL, Satan’s Anus

What I Think Other Bloggers Think of Me: Hell if I know.

What I Hope Other Bloggers Think of Me: That they should invite me to their [open bar] gatherings.

That I have impeccable grammar and syntax.

That I don’t take myself very seriously.

What Readers Can Expect in 2007: Less than 100...But more fiyah!

Thanks for the ride!

~Management:)

"Do You Know A Carlos?"

>>OK here goes PART II...

But first read Part I...

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 13, 2006...11:51PM

“I remember those days when Hell was my home…”
That’s my 'not sure who this is' ring tone…

“Hello, this is Wise.”
That’s me answering the number that I don’t recognize.

“Hi, do you know a Carlos?”

Awww Lawd. Every woman, at some point in her life will get this phone call. If she’s lucky, she either won’t know dude, or will be long over his azz.

I was prepared for this…or so I thought…

“I’m sorry, who am I speaking to?”

“This is Carlos’ daughter’s mother. I have his phone and I got your number from a text you sent him.”

“Really. I don’t know any Carlos.” [I really don’t. And dudes, trust, if I had known him his biz woulda been out on the corner of Front Street.] “Where is he from?”

“The Bronx. He’s Dominican. They call him Nino?” She was asking, not telling, holding her breath for my answer.

“Naw Mami. I really don’t. And believe me, if I did I would tell you.”

“I’m sorry to be calling you,” she said…sounding like she was slowly coming undone, “but I took his phone, and I saw the text and I just pressed talk.”

“What did the text say?” I ask…still silently scanning my memory to figure out who the hell this might be.

“I don’t even know. Like I said, I just pressed talk. I never EVER called another woman before, but I just been going through it with this man.”

Like I said…up until this point, I could have dictated the convo verbatim. But I could have never scripted what followed. Except maybe the tears that came quickly.

“What did he do?” I ask. Shit, YOU called ME…so the least you can do is entertain me, cuz aint shit on TV. [editor’s note: for real, for real…are TV programmers on permanent hiatus or something?!] damn…digress…

“What did he do?” I ask…sincerely.

“He told me to quit my job to stay home with our daughter, who is 2, and THE DAY I quit he tells me that when he went back to Dominican Republic this summer, he got this chick pregnant.”

“Damn.” I probably only said this in my head, or if I said it out loud she probably didn’t hear me, bec by now she was a sniffling, hiccupping mess.

“I told him I couldn’t stay here with him in the same bed and I left and came back every day to see my kids, and I just got tired of doing that so I told him he had to leave. I put him out. I flipped the fcuk out because he was telling me that he told her it was over, and I didn’t believe him. I pushed him out of the apartment and we were fighting and he beat the shit out of me. I blacked out and woke up spitting up blood. So now I have an order of protection against him, but I don’t have anyone to watch my daughter during the day. She is 2 years old and is autistic and she has special teachers that come to the house, and someone has to be here with her. So I just sit at home all day and go crazy trying to figure out what the hell to do.”

“Whoa.” I’m sitting down now. Listening intently, as if this was one of my home girls. “So why do you have his phone?”

“I took it because I needed to see if he had called the girl. But of course by the time I got it all his calls were cleared out. All except the text messages. That’s how I got your number.”

“I really don’t know any Carlos from the Bronx.” [editor’s note: No offense to any Boogie Downers (dammit Slishy just hear me out)…but I don’t do the Bronx. Literally in my 7 years living in the City I been to the Bronx MAYBE 7 times. And 2 of those times including last month, were at Hostos College, so I don’t think they count.]

“He’s 39 and he owns a bodega?” Again asking…hoping to jog my memory. And I’m really thinking hard now, like, maybe did somebody give me a fake name?

“Naw, I couldn’t tell you the last Puerto-, I mean, Dominican dude I met. Much less from the Bronx.”

“I’m so sorry. I NEVER called a woman’s number before.”

“It’s ok, I know how it is,” I say. “So, why did he tell you to quit your job?”

“I swear to God, he was telling me to quit for a long time and I kept telling him no. But then he said he didn’t trust the babysitter and you know you can’t tell a mother no shit like that. So I quit because my daughter is autistic and now I’m stuck. My job was begging me to come back, offering me better hours, more money and I was like naw I gotta quit, cuz someone needs to be here while the teachers are here with her, and because of the order of protection I cant have him here with her. He can’t come within [however many] yards of me or the kids.”

She continues…”See he went to DR in August and I was pregnant with our second baby.” [chick speaks in Rosie Perez warp speed so I’m trying to keep up] “While he was gone I lost the baby and I was so upset that he wasn’t here, then come to find out he was down there with this young bitch.”

“How young?”

