After evaluating your performance in the past year, I regret to inform you that your services will no longer be required. Your inability to complete rudimentary tasks without the assistance of the team (of which you are the only member) is a glaring indicator of your dedication or lack thereof. You have consistently fallen short in multiple key performance initiatives (KPI’s) including but not limited to:
·Inability to work well with utility companies (review provided by Coned, Key Span, LIPA)
·Inability to complete time sensitive laundry deliverables as was demonstrated by your display of ankle socks in 19-degree weather.
·Failure to meet all unrealistic expectations at all times and from all people.
·Consistent violation of our firm’s privacy compliance regulatory mandate TMI-MYOB Sub Code 411 et al. (review provided by Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr).
·Staunch violation of Alcohol to Water Intake policies set forth by the department of Health, FDA, Surgeon General, and in direct conflict with the Laws of New York State, physics and nature.
Several years ago, you made a declaration to the firm projecting market share would far exceed estimates and expectations. In addition, you publicly decreed that we were slated to become leaders in industry. Today, as we stand in our non existent cul de sac, admiring our brand new, V-12, fuel injected nothing with transparent colored upholstery, it is clear that your commitment to our goals are inconsistent with your actions. It is for these reasons that we have decided to terminate your contract.
We wish you all the best in the future but if precedent is any indicator, you will surely be homeless and destitute at the conclusion of this letter.
Regards,
Juan N. Dasame
Myself LLC.
Sidebar* Would you hire yourself to manage your life given the job you’ve done thus far? Well you don’t have a choice so get to quality assuring! Happy New Year!! Sidebar Complete*
October is breast cancer awareness month, as was clearly made evident by the pinkification of all things around us. For the sake of awareness, the manliest of men graced the streets with pink paraphernalia in a show of solidarity to the millions of women who either suffer from this affliction or have lost their lives as a direct cause. Not one soul batted an eyelash at NFL line men delivering bone crushing, “I ain’t never scared” hits in a stylish pair of pink cleats with matching mittens And rightfully so. Social taboos should be cast aside in an effort to highlight matters relevant to the diaspora. So as much as it pains me to reference the vagina in any manner other than my typical pubescent school boy banter, I will go against my norm in an effort to highlight another affliction that disproportionately affects African American women; Uterine fibroids.
So a few years back, one of my close friends had been hospitalized due to uterine fibroids.The details of this experience involved rapid weight loss, surgeries, loss of blood, medication and multiple unpleasant events of the like. I, being the need to know it all that I am, naively asked: “What’s Uterine Fibroids?” I’m sure I passed out several times in my head as she described it to me but managed to maintain some form of acceptable male decorum. It wasn’t so much the “what” it was as it was the “where” it was that had me wanting to leave where I was at. All in all, It was comforting to know that she was on the road to recovery and felt much better. What I wasn’t aware of was that I would be hearing that exact same story from three to four other women in the next few years. What in the world was going on?
So what exactly are uterine fibroids and why is it so frequent in African American women? From what I gather, Uterine fibroids are typically benign tumors that grow on the uterus. It is treatable but in worst case scenarios can result in a hysterectomy and is most often the leading cause. Age plays a significant role in that fibroids are more likely to occur in women during their middle and later reproductive years. A ha! Since most or my peers were reaching their middle and later reproductive years, that explained the multiple occurrences but not so much the racial disparity. So what exactly was going on in black women that caused fibroids to be more prevalent? Somehow I think fried chicken is behind this.
The more I heard of fibroids, the more unconfirmed rumors surfaced. Hormones used in the growing of foods were said to be the cause. Chicken had a turn at primary suspect. Just being an African American woman was also sent up to bat as a root source. After some time, I couldn’t tell what was fact from farce. The only thing I knew for sure was that every time I said the word fibroid in a room, someone (or 3) had a story about themselves or a family member that had endured that ordeal. So how come it was so frequent but equally undisclosed?
Rather than speculate on a subject of which I have very little knowledge, It would be prudent to defer to those who actually do have an expertise through research and personal experience.
The Fibroids Project (www.fibroidsproject.com) was created by Renee Brown in an effort to centralize the information, treatment and research associated with uterine fibroids as well as provide support for those who require it. Given the frequency of fibroids, that information, research and support pertains to about 80% of women. It would also behoove the 80% percent of men who are either with these women or related to be informed. In a few years when our collective prostates are under duress, we all know it will be women who will be there to support us as they always have so why not pay it forward now?
Don’t you hate it when you are attempting to cross the street and some butthole driver is valet parked in the crosswalk? Clearly, he/she has overshot the red light. As a result, you are forced halfway into oncoming traffic, all the while praying to Jesus that your tender kneecap doesn’t get clipped by an oncoming Kia Sport. As you menacingly eyeball the driver of said vehicle (with your peripherals firmly affixed on the oncoming Kia), you curse everything the driver stands for and hope that they run out of gas on I-95… at night… in the middle of winter...in a Kia Sport. You are after all justified in your displeasure as YOU HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY. Don’t you hate it when you are sitting at a red light and after the light turns green, some slow schmuck still crossing the street doesn’t even pretend to scamper across but gingerly strolls as if he/she were plucking petunias in the park on a Sunday afternoon? The nerve of this arrogant bung hole! As the thought crosses your mind; “If dying weren’t permanent, I swear I would run your monkey ass over twice then drive away blasting Lady Gaga”, you sedate your inner sociopath and angrily await the crossing of said discourteous pedestrian. You are after all justified in your displeasure as YOU HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY.
At some point, most have occupied the role of both pedestrian and driver in the aforementioned scenarios, with little to no regard for the antagonist. The rational that disallowed for empathy in those instances, and ultimately brought about frustration, were the entitlements assigned to the titles of “pedestrian” and “driver”. Once you embrace a title, you are bound to a set of “inalienable” rights and restrictions. These labels are not determinants for any definitive outcome however. Pedestrians get hit everyday and road rage occurs frequently enough to be given it’s own term so titles should really be taken with a grain of salt. But why take my word for it? Feel free to ask any gainfully unemployed “college grad”, unhappily never married “beautiful” woman or fabulously unwealthy “hard worker”.
So why do we place so much emphasis on titles? We quit gainfully employed careers if we haven’t received the title we feel has been earned, even if the compensation meets our needs. Most often, one has to demonstrate the skill sets applicable prior to obtaining said position so technically, you are already a “insert title here”. You just haven’t gotten the subjective say so from the powers that be.
