Quick thought:
Why don't drug dealers ever expand into untapped markets?
Not everyone smokes, shoots up or pops pills. The way I see it, if you're really about your paper then you'd make money any way possible. Considering that oil has topped $100 a barrel, I'd love to hear that a group of armed Black juveniles hijacked a BP gas truck. I don't care if you put it in an old milk jug or some soda bottles. Gas is gas.
Oh well.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Pirates of the Africanas
Dear Somalian Pirates,
I'm very disappointed in you guys. I think you're selling yourselves short. You guys used to hijack entire cargo ships. Last week you "captured" four old White people in a boat. Ooooh Aaaah. What the hell was that, the Associates Degree in pirating? If you're going to achieve your goal of being like Captain Jack Sparrow, Cap'n Crunch or whoever the hell you're trying to be like out on the open seas, then I'm going to need you to step it up a level because you failed last week's test.
Don't fret, there's a makeup test. I want you to go for the gold and do the PhD of pirating...
Go capture a Carnival cruise ship full of Black people. You go do that and you'll have my complete admiration and respect. I want to see you take your punk ass machine gun and your little rope ladder and ascend the rungs onto the fantastic voyage. Go on out there in your motorized inflatable raft and head toward the sound of Earth, Wind and Fire.
Even Al Qaeda avoided Southwest Airlines on 9/11 and Bin Laden could've saved a ton of money on airfare. That means that you could be the first to capture Olympic Gold! I believe in you little Somalian. Now go out there and be somebody!
I'm very disappointed in you guys. I think you're selling yourselves short. You guys used to hijack entire cargo ships. Last week you "captured" four old White people in a boat. Ooooh Aaaah. What the hell was that, the Associates Degree in pirating? If you're going to achieve your goal of being like Captain Jack Sparrow, Cap'n Crunch or whoever the hell you're trying to be like out on the open seas, then I'm going to need you to step it up a level because you failed last week's test.
Don't fret, there's a makeup test. I want you to go for the gold and do the PhD of pirating...
Go capture a Carnival cruise ship full of Black people. You go do that and you'll have my complete admiration and respect. I want to see you take your punk ass machine gun and your little rope ladder and ascend the rungs onto the fantastic voyage. Go on out there in your motorized inflatable raft and head toward the sound of Earth, Wind and Fire.
Even Al Qaeda avoided Southwest Airlines on 9/11 and Bin Laden could've saved a ton of money on airfare. That means that you could be the first to capture Olympic Gold! I believe in you little Somalian. Now go out there and be somebody!
The Roof, The Roof...
Here's another random memory...
When I was five years old I remember getting up one morning and feeling very clingy to my mother for some reason. I followed her around the house all morning and eventually wore down her nerves. I remember trying to follow her into the bathroom and she kept telling me to go to my room and play, watch tv or do something. I went in the room and sat on the bed for all of two seconds before popping right back up and running to the bathroom and opening the door.
I went back to my room as commanded and again sat there for a good ten seconds before popping right back up to run tell her something funny that I saw on the Smurfs. She nor I could figure out what was up with me that day. I just felt compelled to be up under her and out of my room. Finally, she snapped and went Black mother on me and broke out the Thundercat voice--the one where your mother jacks you up by the collar and is able to yell at you even though she's whispering and her teeth are clenched together yet she enunciates every syllable.
I put my head down, pouted out my lip and walked back to my room. Just as I got to the door frame, there was this loud pop and the entire ceiling collapsed in my room. We had a leaky roof and I guess the water damage reached critical mass in that area causing the entire thing, dry wall, wood supports, etc to come crashing down. My mother turned into the Flash as she came running down the hall to see if I was okay.
No one ever talked about that day afterward, but that was my earliest memory of feeling like something or someone was watching out for me.
When I was five years old I remember getting up one morning and feeling very clingy to my mother for some reason. I followed her around the house all morning and eventually wore down her nerves. I remember trying to follow her into the bathroom and she kept telling me to go to my room and play, watch tv or do something. I went in the room and sat on the bed for all of two seconds before popping right back up and running to the bathroom and opening the door.