“17. And gets this bitch pregnant. Then he comes home and I find out he’s calling her and shit and yet he’s telling me that he told her it’s over. But one day he comes home after work and where I live there’s not a lot of space to park so when he comes home I leave for work and he parks in my spot. So I come home and we’re moving the cars and I take his phone to check my voice mail because I lost mine. This muthafcukah don’t know how to set up his voice mail so I thought I was calling mine but it went to his. So I set up the password and heard the message from her. So I flipped on him and that’s when he beat the shit out of me. So when he was locked up I called the girl to find out. But I don’t speak Spanish…I’m Puerto Rican…but I don’t speak Spanish so I had my mother talk to her in Spanish and ask her when they met and what was going on. She said they met in August, slept together in August and then she got pregnant.”

“How you know she’s really 17? How you know he aint lying about that too?” I ask.

“Because he showed me her fcuking picture. She looks 14! And I swear to God I don’t know why he showed me that picture because now I have that visual stuck in my head of like, her azz on his balls. Oh my gosh! Plus you can tell the chick is young because she don’t even know her own cycle. Any woman knows you don’t have sex like 2 weeks after your period! Plus she said she was pregnant all quick. I wrote down the calendar of when she said they were together. There’s no way that could even be his baby. She’s just young and dumb.”

“So did she say they were together?”

“No she told my mother that she didn’t really talk to him that much. So I been online trying to look up his phone bill to find out if he was calling her too or if she was the one doing the calling, like he told me. But Spr!nt wouldn’t let me open up the bills because I don’t have Adobe.”

“Oh girl, you can download Ad.obe for free from their website.”

“Oh for real? Cuz I got dial up so you know that shit is gonna take all day. I’m gonna have to go to the library tomorrow. I swear to God I’m so sorry for calling you. It’s so late, too. I am just out of my mind trying to figure out if I did the right thing by kicking him out. Because I am almost all the way through my savings by being out of work, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. A lot of parents with Autistic kids apply for disability but when I tried before they said I made too much money. Now I just applied again and do you know those muthafcukahs said I cant get it because I have life insurance! God forbid something should happen to me I need that insurance. Now they got me over here contemplating getting rid of it! I tried to get an evening job from 5-12, but I also have a 12 year old, but there’s no way I’m gonna leave her in charge of the baby. Especially not at night. I swear I wish my daughter was regular.”

“No Mami. Your daughter is a blessing just the way she is. I’m sure she is a beautiful blessing and you need to just gather strength from that blessing.”

“I know she is,” and she is weeping now, and says, “but she just gets so frustrated because she can’t talk and we cant understand her sometimes. So she gets so upset when she can’t communicate with us. I’m just saying if she wasn’t autistic I could at least leave her at daycare and get back to work.”

“So where is your mom?” I ask. “She can’t watch the baby?”

“My mother has a bad arm and she cant keep her. And I have a sister who don’t work, she don’t do shit but she refuses to help me out. And the thing is I always do everything for everybody else, but nobody wants to help me when I need it. Im SO sorry for calling you!”

“Listen, it’s ok. I understand. Let’s just figure out what you can do to get back to work. I mean, there has to be some kind of special daycare for your daughter. There has to be SOMETHING.”

“I’ve tried and there isn’t. I’ve asked her teachers and all they say is that if she goes to the school there has to be someone here at 3:00 to get her off the bus, and if I work I wouldn’t be here. But if I work evenings I don’t have anyone to watch them. He used to be here but now that I put him out I’m stuck. I gotta go back to work."

"Does he help you out at all?"

"He gives me $400 every week, but I got rent, a cell phone, car insurance. And I'm almost out of my savings."

"Girl, you are better off than most. I know girls in your situation right now who don't have a dime to their name and a man with even less. At least you got your stash," I offer. She's obviously not a slug chick. She just got a snake dude.

I just need to see the phone bills so that I at least know if I did the right thing.”

“You want me to look it up?” I say, already at my computer typing in the website. [I got Spr!nt, too]

“Would you mind?”

“What’s the number?”

[OK this is hella long. This is a good stopping point…and when you come back for the dramatic conclusion, just click the link for Part II at the beginning of the story. But for those with nothing better to do…here goes…]

I look up the bill and sure enough there are a bunch of calls to DR.
NO calls from there.

“Ok, so what you gonna do if he did call her?” I ask…stalling.

“Do you feel safe around him?” still stalling…

“I know your feelings are running amok, but what will happen to you emotionally if you let him come back just to watch your daughter?” still…

“And you don’t got no brothers to whup his azz or nothin’?” still…

“Are you afraid to tell me what’s on the bill?” she says, in an eerily calm voice.

Deep breath. “Ok what you wanna know?”

“Did he call her on Sept 12, the day he got out of jail? 809 area code.”

“He called her at 3:32 pm, and then again at 3:42.”

“I knew it.”

I’m looking thru the phone bill, blogger fam, and dude was quite liberal with the chit chat.