Some folk will end long-term relationships in which one could very well be happily shackled if said title isn’t eventually suited for suits. That title however can just as easily go from boyfriend/girlfriend to married, unhappily married, or single so be cautious as to the ultimatums you set forth when title searching. When you find the perfect companion (no one) and the career that satiates your every desire (doesn’t exist), you won’t care if you are officially titled the Single Sh*t Shoveler so is the issue truly the title or an insatiable sensation that you are somehow deserving of more?
There are instances when the presumed skills associated with a title are necessary, particularly when lives are at stake. For the sake of law and order, I would appreciate anyone with the title of “Police Officer” to have police officer skills, or at the very least, nun chuck skills. However, as we have witnessed multiple police officers drunk with power to the extent that they violate the laws they are sworn to uphold (like running red lights at the very least), it becomes ever clear that titles can be quite damaging, especially when one embraces these titles then sets forth to either fulfill, dispel or abuse the entitelments.
Labels represents not just a title, but more importantly, the values, most often societal imposed, associated with said nomenclature. The acceptance that comes with a sought after title is unparalleled. Introducing your millionaire banker beau to your friends evokes a much more appealing response than your broke bartender boo. When the banker is Bernie Madoff however, then title becomes convoluted and the subsequent values need to be reevaluated. Values that already constantly evolve contingent on the agreed upon deeds that led to the title. Values that already constantly evolve contingent on popular consensus. Values that already constantly evolve contingent on the ruling class. As some things are better left unsaid, maybe some things are better left untitled.
I think I was about 15 years old when I received my first and most important “man law”. There was a party being thrown by a classmate of mine and due to my academic shortcomings, I was told that I need not prepare an Oscar outfit for I would not be in attendance. I wasn’t aware at that point that even if I were a straight A student, I probably still wouldn't have been allowed to attend but I had managed to arm my folks with the gift of bad grades as grounds for their latch key aspirations. So as I began to cry like a punk biotch, my dad sternly instructed me that “Men don’t cry!” Ok. Fair enough. I’ll suck the snot back up. What Pops failed to do however was to alert me as to what alternative and acceptable means of emoting was officially sanctioned by the male code of ethics.
Men, and especially African American/Latino men are emotionally crippled. Since we are disproportionately afflicted by all other societal ailments, yadayadayada,,,Not sure where it originates but social conditioning and fictitious male archetypes tend to dictate acceptable means of emoting. We look to the toughest of tough guys for emotional guidance,both on the block and in our blockbusters. The best part of every action movie is when our hero fights through some sort of unimaginable emotional (“you killed my father!”) and physical injury. Nothing says MAN” like dispensing of an adversary while a 30-inch blade dangles from the puncture wound in your upper chest. I don’t know about you but if you shove a blade through my sternum, you can label me whatever size vagina you like as I am most certainly hitting the floor while yelping like a new born calf as I clutch my chest and question the universe a la Nancy Kerrigan (“Why? Why?”).
Unfortunately, society also champions gratuitous bravado in reality. Even after long and illustrious careers (6-7 years) professional athletes barely allow themselves to cry upon retirement. Said sports hero must suck it up, pause, forgive himself for having emotions, pause again, hold their hat, shirt or clipboard in front of their face, then preface his crying with the statement, “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry”. It is no secret that men are not supposed to exude any sort of emotion that is not marred in seriousness. A little humor is ok but not too much. Unless your last name ends in Pryor, Murphy or Rock, no one appreciates all that mirth and glee.
Even our true masters (women) prefer the strong silent type. Unbeknownst to them, women are ultimately requesting the strong serial killer type but who am I to question preference?
For the record, men are allowed to cry when A) An extremely close relative dies & B) An extremely close relative dies. And even then, no facial expression must be shown. A stiff upper lip with an occasional tear begrudgingly streaming down a man's cheek is enough to alert the world that he is dying inside. After the funeral however, he is on his own. I am no way calling for a nation of blubbering brothers but the alternative seems to be an inability to deal with common, everyday stresses, and it is killing us.
When you don’t present someone with healthy emotional options, they will find new and imaginative ways of dealing. Most internalize or resort to Jack Daniels and Mary Jane abuse but some will surly resort to extreme forms of "Man crying" a.k.a punching holes in walls, throwing things and eventually, throwing people. Stress induced heart attacks and the prison industrial complex are the end destinations for many emotionally maladjusted males. Too many are hell bent on keeping it real, not realizing that their version of reality bites. We all know what happens when keeping it real goes wrong so It’s way beyond time we figured out how to deal. Real talk.
*Sidebar- Acknowledging that most stresses are self-inflicted is Advanced Emotion 102 so let’s just stick with the basics for now. Sidebar complete
Man to English Dictionary: What he says vs. what he really means:
"I need to go to the gym” – "I need to get some of this aggression out before I kill somebody."
"I'm going out with the fellas." - "I need to tell someone who I almost killed this week."
Silence. – “I’m about to kill somebody"
“Leave me alone.”- “I’m about to kill you”
"Nah, I’m good.” – "I already killed somebody.. Sell my stuff and tell the kids I love ‘em."
Slavery often gets a bum rap. We are all aware of the inhumane practices, reckless murders, degradation of self-esteem, destruction of the African American family structure for generations, yada yada yada, so forth and so on. But once you get over that (and you have to), you also have to consider and accept that there had to have been some positive, latent benefits to forced, race based, 168-hour workweeks. It must have been so much easier to pick up a spot up shooter from the house for your three on three b-ball games, or forge a quartet from the fields to work out all your harmonies, arrangements and progressions as an aspiring song writer (“Why I always gots to sing baritone massa? I sangs da' baritone last time.”) “Wade in the Water”, along with several other Negro top forty spirituals were all borne during that period and have stood the test of time so it is quite evident that hardships brought about the best in artists (and no, we can’t force rappers into slavery for some better lyrical content . . . but what if . . . NAH . . . not even a little slavery . . . NOT GONNA HAPPEN . . . how about if they mirror the Army Reserves where they are only slaves on the weekends, once a month . . . I SAID NO!)
