“F@ggot” Ass Kobe

As my eyes first strained to keep up with the scroll across the screen, I immediately knew what he said (duh) and how he said it (unfortunately). Since I wasn’t watching the game that night, I was delighted to finally see the video (thanks, Dan)…yikes:

One of the best parts of watching sports is the real shit that TV cameras often pick up by accident: errant snot, a scrotum shift, a trip and fall, offbeat trash talk. If you’ve ever been to a game in person and sat close enough to be sprinkled by a player’s sweat or even just felt the static cling of their almost psychotic game-time energy, you’ve been privy to some prime (primal?) entertainment.

But there was truly nothing funny about Kobe’s dialogue. So it was hard to chuckle when listening to sports radio today to hear callers weigh in with all manner of oblivious opinions. Though there was a remarkably diverse set of comments expressed, both for and against the $100k fine, what struck me was that most people were not willing to concede that the great offense was that he spewed a gay slur.

“He shouldn’t be cursing at a ref; that’s an authority figure and a lot of players have been fined for badmouthing refs.”

“The cameras caught him and ‘the groups’ are upset, so I get that (NBA Commissioner) Stern had no choice but to punish him.”

“$100,000? For saying what a lot of people say?? That’s not right.”

"Kenyan Martin threatened to KILL Mark Cuban. What was he fined??"

Heat of the moment—I get it—this is how people get when they’re upset—yes, I know…but son was at his place of business, and never mind that Carl the Camera Guy was on the case.

And God forbid I point out that calling someone a “fucking faggot” is fucking vile.

People use this word everywhere, feel no remorse about it, know it’s probably wrong to say to someone who is actually gay, but don’t give it much thought otherwise. I actually buy the idea that people still don’t know better, and that they may not see anything wrong with saying it. But this is precisely why a steep fine and no-tolerance approach is necessary. Not just to make a point, but to make a statement…that THAT statement is not fucking acceptable. This, my gay-as-in-happy friends, is how you help make that point publicly to the recesses of the Bible belt, Midwest and beyond.

Inevitably, the obvious “nigga” analogy was all over this one.

“Kevin Garnett was caught on camera saying the same thing AND the n-word and nothing happened to him.”

“These young guys say it where they come from so it’s not a big deal.”

I don’t see why a conversation about offensive language always has to veer left onto Martin Luther King Blvd and include nggas and their ngga shit, so I don’t want this post to make a wrong turn into the hood either. But I will say that I find it counterproductive for folks to allow hood ass shit to permeate institutions that are meant to uplift. Like (HBCUs) college, for example. What sense does it make to let a kid come to your school if you’re going to stoop to the level of their high school in an effort to “reach them,” rather than teach them that it’s in fact not ok to wear pajamas and Timbs to class.

If you’re a professional, act like one. And indeed Mamba Sauce did just that this morning (brought to you by Adidas), and is to be commended for taking responsibility as the face of the League should.

Whether or not YOU think so using the word 'faggot' is indeed offensive and there should be no tolerance in the matter. I applaud the League for making a swift and …stern response and I think the amount was appropriate. Just because you don’t agree that it’s not THAT bad, doesn’t mean it isn’t. Maybe you should reevaluate why you don’t think so, rather than accusing the NBA of pandering to the LGBT community. And what the fuck is so wrong with that anyway??

Also, suggesting that because past offenses like Garnett's in '08 weren't punishable that this one shouldn't be either are valid. However, as our society grows and progresses, much like these athletes do, it is to be assumed and even expected that changes will be made, views will have shifted and interpretations of precedents set will be reevaluated accordingly. Bringing up old shit only serves to shift the conversation from the actual, albeit difficult, issue at hand. We should always be asking, 'What have we learned? How do we proceed?'

Asking whether Kobe would have been fined if Camera Guy had caught him saying “fucking nigger,” is a whole other conversation, and it does little to analyze this one. I believe in a case-by-case basis on issues that venture into cultural grey areas.

My question: Why is it so hard for folks to acknowledge that there is in fact something wrong with making slurs against gay people? Is it because so many of us do it without a second thought?

Will this ever be fucking settled?

TALL ORDER

I sort of expected to step out into the morning and find a stream of people coming from every direction. Sort of flushing out into the streets like the first streams from a faucet. Instead it was more like a few here and there along the short walk. I’m not usually among the living out this early, so I couldnt tell this day from another, except that I knew it was special.

I walk inside at the same time as a handful of others, file in single file, third grade style. It’s humid as hell, kinda like somebody’s grandmother’s living room. Fitting, because there’s lots of old people here. I’m yawning on the inside, alert and anxious on the out. Take one look at me in my sweats and hat, my school book in one hand, cellie in the other. I’m simultaneously reading and texting and moving forward toward the finish line. At once a student of history and of this moment’s place in it. I’m living it. It's just after 7 am.

The weight of the moment seizes me, not suddenly, but gradually as it has for a while now. Each step forward is monumental. I’m starving to make a choice. I watch the girl in front of me, because this is my first time here, and she appears a veteran. I pull out my wallet, just in case. I know how they are with the trickery. What they don’t know is that I came prepared for anything. Not only is my bag stocked with snacks and water, but my wallet is flanked by about every piece of identification I own. I only pull out one, meanwhile my thumb presses against my badge. A sticker.

I take my time and survey my surroundings. Everyone is abuzz. Everyone sweating from the humidity. Everyone is friendly. A photographer snaps away, flash bulbs illuminating the scene, highlighting the occurrence. On the sly, I’m posing. I know that odd movements and gestures catch editors' eyes. I photograph pretty well in black and white. Definitely from this angle. I pause, pondering dramatically as if the choice hasn’t already been made for me.

I turn and take one last look before I leave. The line continues to swell outside the door. I did it. Finally. I got up early and it was well worth it.

I don’t usually like their coffee, but I am grateful for the freebie. Thanks Starbcuks!

Oh, and I also voted this morning.

Go Dukakis!

NIGGER, WHO TAUGHT YOU OCTAGON?

Editor's Note:
The origin of the title: "Nig, who taught you octagon?" is from Chris Rock. He was joking about slaves being forbidden to read and what a dilemma it must have been to try to hide it. So the joke goes that the slave who's driving cracker's buggy comes up to a stop sign and is scared to stop for fear of incriminating himself as literate. So he explains that he knew to stop because he saw the big red octagon...
Get it? My learning that simultaneously eating and hot combing wasnt normal is akin to learning to read and seeing the world in a new way.

I’ve been going to a black hair salon all my life. Can’t think of any reason why I may have ever been in a white one.

Until television brought me there, of course.

If your life is as pathetic as mine and is predicated by a television schedule you watch cable like me, you’ve probably seen Peter.Perfect on Style network. Ok so the concept is that Petey, who is a renowned Bevvy Hills stylist, goes to struggling salons and basically does a makeover on the shop and the owners.