“Most of the calls are at midnight or around then. And they’re also for only like 5, 9 minutes. The longest call is only like 15 minutes. And it wasn’t on no, “Call me right back” either, bec there are no incoming calls afterwards.”

“Any 800 numbers?” she asks.

“Oh calling cards. Nope.” [I later found 2 quick ones]

“I fcuking knew it. This whole time he was telling me that she was the one calling him. What the fcuk is he even doing with a 17 year old? What the hell do they have to talk about?”

“And you know what, he didn’t call at all the entire month of November.” I announce.

“Fa real?” A glimmer of hope. I could hear it. But she kept it real. “Whatever. At least now I know. I asked him what she had that I don’t and he said that honestly it was a bullshit little relationship, just him calling and saying ‘hi, how’s the weather’ cuz he would never leave his child out there like that. But still, he threw away our family for a little girl. Bought her a damn cell phone so he could call her. He is 39, and he said, ‘she’s young, she’s not gonna like me for long. I’m getting older, looking older. She don’t want me.’”

“How old are you?” I ask.

“29.”

“Awww. Me too.”

“Wow. I swear I cant believe I’m talking to a complete stranger. Im so sorry.”

“Mami. You’re good.”

We sat on the phone for 2 and a half hours. Two women bound by an errant text msg. I had her read me the text I sent and turns out I thought I was texting a friend in Philly as I was driving thru.

I was struck by how different our lives were…yet how easily that could have been my life, my man’s phone, my dilemma, my burden. I thought about a very good friend of mine, whose story is not far from this one.

“Well you have my number now. Don’t be afraid to use it again,” I say and mean it.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate you looking up his bill for me. I’m gonna download A.dobe tomorrow so I can see it for myself. But thank you.”

“Good luck, girl. I know you will make a way to get back to work and take care of your baby.”

“Thank you so much. I can’t believe you actually talked to me for this long. Thank you.”


You know the part on the Brady Bunch after the last commercial, but right before the end credits…that last 30 second punchline? ...Well, this is it…


The next day I went online and looked up Autism day care facilities in Brooklyn. I found a site, emailed the director and the next morning got a response.

I called Mami to give her the info.

As the phone was ringing I realized I was calling HIS phone. I didn’t have her number.

She answered. Surprised to hear from me. Grateful for the info. Turns out she did some more digging and found a spot around her way that might take her daughter.

She’s a lot more stable, now that she knows the deal. She confronted Carlos with a copy of his phone bills. He did the typical Trife Negro move and tried to turn it around on her…accusing her of invading his privacy, threatening to tell the cops that she stole his phone.

Son, how did you get the copies…did you violate the order of protection?

That shut him up.

Obviously she’s heartbroken. But she’s prepared to move on.

But there’s a little piece of me that hopes she’ll call me again and tell me that she’s back to work and back to life.

Do You Know A Carlos? PT II

>>PART I

>>Now for PART II...

I look up the bill and sure enough there are a bunch of calls to DR.
NO calls from there.

“Ok, so what you gonna do if he did call her?” I ask…stalling.

“Do you feel safe around him?” still stalling…

“I know your feelings are running amok, but what will happen to you emotionally if you let him come back just to watch your daughter?” still…

“And you don’t got no brothers to whup his azz or nothin’?” still…

“Are you afraid to tell me what’s on the bill?” she says, in an eerily calm voice.

Deep breath. “Ok what you wanna know?”

“Did he call her on Sept 12, the day he got out of jail? 809 area code.”

“He called her at 3:32 pm, and then again at 3:42.”

“I knew it.”

I’m looking thru the phone bill, blogger fam, and dude was quite liberal with the chit chat.

“Most of the calls are at midnight or around then. And they’re also for only like 5, 9 minutes. The longest call is only like 15 minutes. And it wasn’t on no, “Call me right back” either, bec there are no incoming calls afterwards.”

“Any 800 numbers?” she asks.

“Oh calling cards. Nope.” [I later found 2 quick ones]

“I fcuking knew it. This whole time he was telling me that she was the one calling him. What the fcuk is he even doing with a 17 year old? What the hell do they have to talk about?”

“And you know what, he didn’t call at all the entire month of November.” I announce.

“Fa real?” A glimmer of hope. I could hear it. But she kept it real. “Whatever. At least now I know. I asked him what she had that I don’t and he said that honestly it was a bullshit little relationship, just him calling and saying ‘hi, how’s the weather’ cuz he would never leave his child out there like that. But still, he threw away our family for a little girl. Bought her a damn cell phone so he could call her. He is 39, and he said, ‘she’s young, she’s not gonna like me for long. I’m getting older, looking older. She don’t want me.’”

“How old are you?” I ask.

“29.”

“Awww. Me too.”

“Wow. I swear I cant believe I’m talking to a complete stranger. Im so sorry.”