Slavery was one of the greatest historical examples of integration I can think of. Dr. Dre and Eminem aside , slavery allowed the White Man and the Black Man to harness each other’s natural abilities and work in tandem. Many milestones and accomplishments were spurned by these close-knit working relationships, forged between master & servant, and across multiple fields of expertise. Strides were made in arenas such as:
• Culinary Arts - Lil’ Niecy’s Smoked Chipotle Chitterlings Recipe was one of many dishes birthed from slavery. It never really took off but her Uncle & Aunt (Ben and Jemima respectively) had tremendous successes with their product lines. • Sports - The Cross Country / Long Distance / Escaping / Running /Hurdling /Wading / 2000 IM / Marksmanship /Decathlon was the first fully integrated sport that put the strength, will, and endurance of both races to the mettle. Something tells me Kenyan’s were in New York City sipping on Coolata’s way before Harriet Tubman ever contemplated crossing state lines, pre emancipation. • Sports Part Deux – Equestrian memberships were at an all time high whilst in the pursuit of said Coolata capturing Kenyan’s ("I am very happy to be here ".) • Entertainment / The Advent of the “N” Word - Without slavery, the social significance of C.W.A (Coloreds With an Attitude) would not have resonated throughout America’s streets and brought light to the plight of urban youth. “Colored Please!” See? It’s just not the same. • The Economy - That was the whole point of slavery in the first place. • Nation Building – Like America for instance.
Let us also pay homage to those brazen individuals who transcended racial barriers and became shining examples of the wonders and benefits of integration:
1. Woody Harrelson / Wesley Snipes 2. Larry Bird / Magic Johnson 3. Gene Wilder / Richard Pryor 4. Mel Gibson / Danny Glover 5. Michael Jackson / Michael Jackson 6. Eminem / Dr. Dre 7. The Police / The Killers (both rock bands are heavily influenced by rhythm and blues, as is all rock music. What did you think I meant you racist? 8. The Label / The Artist 9. Corporate America / The Mailroom 10. The Cookie / The Cream
And what of all the mixed couples, both past and present, imagined and real:
1. Seal / Heidi Klum 2. Halle Berry / Tommy Lee Jones 3. Bill Maher / Superhead 4. Ted Danson / Whoopi Goldberg 5. Bill / Hilary Clinton 6. Obama Daddy / Obama Momma 7. Nick Cannon / Mariah Carrey (this is the first time it is visibly evident that she’s got a little black in her. I keeed I keeed.) 8. Prince / Every hot white woman you could ever imagine (and two you can’t.) 9. The entire cast of Interracial Babes Volumes 1 through 15 (good work guys.) 10. Big “Blond Dizzy” Bird / Mr. “All the Ladies Call Me Chocolate Long Trunk” Snufflelufugus
As we, the offspring of prior generations, both black and white, old and young, shaken (by the remnants of racism) and stirred (by the possibility of change), who will never have to endure nearly as much hardships as our ancestors, go forth into the new millennia (insert graduation commencement address here), I verily yay say on to thee, gaze not into the hard stares of adversity that arise in your lives with fear and apprehension, but rather, as opportunities to turn lemons into lemon flavored Kool-Aid, cotton into fresh White Tees, and the “N “word into the IN word. And for the racist remaining, I have two words for you; As my mentor Peter Griffin once said, “COME ON”. Can’t we all just get along? Besides, your son knows every single word to Rick Ross’s new single and he thinks Lauren London is hot (and rightfully so.) So you betta' break yo’ self sucka because in addition to being the grand wizard of the KKK, you could also soon be the new granddaddy of the next Grandmaster Flash. Aint life Grand?
Sidebar; The Los Angeles Police Department would like to extend a belated and heart felt thank you to Rodney King for his assistance in the testing and implementation of the New and Improved Ass Flog brand Billy Club / Behavioral Correction Mechanism. “How many hits does to take to get to the center of a Black man? The world may never know.” Sidebar Complete.
I got an email about a month ago from a guy in Holland stating that he really enjoyed my 99 Problems remix on You Tube (I’m up to 215 thousand views so I’m having a one-fifth platinum party). He enjoyed it so much so that he requested I send him the instrumental track. After feeling myself extensively (not in that way, at least not today), I was immediately suspicious. I asked if he was an aspiring rapper to which he replied yes, which made me twice as nervous. Now most producers and aspiring producers have always struggled with disbursement of their materials without compensation. Not only is it subject to plagiarism, the whole point of trying to produce music professionally is to get paid. At some point, you grow weary of all the pro bono work vying for your attention and respectfully request that someone (anyone) “CUT THE CHECK!! Everybody ALWAYS wants something for free and you can immediately discern who is serious about their craft from who is just having fun / trying to get over by a) compensation b) payment for services rendered and c) CUTTING THE RA$$CLOT CHECK!!
Back to Holland. Does it make sense to distribute your music to every Tom, Dick and Sven that makes a request visa vie You tube? How do I know MC Pedophile isn’t going to put my songs on repeat and play them audibly as he is captured, then subdued on Dateline NBC with Chris “Tough Actin’ ” Hansen? Certainly any press is good press but I do not wish to be on any potential pervert’s play list, lest I be blamed for his actions, circa Marilyn Manson and Columbine (and why is it always the first time these sickos have ever done something like this?) In addition, Hanz Da’ God Emcee could very well (but not likely) be the Swedish version of Diddy and here I am providing masters for his Dutch, multi million Daalder empire (did someone say Dutchmaster?) Given the amount of culture vultures, swagger jackers, and coincidental incidentals in and around the music industry, one should be extremely cautious as to who is privy to one’s club bangers and street anthems. Based on all the reasons listed on why not to send the track, I converted the instrumental from AIFF to MP3 format and sent it immediately (you should’ve seen that coming).
In order for me to even be presented with this quandary, I had to remix the track and video in the first place. And to do that, I borrowed the Tears for Fears album I sampled from my brother. I also distinctly remember not asking Jay Z for permission to use his lyrics, making the track with my mom’s electricity, mixing with my boy’s recommended engineer, downloading the original video from Limewire, we won’t talk about how I acquired the video editing software (I am the Jack Sparrow of the internet), then uploading the finished product to Youtube. Now after taking from every possible source available to me, I had the cahones to be apprehensive of someone asking to use “my” intellectual property. There truly is no honor amongst musicians. Further to that, everything I have ever achieved musically has not been on my own. To be honest, once your parents gave you life, you are terminally indebted to someone else for a majority of your accomplishments. This is why parents are always third on everyone’s Grammy acceptance speech, right after Clive Davis and God, and in that order.
The next time you are doing whatever it is that you do, and someone pays you a compliment, before you claim full ownership for your achievements and your gradually inflating head causes your body to tilt, then eventually collapse under your ego's weight, stop and think for a second. Should you be excited or humbled by the proficiencies achieved in your profession (achieved by learning from someone else), aesthetics inherited from your parent’s genetics (you really did get it from your momma), the fashion sense you obtained from watching music videos, the alleged intelligence you committed to memory from someone else's sources (print, spoken or visual), then regurgitated, your brand of wit, eerily similar to George Carlin sharing a one bedroom apartment with Dave Chappelle and Andy Rooney, or your riches, whose value is collectively determined by everything from the Trust you have in God to the literal price of tea in China. I say all that to say; Get Over Yourself!