So it’s just like any good makeover show…first they highlight the foolishness. He runs up and through the shops kicking stuff over, and hollering in amazement that they even have a single client the way they got their shit set up.

So I’ve seen a couple episodes that featured black salons. And they are oddly familiar…

No receptionist.

No separate break area.

Stylists stopping mid-perm to take a personal call.

Plastic lawn chairs in the “waiting area.”

Cushion coming all out of the ripped up dryer chairs and shit.

Stylists balancing a chicken box in one hand and a tail comb in the other.

The Dudley products on display out of a cardboard box.

So Peter goes absolutely bananas when he sees this shit. He simply cannot believe that this is a business, much less a profitable one. He can’t fathom a place where there’s not a person dedicated to answering the phones and taking appointments. It is beyond his realm of possibilities that clients should ever witness their stylists having lunch.

So then he takes the poor saps to his salon. They get there and are immediately greeted by a friendly and trendy receptionist who offers them water and champagne and shit. They walk in and it’s like an oasis of beauty and relaxation. Completely foreign.

So this is the part where I start dreaming about freedom...

So I’m sitting in the salon yesterday getting my locs sexied. My fav neighborhood pal found this place in our hood, and I decided to give them a holler. It’s nice inside. There’s some gospel music blaring, and it’s fairly quiet. Not too much shenanigans. I’m pleased. I don’t sit and wait 100 years before I’m called over. I’m immediately shampooed, albeit half assedly . It was serene and pleasant, and very befitting of the modest digs.

But then suddenly homegirl’s cellie starts singing. She goes ape shit trying to answer it. Says hello loudly no less than seven times before slamming it down in frustration. Then some chick comes in talking and talking and talking. Loud. And I’m zoning out. She asks me if I’m ok, because “I’m really quiet,” and I pause. I’m really quiet because I already told your ass that you parting my damn hair feels like you’re pulling up loc’d hair and you pretty much ignored me. And because ain't nothing to be talking about... I'm reading!

I sink into my book and only partly absorb the words on the pages. My mind is actually wandering back to television. And I’m pissed! I think of every time a stylists has asked me if I wanted to order something from the Chinese takeout spot next door.

Every time I’ve passed the hours counting roaches.

Recalled the countless personal phone conversations I’ve overheard.

The sons and daughters who come in like it’s Take Your Crumbsnatcher to work day. Every day.

Every time I’ve walked out with a style I didn’t ask for.

The treks through town before arriving, looking for an ATM machine because I know they don’t take cards.

The times I've almost tripped on pulled up linoleum on the floor.

The times I've left smelling like hair spray and bbq ribs.

It could very well be that I just havent been to an upscale black establishment. This is true. I have a penchant for the hood since most of the places I've lived have been mostly blue collar towns. But damn, why do I feel real plantation about my experiences? Why do I feel like I've been accepting this nonsense as normal?

Why do I feel like the ngga who just learned to read and sees the world in a whole new way? This some ole bullshit!!

TV GUIDE: AN OPEN LETTER TO BARACK

Dear Senator,

Here's what I'ma need you to do.

Make a quick stop in Nashville. There BobbyBrown will great you with a cowboy hat and boots. Photo op at random local bbq joint.

From there you will meet up with six strangers. You will dip into the hot tub and triple kiss with two blonds. Gender breakdown optional. Mediate a fist fight, then run naked to your jet. FlavorFlav will be awaiting your arrival. You will receive a clock and a few dozen suitcases. HowieMandell couldnt make it, but he sent his donation to your campaign.

Next you will give a speech to 75,000 people. You'll be opening for ClayAiken. MarioLopez will introduce you.

Lastly, AccessHollywood will be at your crib, following your taping of Cribs. NeicyNash will be doing a special CleanHouse segment, right before your Young Voters Matter townhall meeting in your back yard, hosted by JustinBobby and Audrina.

I need you to move fast, Senator, because they havent announced it yet, but clearly these damn Republicans are FILMING A MUHFCUKING REALITY SHOW, starring Juno's mom. And if you don't hurry they will soon produce hit spinoffs into the emerging Double Standard genre.

~Management

PS...Guard your girl...

LOSERS' LOGIC

I’m bout sick of this shit.

This country was built on accepting an ‘L,’ shunning sore losership. These crackers made the “Indians” quit their pissing and moaning. Whupped field negro ass up and down the dirt road and dared them to sniffle. Put midgets in the circus and sicced the monkeys on them little muhfcukas if they had something to say.

So why, in the name of all that is americangangster,
are these ride or die ass Clinton supporters still mad?

Sore loser crying asses. SHUT THE FCUK UP!

You lost. You picked the wrong pony. If this was March Madness, you woulda put your money on all 12 seeds to win in the first round. You are Myanmar…you won like zero Olympic medals. You are the ’07-’08 Dolphins. The first muhfcukas kicked off Dancing with the Stars. You are the Confederate army. You are the Croissaandwich getting slumped by the Egg McMuffin circa ‘85. You are Kool Moe Dee/Canibus. Your shit is looking real WindowsVista right now. Real CBSEveningNews. You’re like fcuking MarciaClark and ChrisDarden. You are Columbus on his way to New Dehli with no compass. Your ass is the first single off of The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. Nell Carter’s thong is what you are. The whole lot of you.

Ya lost. LOSERS.

Quit your gotdam blubbering. Shut your ass up, neatly tuck away your Hillary08 placards and scrape the shit out of that tired ass bumper sticker. Careful not to scratch your paint.

Excuse yourselves briefly, don’t be rude and stay gone all day now. Wipe the snot from your upturned nose and write YES WE CAN 100 times in an email. Fire up the blackberry and start sending it. The same way you was fwd’ing that Rev. Wright viral shit.

Your crying ass LOST and no one has told you that there’s no crying in America.

So you carry on in public like a Dallas Mavericks fan. You sorry sacks of shit didn’t make it to the next round. GO fishing. You proclaim all proud and stalwart that you REFUSE to vote for the WINNER. Something like 37% of you?

You don’t know the WINNER well enough, you explain. He’s too new. He’s all talk. Too idealistic. He passes out way before 3 am, he doesnt have the hips for a pants suit and he’s not ready to start on day one. You’re just not sure about his platform.

And yet, you CAN read, yes? Oh ok just checking because the people who voted for the WINNER, we found a way to make out the exotic language posted on his website. It’s the New English and it’s terribly complicated.