I went back to my room as commanded and again sat there for a good ten seconds before popping right back up to run tell her something funny that I saw on the Smurfs. She nor I could figure out what was up with me that day. I just felt compelled to be up under her and out of my room. Finally, she snapped and went Black mother on me and broke out the Thundercat voice--the one where your mother jacks you up by the collar and is able to yell at you even though she's whispering and her teeth are clenched together yet she enunciates every syllable.
I put my head down, pouted out my lip and walked back to my room. Just as I got to the door frame, there was this loud pop and the entire ceiling collapsed in my room. We had a leaky roof and I guess the water damage reached critical mass in that area causing the entire thing, dry wall, wood supports, etc to come crashing down. My mother turned into the Flash as she came running down the hall to see if I was okay.
No one ever talked about that day afterward, but that was my earliest memory of feeling like something or someone was watching out for me.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Thank You For Being a Klan
Random thing of the week:
I'm walking down a poorly lit street on my way to the grocery store when I see a older White woman heading my direction about two blocks away. Now I've already written about how White women scare me at night, so I considered crossing the street. At that moment, a younger White lady came out of her house on the other side and I knew that crossing the street would arouse even more suspicion.
I decided to hold the course and just put on my best non-threatening face. As I neared the older lady I noticed that she had bags from Lord & Taylor and Bloomingdales...double trouble. Now I'm facing a White woman and a rich person. I wonder if White men ever have this kind of anxiety walking down the street.
So anyway, I get closer to the lady when I hear talking. She's hitting the "modern ghetto boombox" thing where people play music through their phone's external speakers. Instead of music, she's playing talk radio. Just as I'm passing her and looking up to make eye contact, I hear...
"And that is why it's more important than ever that we preserve the purity of our race. We have to remain superior to the niggers and wetbacks."
Let the church say, WHAT THE FUCK?
This old lady, the same one that I was trying my damnedest to appear user-friendly to, is walking down a DC street listening to a Klan podcast. We make eye contact just as the word "nigger" is playing through the air and we both make a face appropriate to the moment. Mine said "what the fuck" and her's said "oh shit."
We both kept walking in our respective directions. Now more than ever, I'm afraid of White women at night.
I'm walking down a poorly lit street on my way to the grocery store when I see a older White woman heading my direction about two blocks away. Now I've already written about how White women scare me at night, so I considered crossing the street. At that moment, a younger White lady came out of her house on the other side and I knew that crossing the street would arouse even more suspicion.
I decided to hold the course and just put on my best non-threatening face. As I neared the older lady I noticed that she had bags from Lord & Taylor and Bloomingdales...double trouble. Now I'm facing a White woman and a rich person. I wonder if White men ever have this kind of anxiety walking down the street.
So anyway, I get closer to the lady when I hear talking. She's hitting the "modern ghetto boombox" thing where people play music through their phone's external speakers. Instead of music, she's playing talk radio. Just as I'm passing her and looking up to make eye contact, I hear...
"And that is why it's more important than ever that we preserve the purity of our race. We have to remain superior to the niggers and wetbacks."
Let the church say, WHAT THE FUCK?
This old lady, the same one that I was trying my damnedest to appear user-friendly to, is walking down a DC street listening to a Klan podcast. We make eye contact just as the word "nigger" is playing through the air and we both make a face appropriate to the moment. Mine said "what the fuck" and her's said "oh shit."
We both kept walking in our respective directions. Now more than ever, I'm afraid of White women at night.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Black...101
Welcome to post number 101. I'll be your host today, Professor Angry Black Man. Today we're gonna talk about niglets.
Niglets--the offspring of Niggas--are getting on my damn nerves.