Sidebar; A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to witness Dr. Cornell “Fredrick Douglas Incarnate” West and Dr. Michael Eric “Hippa to the Hoppa and You Just Don’t Stoppa” Dyson engage in a spirited debate about hip hop and it’s global influence at Carnegie Hall. As Dr. Dyson elaborated on the significance of “N*iggas Bleed Just Like Us (which to me is the craziest Notorious B.I.G song EVER recorded), he also stated that the concept of intellectual property and the idea of even owning an idea is a relatively new phenomena, spurned by, what else, capitalism. Who knew the possibility of even profiting from selling music has only been around since the early 19th century. I wonder if the guy who came up with the idea to sell ideas trademarked his idea? Sidebar complete.
1985. 5th grade @ P.S. 398, Walter Weaver Elementary School in Brooklyn, NY. I’m maxin’ and relaxin’ in the schoolyard with my homies. We just wrapped up another intense game of “Flies Up” or Tag or whatever the hell we were doing, and we are all famished (the games we created as kids with a little blue rubber ball were absolutely ingenious; hand ball, Booty’s Up, Flies Up, Suicide, etc). I remember having a ham and cheese bagel in my bag and I proceeded to unearth my delicious bagel goodness in an attempt to masticate (which I try to do at least twice a day). Now, anyone with half a brain knows better than to pull food out in front of friends in grade school - someone is surely going to ask you for some. Tic Tacs, Lemon heads or any other noise generating vittles are better transported in your front shirt pocket as to avoid alerting your compatriots that you may be Sustenance Bearer for the day (“No my brother, you got to get your own!”) So now the whole crew is looking at me like I am the messiah at the last supper and they are all asking that I alleviate their peasant hungers with my magical, never ending bagel. After breaking off the fourth or fifth piece and handing out the rations like Jesus taught me to, I look down in contempt at the paltry sliver remaining for my personal consumption. Wholly incensed by the bagel carcass these vultures left me with (notice the blame transfer), I literally lobbed the remainder into the neighboring yard. Everyone enjoyed that bagel that day but me . . . and I was forced to wait a whopping 3 hours before lunch to try and masticate again (a nooner if you will).
So why did I throw the remaining morsel away? A tiny piece of ham would’ve certainly been better than nothing at all, but I was 10 years old and that was how I responded to tough decisions (I threw bagels over fences). More importantly, why didn’t I just say “no” to these commoners and tell them to get their own? Some folk would have eaten the whole damn thing without batting an eyelash, while their friends lay famished or only given out a sliver or two and called it a day. I was raised to share but my benevolence was to my detriment in that instance. I guess my self-preservation mechanisms hadn’t developed as yet. Or had it?
Like the skunk, I later came to realize that my perceived flaws can easily serve as my self preservation mechanisms. Although I lost out in Bagel-Gate, I am CERTAIN there were far more selectively non-retained memories where I had no rations available but dined quite comfortably on someone else’s vittles. Flash forward 10 years to an infamous pork chop story circulating amongst my friends in which the number of chops I allegedly consumed from my boys kitchen compounds exponentially with every retelling. I have and will continue to vehemently deny said gorging but dammit if those smothered chops weren’t mf’ing delicious! Something tells me I would not have had carte blanche had it not been for my prior gratuitous acts. PAY IT FORWARD WORKS FOR ME!!
Do we have the ability to change our personality? I have always considered my character to be learned and discounted any possibilities that it may be innate. My explanations for any resemblance in behavior to that of my parents dismissed all genetic predispositions and was quite ignorant; My folks are the software engineers and I am the brand new, overpriced Macbook. My parents, along with my surrounding environment, govern all my action and since they can only upload what they know, my operating system will reflect that knowledge by default, hence the similarities. As to why you can have two computers (people) from the same programmer (parents / environment) with completely different operating systems (life choices) occur, no one can ever experience the same set of occurrences as another simultaneously which is what causes variability in outcome. Although the environment seems controlled, it is not. Our actual (versus artificial) intelligence varies from person to person, as will the respective results. And thus my Nobel Prize winning, bulletproof theory on why ALL personality traits were acquired. Correction: that WAS my bullet resistant hypothesis until one of my boys posed the 64 thousand dollar question; “What about curiosity?” Even newborn babies have a natural inclination to insert a metal fork into an electrical socket just to see what could happen. Who taught them that?” Shit! I had no retort for that one. Taking newly acquired information into account, I had to reevaluate and maybe even amend my stance (and for an acquired know-it-all, that is quite painful).
It can be quite cumbersome to first identify what makes you tick, then figure out what can or cannot be changed, and finally augment those personality traits that don’t work for you and probably everyone else around you (insert serenity prayer here). I personally am forever rooted in the “What chu talkin’ ‘bout Mr. Drummond?” phase of my life. This constant state of questioning / awareness can be quite unnerving mainly because I have not accepted the next stage of growth – ACTION. Whoa now. Baby steps Crazed Afrykan, baby steps.
“So let me get this straight. You fart, poop, pee, eat, sleep, don’t contribute around here, moan, bitch, AND cost an arm and a womb to maintain? I will probably need to work the rest of my life to sustain your Nintendo Wii – one hundred fifty dollar per pre-shrunk designer jean – thirty thousand dollar per college credit for your art history major with a minor in anthropology degree only to become a plumber desires. For half the cost, I could’ve purchased a Mercedes Maybach and traveled the world, village by village, with Grey Poupon marinating in my mustache hairs and midget hookers on each arm, all before turning 50. Because of your existence however, my bucket list now resembles a fleeting illusion to be pursued but never obtained. So I ask you again son, why exactly am I supposed to want you to stay? If you want to run away then by all means, run away! No one is stopping you. Nothing to say eh? That’s it then. Just crawl out of that crib and head for the door. Whose a good boy?!”
I love children, and for whatever reason, they like me (they really like me). However, I’m not so sure if I love the parents of children who actually conceived them intentionally. Why could you possibly want a child for no other reason than to further progress your bloodline? An ego stroke and an unforeseen life commitment at the very least seem to be the main by-products of said parental aspirations. We are no longer playing house, and all sales are final, so maybe some pre-parental discretion should be advised before “mapquesting” Sesame Street.