“Mami. You’re good.”

We sat on the phone for 2 and a half hours. Two women bound by an errant text msg. I had her read me the text I sent and turns out I thought I was texting a friend in Philly as I was driving thru.

I was struck by how different our lives were…yet how easily that could have been my life, my man’s phone, my dilemma, my burden. I thought about a very good friend of mine, whose story is not far from this one.

“Well you have my number now. Don’t be afraid to use it again,” I say and mean it.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate you looking up his bill for me. I’m gonna download A.dobe tomorrow so I can see it for myself. But thank you.”

“Good luck, girl. I know you will make a way to get back to work and take care of your baby.”

“Thank you so much. I can’t believe you actually talked to me for this long. Thank you.”


You know the part on the Brady Bunch after the last commercial, but right before the end credits...that one last 30 second punchline?…well, this is it…


The next day I went online and looked up Autism day care facilities in Brooklyn. I found a site, emailed the director and the next morning got a response.

I called Mami to give her the info.

As the phone was ringing I realized I was calling HIS phone. I didn’t have her number.

She answered. Surprised to hear from me. Grateful for the info. Turns out she did some more digging and found a spot around her way that might take her daughter.

She’s a lot more stable, now that she knows the deal. She confronted Carlos with a copy of his phone bills. He did the typical Trife Negro move and tried to turn it around on her…accusing her of invading his privacy, threatening to tell the cops that she stole his phone.

Son, how did you get the copies…did you violate the order of protection?

That shut him up.

Obviously she’s heartbroken. But she’s prepared to move on.

But there’s a little piece of me that hopes she’ll call me again and tell me that she’s back to work and back to life.

Bawtuhmore's Finest

Shout out to CNelly, and Eps who were excellent dinner dates last night.
The future aint all that bleak with these gentlemen representing the post-1980s set. :)

Ohmigosh, they are SO Bawtuhmore...they got the accent and urr'thing!
Tell ya muvas I said Murry CMas. :)

..damn, 3 blog entires in one day. Must be bored. :)

A Gift from the SoWise Family To You and Yours

The greatest gift of all is the gift of YouTube.

No wait...

The greatest gift of all is the gift of gold teef, a speech impediment and soap and water.

Dammit, no, no. Hold on...

The greatest gift of all is the gift of laughter.

Happy Holidays!

~Management

I'm Bringin' Cracker Back

My classmate “Bend it Like Beck.ham”: “I feel like I’m back in traffic right now.”

Wise: “I feel like I’m back in Reconstruction…like, before emancipation fully kicked in.”

We were talking about how boring class was, but actually now that I think about it, this is exactly how I been feeling the past few days. My pop culture fanaticism is well documented, but thanks to the ubiquitous media, it kinda sucks to be black right now.

Never mind that one of TV’s greatest idiots actually has the nation confused about whether or not repeatedly calling black men ‘Nig’ is racist…because frankly I’m even more disturbed by the crackers laughing in the audience at the time…and then again when he mumbled on Lett.ermen. (PS...sales for the 7th season of S'feld are up 75% from last year's sales for season 6)

But this whole John Rid.ley Esq article* feels so, so… antebellum. Coincidentally, if you do a search on this blog you will find that I’ve been quite liberal with the word nig, ngga, whatev. It’s comedic brilliance. Words have a certain cadence, and that particular word just rolls of the tongue/pen with a certain vulgar eloquence. But I also use it with the assumption that my audience is wise enough to be in on the joke.

It’s irresponsible, it’s demeaning, it’s a hard habit to break, and frankly not all that funny. But seeing the word plastered all willy nilly all up and thru the mass media is just effing creepy. Separate and unequal. And now it's publicly open for unsolicited discussions with uninformed crackers...and for that matter, nigs.

Funny thing, I just finished a research paper about blackface minstrel shows. And sorry to tell you neo-nggas that white folks been callin us nigga with an 'A' too...not just nig.ger with an 'ER.' Harvard Library Special Collections has crates full of authentic minstrel sheet music to prove it. Who made up that bullshit explanation anyway, some ole nonsensical, non-spellin ngga?

So I’m bringing ‘Cracker’ back.

I know, I know… it’s not nearly as explosive, funny, or demeaning. But I say we Booker T. it…work with it, and just bootstrap it until we rise to find a new, more equally damning term. And when Mr. Charlie catches on and starts calling himself Cracka, we’ll reconvene.

*If you havent heard about or read this article, you should. He's basically making the infamous Chris Rock Black folks vs. Nggers distinction...but not only is it highly offensive and elitist/classist, it's also really shortsighted and shitty-written. Ironically ESQ apparently also released a Gen.ius List that included no black geniuses. Their readership is almost all white male. Always consider the audience when analyzing the content. You have white boys by the ear and THIS is what you have to say? NEGROES!