[pause for a moment pls…
Dear Ma'am:

Is your quick weave ass on CNN CRYING????? And furthermore are you literally INCONSOLABLE as you’re being intvw’d by Suzanne.Malveaux saying, “You KNOW she’s presidential! Barack has 2 months to prove to me that he deserves my vote. I came here to cast my vote for Hillary.” Madam, if you don’t mind could you please read this post from the beginning. It is written especially for you. My gift to you, a consolation gift if you will. That’s what LOSERS get.
Disrepectfully,
Wise, a WINNER]

Now, let’s assume for a moment that aaaaaaall of the literature on Barack is written in Mandarin. And all of his speeches have been delivered in Wolof. And you only get hearing impaired Dutch TV news. Tough break. Ok but…100% of McCain’s verbiage is in the King’s Plain English. You KNOW for sure, like oprah, that his shit aint for you if you are any semblance of a intelligent human being Democrat. As Jonzee says, because of your shenanigans we bout to all be in the bread line shaking our heads.

I’m Jamaican (shout out to Lightening Bolt *slapping the wall*) so I’m a bit unfamiliar with this loserspeak. Someone please break it down for me…

Why are they acting like he won by a (HarveyDent) coin toss.

Why do they keep boasting she got 18 million votes?? That’s like saying, Kobe averaged 94 points in the playoffs. Ummm...did he also get traded to Boston in April?? Cuz them nggas was the ones in the parade.

Yall walking up in the convention like the rival high school and shit. You aint Danny Zucko, bitches. Sit down in the back and respect the home team. The WINNERS.

It’s been months and you got dumped. She’s Just Not Feeling You! Get over it.

Why don’t you slow learners ask for accommodations since your reading comprehension is on a 4th grade level. You no child left behind asses got the chance to get to know Barack just like everybody else did. What the hell you talking about you don’t know him or his policies?? Here’s a hint Special Ed, the joke of the primaries was kinda that they’re policies were really similar. So that’s like the cliff’s note for you, since you’ve already memorized Hillary’s shit, and I do mean feces cuz you are so far up her ass it’s embarrassing.

Lemme ask you this…Did u have to be convinced when Kerry won the nomination? When Bill beat Gore and ‘nem in ‘92? Cuz you KNOW you hadn’t heard of him before. His ’08 Convention speech tanked and you didn’t know how to locate Arkansas on a state map back then.

WHY??

Is it for the same reason that MichelleObama, a brilliant Ivy League professional and mother and wife needs an image “makeover?” Why that family needs to be framed and introduced to America?? And yet pill poppin, swindling Cindy McShort Arms [if the link doesnt work for some reason, go to nytimes.com and serach "For McCains, a Public Path but Private Wealth"] gets by unscathed??

Wipe your crocodile tears, pick up your dignity and kick rocks.

I’m so over you losers.

BAR.ACK STAR

Yeah, so I decided to go to the concert. And I elbowed my way onto the bandwagon.

So The Bama was in town last Monday, the day before he swept the Pot0mac primaries. Monday happened to be the dead of winter.

FUN WISE FACT... I do neither winter nor long lines. And as I walked up on the arena Monday afternoon, I encountered both. The long snaked around the building where rappers perform when they come to town. An arena. I literally couldnt see where it ended. Luckily my friend and I ran into a professor who let us step in line with him. And we still were out shivering for 20 minutes.

Once inside though it was the most amazing thing I've seen in a long time. First off, it was PACKED. Like, Jay-Z & Mary show packed. So I walk in and confirm that the concession stand is in fact not selling beer (losers), and climb up to the cheap seats. Even way up in nose bleed territory it was shoulder to shoulder.



Second, I don't think I've ever seen a crowd this diverse in a long time. Maybe ever. Not even at something as universal as a sporting event have I seen a crowd of so many different ages, races. Families with young kids. Elderly couples. Groups of black school kids wearing uniforms and book bags. Blue collar folks in their work uniforms. White baby boomers.



And folks were listening. And excited. Engaged.


And with that, I'm in. Because it would be a damn shame for him to gain this much momentum, gather this much anticipation and attention from people who have never given a shit about politics before, to lose. This aint no reality show where millions watch and vote and then don't buy the winner's shit [*cough* Taylor.Hicks *cough*] This is our country and our way of life. People who are engaged today will be engaged after he's in office. They won't stop watching CNN and reading the papers. We will all be watching to see how he does. We'll give time like we've been giving money to his campaign, to pitch in and help steer us back to some semblance of normalcy. Greatness even.

With that being said, and he's already got my vote, I'm still convinced that HC would be a more efficient leader overall. Why? I just do. I think she'd get more done in a shorter period of time. When I was a sophomore in high school some of my teammates voted me captain of the basketball team. I was appalled. I was the youngest, and there were seniors who had put in work for longer than I had even been on the team. They had earned it. Regardless that I may have been more galvanizing and well-liked, it wasnt my time (I did accept junior year). That's how I feel about this race.

But this isnt about efficiency. It's about hope and history. Plain and simple.

And in the end, the young gun is Varsity, and HC is JV.

SUPER STAR

It's like MJ is in town. Sold out concert. Last one ever.

You KNOW you should go.

But it's on the wrong side of town.

And the scalpers are ridiculous. You'd literally be spending your last dime.

But it's MJ, and you had a curl and glitter glove in '84.

And everywhere you go, everyone's talking about it. The excitement is intoxicating. Contagious.

But, despite the promise you're not so sure how he'll pull it off. He's never played this venue, and every night on the news you hear how rundown the joint is.

Do you go?

Or do you stay your ass at home, not risk getting shot, and pay your rent on time, instead?

That's how I feel about Rockamama, as my nephew calls him.

He's an absolute rock star. His momentum in the last week alone has been nothing short of spectacular. It's impossible not to get caught up.

Truth is, as I look at the issues for which both he and HC stand...I'm in agreement with the NY Times endorsement of HC. In my estimation, 'Mama presents bullet points of the issues. HC presents a detailed outline. In health care, for example, they both pretty much are offering a model of the types of plans available to members of Congress. Difference is tho, HC spells out how it will be funded, who will be eligible. Too often I'm seeing that 'Mama just spills on about how reprehensible it is for us not to all be covered and how we need to change.

But taking nothing away from the man, I'm probably on my way to the concert.

We have an opportunity that may never happen again in our lifetime...to try something new. Even if it doesn't work, if he fails miserably, if he lying like the rest of 'em, we'll know not to do that shit again.

But maybe it's worth a shot.

Might be the last one ever.

[But why I think if he wins the Dem nomination, 1 vote for Bara.ck is like 100 votes for whoever (white) is his opponent? *sigh*]

PPS...Does the news count as reality TV? Cuz I been all over this shit for weeks!

BETTER OFF A HOLIDAY

I just think we’re thinking about this all the wrong way. As usual.

I’m not saying he’s better off dead (per se), but I just think the legacy of M-L-K is much stronger than the man himself would have ever lived to be. AND we got a day off out of it. AND there are black commercials on TV. AND parades. AND black actors standing poised against black backdrops and King speech video loops, chin raised high amongst the clouds, espousing of our greatness as interpreted by the Black Jesus. Ngga, he SAVED us. He is worthy.