Here are some questions I asked myself as I was thinking to my self:
• “Self, if I have never had a sweet child o’ mine before, what is fueling this desire to join the PTA? • “Self, given the amount of children up for adoption, what is my true motivation for wanting Dolly the sheep (i.e. my clone) in the first place?” • “Self, am I ready to accept my child for whoever she / he turns out to be, unconditionally, even if I have not made peace with my own shortcomings (as I and only I perceive them to be?) • Self, what if she / he turns out to be a homeless, homosexual, homicidal, Humboldt State University dropout with a meth addiction? Will people view that as a reflection of my parenting? Is it? • “Self, I am selfish and I can barely support us financially. I know I will prioritize if I have a child but is there a possibility I could resent this child for messing with my time and money?
Conceiving children is no monumental achievement. Just ask any faulty condom, NBA player, or friendly neighborhood baby daddy on the run from Law and Order C.S.P.U. (Child Support Police Unit, similar flavoring to regular police but with a heavy garnish to your wages.) Raising the little zygotes, however, is where your intestinal fortitude gets put to the test. This is where our brave King Leonidas could easily be reduced to a fugitive, forced to work for Xerxes off the books to avoid garnishment whilst transforming our traitor stabbing Queen into a spineless goat path leading monster -striving to correct personal failures through her children’s lives and restore honor to the family crest (“may you live forever”).
My desire to have children is emotional and rooted in the social norm that a family ‘completes me’. Using that logic, saying I want a child is no different than stating I want a Benz. I am a man and like most men, I do not bare children; therefore, I have no idea how it feels to share that type of physiological connection. Common sense dictates that anything gestating in one’s belly for 9 months must have established a deep seeded emotional connection to it’s host and vice versa (I named my tape worm Bubba as an example). This may be why women ( on average) tend to want children more than men. I understand the desire but I cannot relate. Attempting to empathize is the equivalent of describing to women the joys of being assaulted in my man balls. Women know it stings - to put it mildly - but cannot remotely identify with my agony (maybe Rupaul can).
If procreation is in fact our sole life’s purpose as commonly argued, then the desire to reproduce is definitely inherent, unavoidable, and quite frankly, unnatural not to partake. Barring a few caveats such as; impotent men, infertile women, waiting until a certain age to have children as opposed to the instant you are physically capable, choosing the amount of children you WANT to have, choosing the person with whom you WANT to have them with, and believing you are somehow different than the Dinosaur and have the right to even exist, that argument makes perfect sense. I am still unsure if the right to bare children is a want, a need, or was even subject for debate in the pre contraception era. I do know that I can't wait to have kids just so I can tell them just how wrong it is to want to have kids!
In the last few weeks on Planet Internet, my closest friends, associates, classmates, and enemies revealed some rather introspective incites into their psyche. So, do we all feel better now? Anyone need a hankie? Häagen-Dazs and Grey Goose never hurt anyone (if you don’t count lactose intolerant related illnesses and alcoholism) so let me know whenever you guys need it. I will have “ Da Goose” on tap and ready to go at your request.
I initially joined the Facebook fray thinking I would shock the system with the unique details of my existence. After reading the notes of others, I realized that everyone else on earth has either experienced rather painful occurrences in their lives, or are just plain weirdoes and I have since deleted them from my friend’s list (really son, you wear lip gloss and high heels to practice Tai Chi?)
My girlfriend’s soul bearing #16 on her list led me to globally debut my #6. Something once considered inconceivable to me had now paled in comparison to her testimonials. And it seemed the more folk composed and forwarded their own lists, a chain letter reaction brought about the liberating virtual act of closing one’s eyes and reeling backwards into the collective arms of the cyber community, trusting us with the dinosaur sized skeletons in your walk-in closets. Whatever the rational for those who participated, I thank you once again for reaffirming ideals for which I require constant mnemonic devices (see title). With that said, I would like to make this offering to a friend who courageously chose to begin her healing process on Day One of her loss. We are all glad you came out last Saturday K. Mullin.
1. Honor his life in the way you lead yours. 2. LYAO (laugh your *ss off) - To be immediately downloaded onto your Ipod: (Trading Places, Coming to America, Family Guy, the Dave Chappelle “Rick James” Skit, any George W. speech, etc) 3. Remember moments that made you laugh so hard, you literally peed on yourself (but only a little). 4. You will be told over and over to be strong for this one or that one. While you are being strong for others, realize that you will always have your family and friends to be strong for you. Utilize that asset to the fullest. 5. If you feel like it, cry until your eyes hurt.
I once asked my brother if he had to do it all over again, would he bring our dad back, to which he replied, “No”. Of course, I being a young Jedi, was about to fly off the handle and accuse him of embodying all sorts of evil. Then he explained himself as follows; “You have no idea what could or could not have happened had he lived. What if he lived but we lost them both in a car accident? What if he survived the heart attack and was made to suffer for the remainder of his life?” He painted so many alternate grim scenarios that ONLY losing my dad didn’t seem like such a bad option (never argue with anyone while they are in law school). My brother’s point was this: what is meant to be will be, and there really is no better or worse, there just is. It is not deep. It is not a feel good explanation. It is life. How you chose to deal with it defines YOUR life.
It has been 15 years since and the grief is infrequent but it is still in fact there. There are still bad days and we all find ways to cope. Some turn to religion and some compartmentalize. I channeled my energies to pursue music producer / writer aspirations and whatever the hell else I feel like doing. I needed therapy in some fashion and got it by whatever healthy means necessary (including actual therapy). Who knew a grown “Manly” man who abhors public humiliation could ever sob the entire duration of a 1.5 hour “A” train ride to Far Rockaway on Christmas Eve because he misses his daddy, and then write about it? But if I have to embarrass myself to help others and ultimately help myself deal, then flashback to the time I wore a dress in our High School Musical. The fellas in the front row were making comments about my “fatty” because they really thought I was a chick from the back (speaks to the very nature of boys and tight dresses). I make a hideous woman by the way. Trust me. You would sooner escort Wanda or Shanaynay to your ex girlfriend’s housewarming to prove just how much you have stepped your game up.
I checked the room and ain’t no women in here, so I figured we could have some real talk. Remember that post a while back about What Men Want ? Yeah, the shit about food, sex and beer? I caught some lip for that shit, but I had to tell these chicks how to get some Act Right. Can’t have them running around not fulfilling our needs and shit - nam sayin’? Nah mean? Even if they don’t listen, at least they can’t say we ain’t tell them how we felt. But I can’t even front, we’ve been on some bullshit for a minute too, and every time I try to talk to y’all about it, y’all ain’t so receptive so I figured I would write this.