Editor's note: Niggas should not be confused with Black people
There is yet another video making its way around Youtube of niglets fighting on the subway. I'll save you 1:41 of your time and just tell you that they actually organized a brawl on the train. They waited until the doors closed at the station right before the train goes above ground and over the bridge and stopped fighting once it went back underground. That happens to be one of the largest distances between stations so it gave them the most time to fight before someone could intervene. While the pair fought, fifteen of there friends stood around cheering and videotaping like the background people on a Streetfighter game.
Normally, I'd say something like WHY!? At this point...I don't care why. I just want it to stop. It isn't that I care about them. It isn't even about them setting us back a few years. Thanks to Tyler Perry and BET...we're already back in the 1800's. So, I'm not asking why. I'm not going to appeal to their better nature. Instead...I'm going to do what no other Black person has the balls to do:
I'm authorizing the Klan. We need the Ku Klux to patrol the metro. I mean, hell, Metro police aren't doing shit. I'm calling 411 and I'm asking for the number to the closest Grand Wizard and I'm going to see if they're available. The one caveat is that they have to leave good upstanding Black people alone. Anyone else...go at it. Nine times out of ten they'll be wearing baggy jeans, a puffy coat and have dreads. Whoop their asses!
Niglets--the offspring of Niggas--are getting on my damn nerves.
Editor's note: Niggas should not be confused with Black people
There is yet another video making its way around Youtube of niglets fighting on the subway. I'll save you 1:41 of your time and just tell you that they actually organized a brawl on the train. They waited until the doors closed at the station right before the train goes above ground and over the bridge and stopped fighting once it went back underground. That happens to be one of the largest distances between stations so it gave them the most time to fight before someone could intervene. While the pair fought, fifteen of there friends stood around cheering and videotaping like the background people on a Streetfighter game.
Normally, I'd say something like WHY!? At this point...I don't care why. I just want it to stop. It isn't that I care about them. It isn't even about them setting us back a few years. Thanks to Tyler Perry and BET...we're already back in the 1800's. So, I'm not asking why. I'm not going to appeal to their better nature. Instead...I'm going to do what no other Black person has the balls to do:
I'm authorizing the Klan. We need the Ku Klux to patrol the metro. I mean, hell, Metro police aren't doing shit. I'm calling 411 and I'm asking for the number to the closest Grand Wizard and I'm going to see if they're available. The one caveat is that they have to leave good upstanding Black people alone. Anyone else...go at it. Nine times out of ten they'll be wearing baggy jeans, a puffy coat and have dreads. Whoop their asses!
100!!!
Happy 100th post!
Now I just need to tell people about the site. Chances are, if you're reading this then my wife guilt tripped you into reading my site out of pity. She supports all of my crazy endeavors...like the time I was certain that I had a future being the only straight guy selling Mary Kay products. For some reason that just never took off. LOL
Well I'm just impressed that I actually stuck with this blog long enough to get to 100. I have three other blogs somewhere out in Blogspot land and they have maybe five posts between them. So, on to post number 101...
Now I just need to tell people about the site. Chances are, if you're reading this then my wife guilt tripped you into reading my site out of pity. She supports all of my crazy endeavors...like the time I was certain that I had a future being the only straight guy selling Mary Kay products. For some reason that just never took off. LOL
Well I'm just impressed that I actually stuck with this blog long enough to get to 100. I have three other blogs somewhere out in Blogspot land and they have maybe five posts between them. So, on to post number 101...
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
A Guide to Parenting
Here are a few things that they don't tell you going into this whole parenthood thing (in no particular order):
You will never sleep again--Sounds like a cliche, but it's not a joke. Contrary to popular belief, new babies actually sleep a lot. They just don't sleep continuously--five minutes here, twenty minutes there. Don't even buy into the false sense of hope that you'll take cat naps along with them. Your life will become one big Disney show. Disney closes at a certain time, but it never stops. After all the water shows and fireworks, someone is there cleaning up and resetting everything for the next day. That's you buddy. As soon as my daughter went to sleep, I was back in the kitchen washing bottles, washing clothes, cooking my own food and taking a shower. She's seven months old and sleeps throughout the night but I don't. As soon as she falls asleep I find myself trying to cram a day of adulthood into a few hours of the night. I'm reading, clearing my Tivo queue, cleaning up and washing clothes.