However, why do we always hear, “Dr. K. would have been 106 years old today.” It’s an absurd notion. It’s a sad shame that brother got popped out on a balcony by a sniper and shit. That a family was without a father and husband. That the negroes were left without a savior. And so young. And in his prime.

I think the man was remarkable, and I say that, for once, without the slightest hint of sarcasm.

I just think that his legacy today is far greater than his life would have been if he lived to be 106.

So explore with me if you will…What might have been, if he had not been murked...

1. Inevitably, he woulda did a Cadillac commercial. Without a doubt. And the African American Image purists woulda been LIVID.

2. American history would be robbed of the legacy of 1968. After King’s death over 100 cities across the country were literally on fire, from Watts to my town of BMore. That year is widely considered the most volatile ever. But let’s be real for a second. How many black folks CAME UP during the riots?? Looting and whatnot. This was more of a shot in the arm to Black American Economy than any Civil Rights policy EVER was. Dr. K would have wanted it that way.

3. He would have knocked up the white chick.

4. He would have run for President, I’m guessing around ’76. He would have lost miserably during the primaries to the man who would become the least significant President ever. What kinda moron are you if you lose to J. Carter?!

5. He would have done a horrible cameo on Diff’rent Strokes. It wouldn’t even be a 2-parter or a Very Special episode. Just some lame Peace in the Streets plea btwn Arnold and the Gooch.

6. He’d have gone through an afro phase. And Lord knows he didn’t have the forehead for it.

7. (If you were born after 1984 cover your ears) Remember back in the early 80s when award shows were super glamorous, and it was a big deal who the stars brought with them? Like when Michael Jackson brought the chimp that one time? Why do I have a feeling ML would have accompanied like Paul Simon and them African singers he be having with him. Then there’d be pressure to go on the Soul Train awards and shit… NAACP… Vibe…Source…Downhill.

8. His megachurch empire (cuz you know he’d have one), would be under scrutiny and uncover some demons ala Swaggert and Baker.

9. He’d refuse to take sides in the MJ vs. Prince debate and would lose credibility with black folks.

10. …But he’d be front and center in a protest against NWA & Eff the Police.

11. Hello! No January 3-day weekend. And we wouldn’t have my fav commercial of all time… “If you light a candle, for everything he’s done…”

12. He’d be a lock for a guest spot in the ‘Welcome to Atlanta’ video.

13. The gratuitous Puffy remix and subsequent Russell.Simmons power summit appearances.

14. Media showdowns with Farrakhan. No one EVER wins those.

15. Who would we name all those MLK Blvds in cities across the country after? Nipsey Russell Way just doesn’t have the same ring.

16. Oh Black Jesus! Not the MLK book tour, daily Peace & Equality text msgs, late night talk show on TBN, Fitness March dvd box set, Civil Rights action figures (all of this on the brink of personal bankruptcy, you see), nonviolent record label. I can’t.

17. An avid and loyal Atlanta Falcons fan, he’d throw Mike Vick under the proverbial (Montgomery) bus.

18. LBJ mighta pursued re-election, which mighta put Nixon’s presidency in question…and what on EARTH woul journalism students study if not Woodward and Bernstein?

19. There’d be no place for Al.Shaprton, and I sincerely HEART him! (If you’ve never heard his radio show, it’s fanTAStic! Comedy abound)

20. Punching the shit out of a white kid without repercussion after seeing Eyes on the Prize would be a hard sell.

*Bonus...Did you not HEAR me mention the 3-day holiday!! Hope yours was as amazing as mine. :)

[Hey Joy...I really did write this before I left, but my phone wouldnt let me post it. No "intense reprimand," pleeeeease. And Jameil, I totally appreciate your new passive-aggressive approach. Nice touch:)]

RIGHT TO BE WRONG

I could be wrong about this one...so y'all please let me know if I am. Lemme just talk my way through it...

Today, I used the word 'cracker' at least twice via text message. It's offensive. It's inappropriate. And most of all, I know better. Yet, if someone were to fwd said texts to the Deans of my school, let's say, should I be fired? (and never mind that I go to a black school, and that they might just chuckle and have a 'cracker' story of their own)

I regularly employ questionable language, judgment and content on this here blog. Imagine if a hater were to rat me out to a client, or an editor or some other check writer...are my offenses egregious enough to warrant a pay cut??

This is where I get tripped up. Because maybe my offenses really are as harmless as I think. But what if they're not??

What if for once I am NOT the one "with all the answers" (that are sometimes wrong)...and it's far above my head to understand just how bad my words might be?

Which really freaks me out because I fancy myself fairly balanced and decently educated and politically aware.

I am of the belief that people have the right to be racist. There's plenty wrong with it, but I don't see anything wrong with using a racial term when provoked. PRIVATELY. Where the problem lies is when you are racist and intimidate, discriminate or otherwise taunt or subjugate a person based on race. Where it's also a no no is if your racism is on display for public consumption, like via the (!mus) media.

The first time I heard about Bitch the B.Hunter's tape recorded rants about the son's black girl, my first thought was...well, IS she a trife nig? I might be wrong for that. Probably am.

But am I also wrong for thinking that a private nigtastic convo shouldnt end this guy's career? Particularly when you listen to the content and hear the context for him saying it. (He was basically telling the son that he couldnt work with him if the chick was gonna be around because they use the word ngga and he didnt want the chick to record it and sell it to the media).

I do know that I'm not wrong about the media having some nerve to keep trying folks in the court of public opinion. That shit is wrong. Wrong because the media have an unresolved history of failing to explore and understand race and racism with any type of critical analysis, nor responsibility. So to see Bitch on CNN tonight, to hear the tapes online, to see his face on every news program I watch, feels so hypocritical and wrong.

I might be wrong, but I know I wouldnt find it fair to be out of a paycheck for calling a cracker a cracker.

Our JENAration

I swear, I woulda been a Black.Panther back in the day.

Big, audacious ‘fro bouncing, swaying, trying to keep up as I march.

Not sure if I’da been gangsta enough to garnish a shotty, but I woulda for sure been the one with the camera, documenting the resistance.

I woulda had the pen out, blazing, writing out the Ten Point Plan. I woulda broke into whatever campus office and “xerox’d” some copies.

More recently, had I not been forbidden on the grounds of my gender, I woulda been among a million brothers (yeah, trying to get numbers and losing sight of the real cause from time to time, but, whatev). But that’s what it reminded me of this morning when I tuned in to CNN and saw a sea of black-clad Black folks descended on rural Louisiana. Whites, too. It reminded me of the Milli0n Man March and how badly I wanted to be there.

But this morning I got my BP on, and grabbed the mic in front of a dilapidated library still in use by my campus until the new one opens. Just a few blocks from where a 24 year old brother got gunned down at around noon on Monday. In front of a similar sea of black. My peers. The youngens I curse daily on my travels thru campus.

“I’m proud as hell to be a Morgan State grad student this morning, just like I’m proud as hell to be Black every day,” I announced.