We’ve been through a lot of shit my dudes. Remember when we were struggling to find our place in the world and just decided to stop trying after a while and enjoy the ride? From elementary school until now, it was always a bit shaky but we always managed to get to the next stage. Whether we were sneaking Garbage Pail Kids in class, playing with Transformers in the lunchroom, playing basketball ‘til the sun came up, making up excuses for turning in term papers late as hell, burning it down right before finals and still getting that A, stealing toasted almond ice cream bars out of the lunch room freezer, having to tell you that your girl was a ho and I got proof, beefing with each other for wearing sneakers when the dress code specifically said “Shoes only”, being shitty God parents (do your kids even know who I am?), fighting every single one of them niggas so many times that we ended up being cool with them eventually, being in that strip club that was so nasty, you aint even wanna touch the door handles so you used your feet, knowing that Mike wasn’t shot and killed by accident but not being able to say a word, getting that call about your brother in the middle of the night and wondering what the fuck am I supposed to say to that shit. We’ve been through a lot of shit! and always made it through.
Through all that, I always had your back. But I can’t let you keep fucking up and not say anything about it. You my nigga, and I would hope you do the same for me. What the fuck is you doing son? If you wanna bang mad chicks, smoke, hustle, drink, or whatever, then do you ‘cause truth be told, you aint doing nothin’ the free world ain’t already engaging in. All I’m saying is: where are you going with all that and what are you doing for yourself? Just coasting aint cutting it no more. I don’t know if going back to school is the solution, but I just get the feeling that all the shit we do is for enjoyment purposes and involves spending our bread to make other Niggas rich (even the white Niggas.) I know you got a job, but we both know that 9-5 ain’t you. And if it ain’t what you want to be doing, and you ain’t got no love for it, it is beneath you. If it is what you want to be doing and you are good at it, you should own that bitch! Don’t settle. Find a way out like we did every other situation we came across.
We can do better son. We sat in the park buildin’ on million dollar ideas while rolling gorilla finger sized blunts like it ain’t nothin’. Remember when I said I wanted a helicopter and you said you wanted a car manufacturing company? Not a dealership but a fucking plant! Who the fuck thinks that big? And it ain’t nothin’ but leg work. I’m getting kinda tired of laziness being the only reason we ain’t doing what we said we was gonna do. Not intelligence, not opportunity, laziness. A black man is president. A black man is the highest paid actor in Hollywood. We can’t even blame the establishment no more. WE ARE THE FUCKING ESTABLISHMENT! I know them Niggas ain’t normal but them Niggas ain’t special either!
As for your kids, my dude, what’s really good with that? You really not gonna handle your B.I.? If you invested half the time you spent chasing bitches to handle the kids you made from chasing bitches, trust me, the world would be a better place. Specifically because your kids would stand a better chance in life by having a father present in this fucked up, capitalist, racist, sexist, totalitarian barrio we made for them. 80 percent of boys who ain’t have their pops around end up in the clink at some point. 80 percent! You remember how all them angry dudes in the hood just happen to not have their pops around, but we could never figure out why they was so angry? Your pops was wild and was hardly ever there either, and you hated that shit. Remember?
We don’t even play ball anymore. Aside from the fact that that we don’t visit the doctor, ball was the only exercise we was getting. The court was actually our version of the country club (only they let us in). Plus you know we die early, so we need all the cardio we can get. You know how many jewels we picked up by listening and watching the older cats in the park? Now we are the older cats and what are we doing? We moved out and spend all our time and money in the clubs and the motels. If we took the money spent on 2 flat screens and a Playstation 3, we could probably rent out a gym, run our own youth basketball tournament, & have chicks chase us for being in better shape (and then buy us flat screens and Play station 3’s for Christmas.) I’m just sayin’.
Trust me when I say this, I am not talking to just you. I am talking to me too. You know I got my fair share of shit to deal with. Like I said, we got history so you know I’m fucked up too. Sometimes the best anti-drug message can come from the friendly neighborhood crack head. So take this personally, but don’t take offense. Plus, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t keep it 100 with you? Now stop looking all sad Nigga. Pass me a peanut butter and crack sandwich and tuck those big ass lips in before they get caught in your zipper. We got work to do!
“And now, the end is near, and so I face . . .” It’s over. 2008 is a rizzle (i.e. wrap!) We have witnessed Black Presidents (yay), bailouts (boo), and a slew of other almanac infesting factoids sure to be viewed on a multitude of mediums and top 10 countdowns. As you draft your New Years vows for which you will undoubtedly commit adultery, take a moment to reflect on all the growth, and dumb shit you’ve managed to wade through this annum. Last year, I asked my friends what their greatest failure and greatest accomplishment was for the year. I would ask the same question this year but due to a little personal development on my part, I can no longer deem anything a failure for there lies a lesson in everything, and if your eyes are ajar, you can benefit from it all (for instance, Jets fans can benefit from Sunday’s loss by ceasing to be Jets fans). Here is my personal list of lessons learned for 2008. Make up your own. Pass it amongst yourself. I guarantee you will need the same list next year.
1. Two bowls of chili is my limit. You have no idea how many fluffy white rabbits were harmed in the filming of my one-man epic “The Day My Bowels Did Not Stand Still (“Does a bear shit in the woods . . .?”)
2. You do everything the same way. Your mindset dictates your action. You may be applying the same train of thought to get out of trouble when that is what got you there in the first place. How do you change your mindset you ask? Congratulations. You’re at step one.
3. Everything is Permanent. You can never read this sentence again for the first time. Value your time.
4. PERPESPECTIVE IS A MOTHERFUCKER!!!
5. Know When to Fold ‘Em. Fucking with shit you don’t understand will get you in trouble. From the chick / dude you just can’t figure out, even after 16 years, to Collateralized Debt Obligations, if it doesn’t make sense, you will lose dollars.
6. Chill Son! There is nothing wrong with sitting on the sidelines sometimes and watching the first string quarterback get his ass kicked so you know what NOT to do. Don’t be so eager to start. Patience is not synonymous with inactivity.
7. “Why You Always Gotta.. ?!” Character flaws in others that drive you the craziest may be reminiscent of your own weaknesses. This could be why it so offends your sensibilities. Don’t be so quick to point the finger.
8. A mouse survives by being a mouse. A lion survives by being a lion. Know who you are and stay in your lane.
9. Two bowls of chili is my limit. I now understand what Man on Fire truly means!
10. Empathize. Don’t be the asshole senior who has the freshman reciting “I’m coo coo for Coco Puffs” on the lunchroom table with his pants down for all the world to see. Especially when you were scared to death on your freshman day. Tradition is all well and good until said freshman returns with an Uzi and decorates the school with news reporters. The emotional scars to said freshman may be irreparable and he / she may end up becoming your asshole boss. Every cause has effect so spread love (unless of course said freshman really is coo coo for Coco Puffs, in which case, carry on.)
11. STFU – Whatever is malo con tu vida loca, it could be worse. If you are reading this, you have computer access, you are inside, warm, and are either resolving to earn more cheese or cake in the New Year, or consume less cheese and cake in the New Year. You’d think you would’ve figured out that those 2 issues might be directly intertwined by now (See # 2). IN ANY EVENT, I’m sure you’d love to explain your dilemma to starving children, face to face. Appreciate what you have you ass!
12. STFU - Subsection B1, article 120, et al; - So your boo /spouse / partner / friend / boss / cat is an asshole. So what? So are you. Deal. Another night has come and gone and no one has disconnected the security camera in the master bedroom and tried to stab the other person 31 times, 2 inches below the left chest plate with a shank made out of ice because they’ll never find fingerprints when the murder weapon melts. “Then I’ll finally be rid of this succubus!” And no the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Why do you ask? Whatever ails your relationship’s soul, you get to try and fix it tomorrow. Even if fixing it means leaving. Less talk, more divorce lawyers (or not, but definitely less talk).
13. I finally Know Enough to Know That I Don’t Know Shit! And somehow, it always applies.
14. Get Off The Fence. You know what you have to do to increase your quality of life and you’ve known for quite some time. What else are you waiting for exactly? More motivation? Another hard lesson? They are all out there, eagerly waiting to assist. The matrix has a peculiar way of uploading the same virus in as many forms as it takes until you either upgrade or crash your operating system. Which do you think absorbs more emotional currency?
15. Worth Repeating. There is no spoon (as I was recently reminded). If you can’t figure out why you’re in a rut, maybe it’s because you think you are in a rut (see Motherfucker, Perspective is a.)
Happy New Year!!!
Sidebar; Two bowls of chili is my limit. Sidebar complete
What constitutes conscionable compensation for services rendered in any given profession? The greatest economic minds of our time have tried time and again to diagram this equation. I’m taking a stab in the dark here but one can assume certain factors such as fair and competitive market value, prior experience, inflation, hours logged, education, efficiency, and a slew of other bullet points are taken into consideration when comprising this metric. Every now and again, an unforeseen variable like NAFTA realigns the entire economic wheelbase and complicates matters further (don’t nod off, I promise this is not about the economy, just be patient). After all negotiations are completed and we finally arrive at a cushy “whatever thousand dollar a year” salary for which the labor review board and your employer can peaceably coexist, we upset the balance with the variable that is “Peter Gibbons” a.k.a “The Employee” a.k.a “In a given week, I probably only do about 15 minutes of real, actual work.” (a.k.a YOU). If fair compensation can’t ever be accurately quantified due to worker variability, and especially where literal monies for services are exchanged, how are we supposed to quantify it within the confines of a relationship, where intangibles like love and faith are the ruling class? I told you it wasn’t about finance you impatient bastards!
I am personally unaware of individuals who have never felt slighted in a relationship at one point or another. Your significant other has either taking advantage of you, or not taken you into enough consideration (to hear you tell it.) As right and just as you are, what is the benefit of getting upset or ever keeping score? Even if you are right, you are wrong because you have succeeded in finding flaw in your other half, consequently faulting yourself. Congratulations. You called it. “New Coke” didn’t catch on and you were opposed when we initially pitched the idea but they bought it and now BOTH our bonuses are in the toilet. I could’ve sworn the whole point was “for better and /or for worse” together. I should not be taking joy in finding flaw / being right
Good deeds & transgressions committed in a relationship can never be evenly weighed, measured, nor counted. Since we are all individuals with specific wants, spending $20,000 on a pair of diamond earrings may not mean as much to your particular boo as just listening when she really needs someone to talk to, then again, depending on the boo in question, it just might (and that denomination was used for hypothetical purposes only ladies ;-)) Concurrently, what is the value of sex to a man when he is at that ravenous stage and looking to release? Any stripper worth her weight in Chinchilla fur coats can attest to the fact that the male libido is priceless. Sex and companionship are but a few of the responsibilities in a relationship that can’t be quantified. What about the household logistics? Surely there’s hope there.
She makes more money but he’s better with the finances. He’s a slob but she’s a neat freak. She cleans the toilet and he religiously makes sure there is something there to clean (and something resembling a chocolate éclair behind the toilet seat.) So how much are her sanitation and nurturing services worth on EBay if he doesn’t ramp up his efforts? What is the net asset value (NAV) of his accounting and “lifting heavy shit” skills on the open market if she maxes out another damn credit card? How many licks does it take to get to the bottom of a happy spouse? The answer to the first two questions are “ If you value your relationship and don’t ever want to find out, it would bequeath you to work out some sort of flexible compensation agreement whereby good deeds are weighed heavily and transgressions discounted with alacrity”. As for the third question, as many licks as it takes (and said licks should be factored into said flexible compensation package).
We all have pet peeves and of course conflict resolution is never as simple as it sounds on paper when void of emotion, and especially when you have made him / her aware on multiple occasions, both forcibly and lovingly, that he / her is annoying the ever loving shit out of you and is about one phone call away from showing up missing (relax, relate, release.) There are times where your compensation @ work may not have been to your liking but ancillary factors more than made up for salary woes (commute time, corporate perks, cool employer / employee’s, hot employees who like to drink after work and just broke up with her boyfriend, etc . . .) Like all jobs however, whenever the reward does not outweigh energies expended, and there is no viable resolution to ongoing conflict, it is time to polish up the resume and see what Monster.com has to offer.
I don’t think the point of a relationship was ever to find someone who has as much physical and emotional capital to invest as you, for that, is a literal impossibility (specifically because it can’t be measured). I think it is more about finding someone whose skill set you have obviously been comfortable lacking to date but are also willing to admit and improve upon for the benefit of the relationship. Don’t ever believe you won’t have to amend your behavior to some extent but it should feel worth it in the grand scheme. No one wants to be at work @ 9 am but you do what you have to do for the sake of your overall happiness. The best decision you could make in my humble opinion to avoid tons of unnecessary strife would be to; a) vet your potential candidate as best possible; b) assure synergy between your mission statements AND inception to fruition timelines, and most importantly; c) trust your instincts. Maybe one day I’ll explain why I’m so in tune with all this shit (says the reforming scorekeeper).