If I was a Black Panther, I wouldn’t have been the fire breather. My words were measured, carefully chosen, deliberately spaced out and articulated. I tend to get more hype speaking to Sprint customer service.

I’m the Black Panther with the camera, more interested in turning the mic around to those with no voice. Those who need to shout.

This whole Jena thing reeks of 1957. And back then it was students who marched and organized and got things done. Students, who captured the world's attention. And in 2007 we’re in a position to organize and get things done. And yup, capture the world's attention.

“Now that the cameras are here, let’s have something to say. Look into these TV and still cameras that rarely come here, and instead of dancing and shuffling, open your mouth and say something that means something. And if God forbid, this city reaches 300 murders this year, if there are no financial aid reforms at this school, I better see you all right back here, rallying and shouting. And I better see the cameras back here then, too.”

Take a sec to look at some photos and video from Jena, Louisiana today.

Take a look at the movement, and get in where you fit in. You don’t have to be a Black Panther, just contribute like one.

*drops the mic and walks off*

Our Evolution...(un)Televised

[I've finally granted all requests for intvws in the comments of the last post. I havent been foloing up to see if yall all answered yet, but if you havent, get ta steppin! Anyone else wanna quiz me, speak now or... ~Management]
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"Black women are the mules of the world."
~ZNH

I’ve been inspired.

Nikki’s recent post about images of sistas on TV, resonates because of its truth. But there is, I believe, also a hidden truth behind the truth…

Fact is, yup, we’re still largely relegated to 3 familiar roles on TV…angry asexual, marriage-obsessed neurotic, and whore. A shame really, because our truth is that we all know Black women to be a diverse and varied soul. We know this because we know each other. We know our mothers and sisters and girlfriends and neighbors. Hell, we “know” our fellow blog sistas.

Problem is folks, that white people don’t know us, and it’s all our fault.

When’s the last time you took a co-worker up on an invitation for a few drinks after work? Or said yes, when the white couple across the street extends apple pie or hot dogs or whatever the hell else they be cooking over there and offering? Or that you actually indulged in a frivolous convo on the elevator, in line at Wa’Mart, or on the A train?

Hell naw. Why? Because “white people so damn nosy!” Always in your business. Always tryna see what you about. Which kind of Black girl you is.

But we steady don’t let em.

So that leaves white people to their own devices. They basically “know” 3 Black chicks besides you…Opr.ah, Bey.once and C0ndi. All us others are a mystery.

Interestingly enough, though I’m very cool with white folks, having grown up with some good ones, I noticed something recently. The only time I go to a predominantly white social spot is when I’m with one of my (Black) homeboys. Otherwise, if it’s me and the girls, we’re heading to somewhere where there’s some nggas.

While brothers are undoubtedly more nondiscriminatory than we are when it comes to sexual conquests, they are also much more open to white folks in general. They stand around and talk baseball with the white guy in Accounting. They don’t mind grabbing a bite with the white chicks from down the block. They accept an invite to the Blessed.Sacrement fellowship picnic.

They are just not as guarded as us. In fact, I believe brothers are more open because they want to be accepted. And I don’t mean in a pathetic-smelly-5th grader kind of way. I mean, it is important that they are seen as a whole person, not as an image. Not as angry or thuggish or violent or stupid (like my pet peeve dude who apologizes for his girl's "attitude" when some white authority treats to play her, instead of having her back when she's justified). They want white men to see that they can look them in the eye without averting, because they are men too, and ought to be treated as such.

Sistas on the other hand, as Zora said, are the mules of the world. We know this. We resent this. And we don’t give a fcuk about proving you wrong. That’s on you for thinking it. We expect that when we work hard we ought to be seen as whole and competent and intelligent and nuanced and complex and human. Just like any other woman. Problem is, we don’t care for the follow up. We don’t want you in our business bec we refuse to be exploited. We refuse to give you the satisfaction of thinking you know us.

So we get the Big 3 when it comes to TV, and film for that matter. Because of course, white folks are the ones behind the lenses and the scripts. They are the ones reflecting to us what we have or have not projected to them.

So while you got brothas like Omar.Epps and Gary.Dourdan. and Isaiah Wash (RIP Burke) and Dennis.Haysbert and Shamar.Moore and Harold.Perrineau and DL.Hughley getting the opportunity to play such complex, meaty roles on TV…sistas, not so much.

We get to play Joan and Miranda and Whoreen. Cuz that's what they know.

But to be sure, Asians fare far worse on TV, and I’m betting for very similar anti-social reasons. Even Latinos who are pleasantly becoming more visible, are often, as in the case of the Solises on DHouse.wives, little more than white characters with tans and accented surnames.

I actually love Miranda’s character on Grey’s. She’s vilified for being a typical Mammy, but dammit, have YOU EVER spent any extended periods of time with emotional, neurotic, hard headed, know it all, young, overly ambitious white kids? Well, it’s her job to baby sit them muhfcukas. A job I couldn’t see none of them other Mcdreamy/creamy/schmeemy bastards pulling off. You’d be pissed off too.

As for Joan, well, she’s written by a sista, and her obsession with finding a soul mate and her life’s work is woefully authentic. Very familiar to me, not unlike many sistas I know, or many of you bloggers I read, for that matter.

Was Carrie.Bradshaw of Sex.And.The.City similarly criticized? Naw. And that chick was all about snagging Big, Manolos and living beyond her means. Basically a paler Joan. The difference of course is that for every televised Carrie or McBeal or Mary.Tyler.Moore, there’s a televised Blanche, Roseanne or Alexis.Carrington. A variety. A balance.

I’m very proud of the Wanda.Sykes, the Khandi.Alexanders, Tonya.Pinkinses, Tia/Tamaras, Epathas, Dianne.Carrols, Tischina.Arnolds, Latonya.Jacksons, and Ryan.Bathes that do exist and that do add a splash of diversity to TV.

And Im very proud of the real life sistas who every now and again accept an invitation from nosy white folk.

CRAPPY ROOTS

By far the worst part of living in a new city is having to establish new relationships with people with whom you were quite comfortable in your old spot.

The absolute most gut-wrenching…who to let up in your hair.

Let me preface this by saying that I been a proud perm girl all my life. My hair hovers around my shoulders when I’ve had enough and “cut” it. I’m not tender headed in the least, but I’m also not one to fuss much with my hair. Low maintenance. Bump my ends and I’m straight. No weaves, scrunches, crunches, buns, never much elaborate art or architecture involved.

Nowadays, I look at pics from college and damn near weep. All that thick, shiny “glory” as my mom would call it. No matter if I was wrapped in a brown paper bag with matching brown booties, my hair was always in order. Edges obediently laying, ends clipped with precision.

Today my shit is like the before picture on an extreme make over show, and requires more attention than I prefer.

My ends are a mess, tho I try to clip them regularly.

I got stray greys sprouting from my middle part (which I actually think is kinda sexy and have no plan to dye).

Random sections of my hair are breaking without warning.

And my edges threaten to do “The Omari0n”.
I hate perms. Always have really, but lately the fire cream has been particularly insane. My scalp feels constantly tender. I’ve considered going natural before…but always went back to the comfort of the abusive relaxer relationship.

But last week I found myself at a crossroads as I walked into a new salon. A few weeks back I formed an expl0rat0ry c0mmittee to pursue going natural again. Maybe a cute nappy fro. Perhaps dreds (I apologize to those who find it offensive to call them anything but locs…but I’m Jamaican, and also not all that socially correct). The last time I was in Jamaica my brother told me to come with my shit grown out and he would "locs me". None of this loctician nonsense, he says. You let I and I decide how it should grow.

Not only am I not socially correct, but I’m not all that patient either…and I have a feeling I and I, and I might not see eye to eye. Needless to say, I’m a bit skeptical about going THAT natural.

So I haven’t decided whether I’m really ready to go the distance this time, but I do know I’m not succumbing to the perm just yet either. I’ll get some braids before I do that (which will require to get to know some Bawtuhmore Africans, unless I make a quick jet to my NYC Fast Fingers…”Hair braidin, Miss?”).

Since I been in BMore I been going to some Dominicans. In NY they’re literally across the street from my crib. And they’re $10 for a wash and doobie/blow dry (and my girl Lupe knows I don't do no hell-hot blow dryer). The ones here are not as fast or cheap, but they get the job done. No disrespect to them, but right now I need some direction with my glory and I need it in English.

So last week I walk into the new (black) spot and it’s cool. Not too packed. When I’m ushered to the chair (at the EXACT moment when Jud.ge Judy is bout to let this woman HAVE IT), I explain my hair issues again (we spoke on the phone earlier) and she’s receptive and nice. The salon is really spacious, so I’m not sitting on top of anyone. And yeah, the blond sista is a lil on the loud side, but she aint THAT ignorant. And aint nobody eating Chinese food up in there or nothing. I feel oddly comfortable.

Back in the day my hairdresser was a good friend of my parents. She gave me the best hook up ever when I got to middle school…she let me sweep the shop and clean up in exchange for free hairdos. Needless to say I was up in there every 6 weeks on the DOT, and this arrangement lasted thru high school.

Back then it was an all day affair of Jet magazines and Caribbean convo. Mostly really old ladies who loved that I always had a book in my hands.

So last week I lay back at the shampoo station and she does her thing, rolls me up as I requested and I retreat under the dryer, book in hand.

When I’m dry, I sit in the chair and I ask her if braids are the most healthy way to let my perm grow out. She’s baffled. Mind you, there’s a chick braiding hair just behind me. I explain to her that I know that braids are the most low maint. way of growing your hair out, but that I hear it can also eff with your hair, pull out your edges, etc.

Again, crickets.

“What do you plan to do when you grow it out?” she asks.

“I don’t know yet. Maybe rock a lil nappy fro. Dreds maybe. Im not really there yet, but I just know that I can’t keep putting these chemicals in it.”

And that’s that. No response. She works on in silence and I turn my attention to my text messages.

“How do you normally wear the front?”

I show her, and get lost in the episode of Fri.ends when Phoebe’s grandmother dies and she meets her Pops.

After a while I look up into the mirror to see what the hell is taking so long. Homegirl is literally playing in my hair. She’s baffled at what to do with it, if not burn it. The chick in front of me sat there for a good 45 minutes while the other stylist blow dried her, then flat ironed and pin curled her. I know enough to know that you not supposed to put direct heat on wet hair like that without some kind of spray or lotion or SOMETHING. And without my express destination being THAT, the stylist didn’t know what to do with me.

“It’s just so puffy,” she says of my new growth, and then combs me forward, apparently trying something new.

Am I naïve to believe that a black stylist ought to know something about black hair?

That if I have a question about breaking free from the bonds of burning and breakage, I need to go find a black power sista with a brush cut?

Frankly, you natural sistas tend to be a cultish clan. I’ve been to enough websites for natural hair (and let's not forget I go to a black school) to know that they don’t always take too kindly to a woman who simply enjoys the long straight look. Trust me, Queen Kinky, I’m not doing a Euro impersonation, nor do I “fear” my natural hair. I just like it long, like it healthy, like to not need to do much with it. And I just don't like the prospect of cutting it and "transitioning," yet I also no longer like relaxing it. And I like not to be judged for whatever the hell decision I make.

And I also happen to love playing in the nappy roots at the back of my head like recess, the rough wool a sharp contrast to my soft fingertips.

But guess what? Last time I had my shit cornrowed I discovered I got a smallish peanut head. So yeah, it’s just hair, and it can grow back, and God made us beautiful the way we are…but maybe, just maybe, im not ready to be Peanut Girl. And maybe, just maybe, I’m tired of said peanut being scorched and abused.

As with most things in my life, I’m somewhere in the middle, and I wanna be left there for a while.

Thank God I rock a mean Kang0l.

[You like how I acted like it hasnt been forever since my last post! Thanks for the emails checkin up on me and even for the ones downright demanding I stop slacking.]

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!

Locs Down

Well, this is in fact old news, but for some reason I can't shake the feeling it gives me. [nostalgia sometimes make me nauseous]

So this guy is a young journalist and he's doing a summer internship at Black Enterprise magazine. Before the internship he let them know he has locs and they say that's cool.

Then he gets to the job and starts getting shade that, from what I've read, is both subtle and overt. He is subsequently asked to go clean cut.

He says, No Prob, and now sports a cute brush cut.

No harm no foul, he was cool wit it, he keeps the job, all is well that ends well. And to be sure, I wish to foster neither a dialogue nor debate about whether he should or should not have cut it. That's his grown man prerogative, and he did what he had to do.

But still, the whole thing just feels, well...icky.

Before you attempt to half-pipe down my throat, I am well-versed in the corporate American culture. I get it. Well, I get that it exists, but it's the subtext that I'm not feeling. And particularly so from this particular company.

[And now for a personal anecdote from the vaults of Wise's private historiography]

My first job out of college was at a TV network in NYC. It was magical walking into that newsroom on my first day...well, night. I started off working on the overnight news programs. So it's just before my 9pm start time and I walk in, and...um, am I in the right place??? Why there so many, brothas...and sistas up in here?! I was under the impression (and experience) that I'd be one of a palm full at most.

It was like Soul Plane up in there. I was stunned. So when I was promoted to dayside, I realized just how isolating the overnight really is...namely that that's where they store the black folks for safe keeping...cuz dayside wasn't having them. FINALLY I was back to being a token. Whew!