There seems to be a notion that African American men are rampant homophobes and deeply apprehensive of the gays. Ok, it’s not a notion, it is extremely true. Being homosexual remains the most incendiary accusation in the black male community (double entendre intended). Ask a Black Dude if he’s ever considered being gay and you are sure to get the most “you have insulted my family name and I challenge you to a duel” response than any other question about any other subject (except for maybe asking a teenager if he’s a virgin in a crowded lunchroom). Now if you hadn’t ever considered being gay, how do you know if you are or not? Don’t you have to at least think about it in order to rule it out wholly? So now that you’ve thought about it, my next question is; why are gays the literal black plague?
First things first, my butt hole is not for exploration. I am well aware of the cluster of nerves that reside in my “anoose” (as Borat would say.) HOWEVER, I am quite content with the nerves I have discovered in the head of my penis thus far. This is not even a subject for debate. No person (male or female) has ever even come in remote proximity to my lost city of Ass-lantis. Whatever treasures buried there will remain undiscovered. I don’t care how good it’s supposed to feel. Maybe performing fellatio on an Aborigines Koala releases endorphins never before experienced by man but guess who ain’t gonna discover that either? Yup. Me. My prostate would have to be dangling by a fibroid before I even allowed a medical doctor to venture where no man has gone before. I feel sorry for any alien that abducts me and attempts to probe me rectally. Upon returning to earth, my life’s sole dedication would be to be to construct a spaceship a la “Astronaut Farmer” then utilize “Google Earth” to “Google Mars”, locate said terrestrial’s home address and appropriately “thank” Roger with two hollow point, cyanide tipped, .38 caliber shells special delivered to his dark grey melon. Phone that home!
As you may or may not have deduced, I am a raging heterosexual and for 2 very good reasons; I am attracted to women and I am not attracted to men. Despite this fact, gay men and women do not offend me. I didn’t even know I was supposed to be offended by them. This is not to say that I hang out at the Blue Oyster but I am not running for the hills because there’s a gay man in the room either. I associate and interact with no issues. I don’t want a doggie biscuit for this (I don’t even eat dog biscuits anymore). It is what it is. I also don’t feel the need to say “No Homo” after every quasi-manly statement. I think flowers accent a room. “What n*gga!? I’ll still kick your ass and bang your wife out thoroughly”. I’m just saying, “Tulips is gangsta!” Can you imagine if you were meandering down the road and heard someone say “I was eating chicken, “No Negro”, then I went to play basketball, “No Negro”, then I put on my doo rag and held up the liquor store, “No Negro”, etc . . .” It’s just plain silly. Unless you are a homo, in which case, there is no need to say “No Homo”, stop saying “No Homo!”
Homosexuality was introduced to Gen X’ers by the media in the early AID-ees under the premise that Caucasian gay men were carriers for all sorts of terminal epidemics. I wasn’t even aware that gays had existed (let alone black ones) since the dawn of time until much later on in life. I just figured they were invented in the same laboratory where urban legend stated the AIDS virus was also manufactured (somewhere in Maryland right?) Now let’s see what happens when we add a dash of BLACK people to Mass Media Fear Stew shall we? Injecting a culture that feels a need to define itself by the most extreme of socially accepted masculine behaviors, partially due to ignorance and partially because said culture desperately clings to trace amounts of manhood residue settled from Hurricane Dysfunctional Family, with this ill informed vilifying of gays meant that black boys and men either joined the homophobic fray or ran the risk of being ostracized (You’re a witch!) So we all went along. The fact that being gay could kill and was also the living, breathing antithesis to your identity as a heterosexual male provided just causation for fear. We have however matured since then and dispelled many a myth in the process. Now that African American women comprise the fastest growing # of HIV cases in America, how come there don’t seem to be any anti black woman marches on tap for next weeks protest schedule? Seems so much easier to be compassionate when the alleged defendant resembles your own kind doesn’t it?
The idea that the black congregation may be the lead proponent of homophobia and denial of civil rights gives further testament (but is well within character) to the hypocrisy of the church and yet another catalyst sure to bring about its eventual demise (no seriously, ask me how I feel about organized religion.) I am never running for public office and I just saw Talk To Me with Don Cheadle yesterday so I am feeling extra Petey Greene today (very good movie by the way). According to the bible, both gays and women are sub par. So along with all the gays who have contributed to society, my moms ain’t shit either. And since nothing good can come from shit, I ain’t shit. Bill Maher and I are in full agreement on this one. Blow it out your halo!
Why would a straight man be so opposed to homophobia? Because I am a relatively sizable, left handed, black, first generation, male, African immigrant, that’s why. I have been specifically told to use the messenger’s entrance in a building of which I was fully employed while my Caucasian coworkers filed out unperturbed. I have been detained and frisked by NYPD in broad day light for fitting the description of a drug dealer on the corner of West 4th and ironically enough, Ave of the Americas (where the Duane Reade used to be.) The description as I was told by the police officer after protest was “Black male, blue jean shorts, white tee shirt”, and it was FUCKING JULY! I guess that’ll teach me to wear shorts and a tee shirt in summer. I have seen people literally take off running in terror because my clumsy ass stumbled and I guess they figured I had invented a new style of attack (Trip-Fu). I have been the only Black male employee on the floor of the entire corporate office multiple times (let’s just say Oprah aint the first one to have an issue with Hermes of Paris and their practices). Long story longer, I can more than empathize with discrimination and can’t fathom how anyone who has ever historically been denied liberties could willingly aid and abet, including and especially the lion fed Catholics!
It seems that those who are the most assured in their own sexuality and in themselves, are the same individuals least threatened by homosexuality. I don’t see how preventing someone from partaking in any ideal (Proposition 8), God appointed or not, makes said ideal more or less valid since the value of a marriage is solely determined by the parties involved. If your issue is explaining to your children why 2 men can get married, try explaining to them why 2 men can’t get married without looking like a fucking hypocrite as you also preach parables of equality. Further more, who died and made you God? Sorry people, either the rules apply to us all or they don’t apply at all. As much as I support our President elect, I want to believe Barack doesn’t even believe his own civil union spiel, but he is a politician and he has to play the game. I guess you can’t have it both ways. We got the first black one. I’m still waiting for the first honest one (you should see how I feel about people I don’t like.)
Sidebar; I don’t know if being gay is innate or acquired. I would guess innate since I couldn’t possibly imagine why anyone would willingly subject him or her self to such scrutiny. If you personally can’t figure out how someone could possibly be gay, congratulations, you’re straight. Move on. Sidebar complete
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3:09 PM
Afrykan