Yet there's a twist... there are also a few tokens in key positions. Assignment editors and such. And to be sure, they are of the fiercely loyal variety. And they are also decidedly, and as I had come to expect, of the citrus complected variety. [No offense to my light skinnded contingency. I'm a chocolate sis, but got no issues in that regard...however, my bosses REALLY did. That's another hellish story for another day]

As usual, I digress...

So the thing about working overnights is that for all the free time that you have during the daylight hours, it doesn't really translate into free personal time. No meeting your friends for 1/2-off appetizer dinners in midtown, no scheduled TV time (I was dying! Barely had time to set the damn VCR to tape shit!)

No time to do my hair, even.

But I lived in Brooklyn, and I had a more convenient personal option. One day right after work I jumped on the BK-bound Q train, woke up in time to hop off at Dean St and heard music to my ears...

"Haaahh brrrraydee, Meez?"

[translation... "Hey sis, I can tell you out here hustling just like me...but your shit is tired. Come let the Africans hook you up wit some braids. We got bout 7 chicks ready to braid you all at once. You'll be done in an hour."]

Why, yes. Thank you.

So I'm on dayside now, and I got braids right, and I'm actually making it to work on time every morning bec there is no curling iron to contend with (sue me, I'm a perm girl). And I look real fly too, cuz the braids are the same length as my natural hair, and very well groomed and beautiful. Well worth the 7 hours in that God forsaken chair listening to the girls cuss me out in Wolof and broken French for not washing my hair beforehand.

So one day the exec producer of the evening news requests a sit down with me. We hit it off immediately. He's a very tough, very fair man, who called me a "Pistol"...which I surmised was Baby Boomer white-speak for what today's corporate climbing black girl would be called "sassy" or "energetic." He liked me.

When word got back to one of the Light Bright Assignment Editors about our meeting, she dismissed it as the boss just "needing to figure out the girl with the braids."

I was stunned. Clearly she was hating...she had never made any effort to be supportive, accessible or even cordial to me or any of the other 'Of Colors' there. She may as well have been grey.

But clearly, there was also probably some truth to it. She had been there a while. I'm sure she'd seen many like me come and go. And obviously she played the game well enough to climb to where she sat comfortably (or so she thought. She got reassigned shortly thereafter).

I pondered what that meant. Was it possible for my hair to eclipse my performance? Was that all they saw ...my impossibly sharp parts brandishing my impossibly clean scalp, and not my consistently improving output and work ethic? I didn't put it past them. That's what they're taught...myopic, asinine manners of categorizing and judging black folks. Hell these were the same people who hired only gay black men, in an effort I imagine, to keep the fast tail black girls still.

I expected that from them.

I expect something different from Black Enterprise, but should I?

What the articles don't point out is that this young man, who I've met on several occasions, is an officer in the organization that reps his fellow black journos. His behavior and reputation is intrinsically linked to that position. He's also from Atlanta, so had he been sent packing that woulda been tough I'm sure on his housing, his summer dough, not to mention school credit perhaps.

I think those things are relevant to note, but at the end of the day he valued the job more than the aesthetic. [I could see if his shit was a mess, but damn!]

He chose his battles closely.

But should BE even have put up the dukes under these pretenses? I think THAT'S what's bugging me. Should a young man, an INTERN no less, be forced to make this decision? Is it fair to assume that an internship is fertile ground for growth and understanding what you do and don't want out of a career?

And while BE appears to side with Hampton Univ, which also bans its Business School students from wearing locs...in an attempt to align more closely with the "realities" of Corporate America...is it actually perpetuating the same short-sighted culture blockers as the white boys?? (And why is a messy perm with ends doing a full split, and new growth piled high to heaven ok on the job???)

I dunno. It's complex. There are lots of black pros who wear locs and are accepted as such with no problems.

Then there are others who insist that you shouldn't give white people a reason not to hire you. To me, if that's the *reason* then for all I know the reason I got hired could be nothing more than a free pass for the boss to jack off to the sight of my azz swaying daily.

I tend to agree with Susan Taylor and Essence who suggest perhaps bringing in image consultants to our black biz schools and train on personal grooming. Lawd knows, us perm girls could use the help, too.

Bottom line...as a subscriber to Black Enterprise, I'm a bit disappointed. I mean, I think it's bizarre...a black publication forces a kid make that kind of decision and all, but he's an adult. He doesn't need a pat on the back for choosing to stay on the books. [hmmm, can you collect unemployment if you get fired from a paid internship??]

But as I open up this month's issue as I do every month, I believe I have found the true root of my unease with this whole thing...

HAVE YOU SEEN THE HAIR ON EAR.L GRAVES, SR. (BE Publisher) ??? [tried to post it but blogger be trippin]

YO, in the July issue my man has on a ski helmet and his super-burly side burns are clamoring for attention even underneath the ear straps! Good Lawd!

THIS muhfucka has the audacity to tell somebody about grooming?? GTFOH!

And before you say, "Mr. Graves has earned his right to wear his face fur in any manner that he sees fit. He has sustained a respectable career and is a pioneer in this industry"...

I don't give a good gotdam. He has sustained a respectable career and is a pioneer in this industry, and he has been a black man even longer than that...he oughta know better!

Perhaps he just likes to remind his staffers they always have a long way to grow before they reach his "status."

Reading Fundamental Trash

When work and blogworld collide...you get a blog entry that's recycled from a recent assignment...


I’m elated that my 16 year old nephew is enthusiastic about reading…but less so when I see that the tome holding his attention is entitled Booty Call.

As a Literary Publicist working in the industry during this current African American book boom, I know all too well that urban fiction is dominating the sales at black bookstores nationwide. While I do believe there is a place for these run and gun tales of drugs, murders, and bling, I don’t believe the place is in the hands of impressionable young people.

Last week at the 2006 Book Expo America – the annual prom of the book-publishing world, this year held in Washington, DC – everyone came dressed to impress. BEA features literally miles of book exhibitors, from small to conglomerate publishing houses, to distributors and media. It is a top-notch affair with all the biggest names present.

So imagine my surprise, and sheer horror of coming face to face with the book that appears to be the crème de la crème of one of the premiere indie urban publishers: WHORE (Triple Crown Publishing, 2006).

The cover features a back shot of a well-built, brown skinned, well, umm… young lady, cloaked in a barely- there, tight, white ensemble, getting into a luxury sedan.

This image, juxtaposed against the surrounding pristine logos of storied and well-respected trademarks like Scholastic and Knopf, was disappointing to say the least. It felt somehow a representation of me, a young, African American reader.

A representation that will soon hit bookstores nationwide, and land perhaps in the hands of thousands of young people with no discernable skills to recognize this as disturbing and inappropriate.

According to the Target Market News, African American consumers spend an annual $325 million on books. First hand accounts from long-time booksellers like Carvelas Sellers in Washington, DC, report that readers are indeed getting younger as the titles and subjects become more risqué and explicit.

Then there are the authors of such titles, who defend their urban genre, sometimes erroneously referred to as “hip hop fiction,” saying that at least they are enhancing literacy among non-traditional, often young readers. “As long as they’re reading,” is the justification.

There must be a better way. J.K. Rowling seems to have found one. But where is our Harry Potter? Is it truly tucked between covers that resemble soft porn? I hope not.

Not only is the content of urban fiction largely inappropriate for young readers, it can also be problematic of readers of any age. Much of it is self-published, and sadly self-edited. So what my nephew and his peers are really exposed to is grammar, syntax and errant punctuation that are as sub-par as some of this country’s failing public schools. They are reading dramatic stories with construction and execution that merits no assessment of standard English or literature for that matter. Reading helps develop critical thinking skills as well as vocabulary. But how is it furthering a young person’s education by having street slang, and underworld politics reinforced via these texts? It is not.

Not all, but some. And if the sales figures are accurate, that “some” is more than enough to further rot the developing minds of students who are feeding on literary junk food, instead of being nourished with more age appropriate work.

It’s great that people are writing, and wonderful to see us reading. But let’s not fool ourselves; young readers of this genre are getting pimped.

Color Blind

See this is what I'm talking about.

Clear the aisles for another clearance sale, folks. I'm not sure yet who's to blame, but we got a problem.

So I'm in the suburbs the other day, down at the Walmart. I'm in the negro hair care aisle, perusing the bright ethnic packaging in search of a pre-emptive strike against the summer frizzies, when I notice I have guests.

It's White Mom and Hot Mess Mixed Daughter. Mom's telling HMMD that she needs something for her hair. Shampoo I guess. HMMD is beside me, looking aimlessly at the vast rainbow of Just For Me products.

White Mom: "That's the one you got last time, honey."

HMMD: ::whining something I can't quite make out::

I'm the type that in public, instead of staring, unless you speak to me I pretend you're not there, because that's the golden rule. But I couldn't resist.

Oh.My.Lawd. The child's HEAD! I gasp inside. Ok, like, you know back in the day when you cut your baby doll's hair and left it with what stylists today call "layers"? Well, HMMD is beyond that. She has a untamed upsweep...a hurricane of a ponytail that appears to have been dropped like Rikers mess hall slop onto a prison tray, ie...the side/top of her head. Straightish stray hairs stretch from said pony, splayed like whore's legs, all across her head. I know there's a rubber band or thin scrunchy buried in there somewhere.

She was a few hours out of the pool, I'm certain of it...just like her wash-and-go white mommy at her age... who would go from diving board to driving home, without a care in the hair care world.
Oh I peeped White Mom's steez too...mid-late 30s, antsy, homely, battling the bulge, auburn haired, smart aleck-know it all, who now, 8 years later wishes she had listened when her parents warned her hot azz about spreading her legs for that colored boy Leon. But White Mom's healing and dating again, and enjoys dropping off her daughter as her Nana's.

Because had the girl's father been around... had he not threatened to kill White Mom if she ever brought the girl around his mother, then poor HMMD would not have been in public looking this way. Black Paternal Big Momma woulda slapped some plaits on the brat and whupped her HMM azz for cutting 'Rachel from Friends' bangs. And mind you, we're not talking Marriah Carey texture here...shorty has India Arie hair.

The entire time I'm standing there I consciously check my body language...unfold my arms from my chest, and replace my 'shut the fcuk up $7 for some gel' scowl with a sunny disposition... a smile even. Couldnt get more non-threatening than me. And yet, White Mom does not acknowledge me.

So White Mom leaves HMMD in the aisle to select her grease or shampoo or whatever. I see her looking bewildered, as if she has never in her life seen a little black girl on a bottle...and God forbid that she could in any way identify with little bottle black girl . So I make my move.

Sweet Sistagirl Wise: "You looking for shampoo, sweetie?"

I felt so proud of myself for conveying such a genuine attempt and intent to rescue and serve. I was really touched by this moment, one I knew she wouldnt soon forget...two generations of black women from different walks of life, bound by a common goal... shopping for grease in the discount retail evil empire. I leaned in, hoping to ease her distress, lending a knowing smile, and a helping hand. Maybe even an eager ear if necessary.

And with that, the lil heffa ran off.

I mean, like Flo Jo, arms pumping, feet in a flurry...out of ethnic hair care aisle.

And with that, I grabbed my Motions leave-in and bounced.

Now before you jump down my throat with personal stories of strong white mothers of strong black daughters, I know plenty of them myself.

Before you say maybe she was rightfully taught not to talk to strangers, hear me when I say she ran like she saw Beloved standing in that aisle.

But if you want to know why Darnell and Becky pushing a stroller into The Children's Place sometimes gives me pause...Scared Shitless Hot Mess Mixed Daughter in Walmart is why.

Speak Brothas, Speak

No one knows Black men better than Black women…or so we’d like to think. But this sista will be intently following the yearlong study by the Washington Post, which began today, about what it means to be a Black Man in America today.

I was one of about ten pretty little, cornrowed black girls in my Kindergarten class of about 25. And you couldn’t tell me nothing. I came in knowing my ABCs, had a mean left hook, and home training enough to know when using it was appropriate.

What I didn’t know then was that statistically, if you grabbed a pen and my class photo, you could cross off about four of us bright eyed, pony tailed princesses. Only the six remaining would ever marry.

Or that so many of my male counterparts would face a rigorous and unparalleled societal obstacle course to the path of success. A road too often making pit stops at prisons and morgues.

But as professional urban women we sure know it now. We have loved, been heartbroken by, mentored and befriended the brothers featured in the first installment by the Post. We are related by blood and experience, walked graduation stages beside them, and even grabbed our designer handbags when they pass us on the street.

As well as we know our brothers, as many of us are raising them, we will never know what it is, really like to be these brothers. It’s time for Black men to have a voice. That is why this sista is all ears.

Shut up Negro, Shut Up!

"I've been involved in three projects pitched to (Oprah), but I've never been asked to participate," the 36-year-old told the magazine in its July issue. "For Barbershop she had Cedric the Entertainer and Eve on, but I wasn't invited. Maybe (Oprah)'s got a problem with hip-hop. "

~Ice Cube...[another legend shitting himself at the prospect of releasing (another) album ("Laugh Now, Cry Later") the same week as some superstar too young to know he was ever a rapper.]

So what's Eve, jackazz...a lil bit country??

Akeelah and the Hustle

You know how anytime a Black movie comes out you hear accounts from across the country about ticket buyers getting home and realizing that they got played at the box office and actually got ticketed and paid for a white movie?

Would it be amoral to suggest that when you go out this weekend to check out Mission Impossible 3, that you actually purchase a ticket for Akeelah and the Bee?

I'm just sayin.

Dick is a Rider!

Holy shit! Dick Cheney is the GULLIEST VP since, like, Aaron Burr. That muhfucka is in the wrong field. Put his old azz on the front lines...or in the hood at least.