You will eventually drop (something on) the baby-- You will do your damnedest to prevent any harm from befalling the little bugger. You'll take a blood oath, pray, learn krav maga, buy a gun and do anything else that pops into your head to keep your child safe from himself and others and then you'll turn around become the threat. I've dropped the camera into the bassinet barely missing my daughter's head and I've also fallen asleep (see the above point) on the couch and caught her just as my kung fu grip wore off and she started rolling toward the floor. We went over 100 days without incident and then one day she decided that she would take her first stab at crawling while on the couch. I moved faster than I ever have in my life. It was like the Matrix with cars and all kinds of debris from the house following behind me as I flew with lightning in my black trenchcoat and designer shades towards my plummeting three month old except this time Neo didn't make it. I caught her little foot just a nanosecond after her body hit the floor. I'm not the one after all.
Women will love you (if you're a guy)-- I've written about this before. The baby serves as a sign of adequate competence. If you're a man and you have your kid with you and her clothes match, you actually thought enough to bring a diaper bag and the baby is bundled up for the weather, you might as well be wearing a crown and carrying a scepter. Women will worship you. You're the man who has common sense. You, big guy, are caring and responsible and a good father/provider and whatever else that particular woman hasn't been able to find in a man yet still clings to hope and finds it in the most absurd places. They will approach you. You will feel good about yourself and your significant other will pick up on it make it her point to undo all of that because you're her property now and she's worked too damned hard to groom you into what she wants.
Your child will not play with anything that costs more than $20--Save your money. You can buy swings that play 5 different sounds including one that simulates the heartbeat heard in the womb. Go ahead and shell out money for that educational toy that lights up and teaches them words before they're able to walk. Buy whatever the people in Buy Buy Baby and Babies R Us convince you will make your kid smart and I guarantee you'll be on Ebay, Craigslist and Amazon a month later trying to see what you can get for it when you sell it. Ironically, they will play with an empty soda bottle, the box that the diapers came in, or a crumpled up piece of paper. My daughter actually knocked her $50 Activity Desk over so that she could get to the 25 cent plastic ring that we got at the dollar store.
One parent will be the sucker--My daughter plays my wife like a good hand of spades. She has two cries. One is for me and one is for my wife. She understands that crying is a limited resource with me. She better only use it for life threatening things like fire or nuclear attack. On certain occasions she can whimper to let me know that she wants something to eat. Other than that, we operate on the facial expression system. It's silent and most importantly, it's effective. With my wife, crying is the only language my daughter knows. The sun set? Time to cry. Happy to see mommy? Time to cry. My wife enables her by feeding into it and then looks at me like I'm a jerk when I walk out of the room.
To be continued...
You will never sleep again--Sounds like a cliche, but it's not a joke. Contrary to popular belief, new babies actually sleep a lot. They just don't sleep continuously--five minutes here, twenty minutes there. Don't even buy into the false sense of hope that you'll take cat naps along with them. Your life will become one big Disney show. Disney closes at a certain time, but it never stops. After all the water shows and fireworks, someone is there cleaning up and resetting everything for the next day. That's you buddy. As soon as my daughter went to sleep, I was back in the kitchen washing bottles, washing clothes, cooking my own food and taking a shower. She's seven months old and sleeps throughout the night but I don't. As soon as she falls asleep I find myself trying to cram a day of adulthood into a few hours of the night. I'm reading, clearing my Tivo queue, cleaning up and washing clothes.
You will eventually drop (something on) the baby-- You will do your damnedest to prevent any harm from befalling the little bugger. You'll take a blood oath, pray, learn krav maga, buy a gun and do anything else that pops into your head to keep your child safe from himself and others and then you'll turn around become the threat. I've dropped the camera into the bassinet barely missing my daughter's head and I've also fallen asleep (see the above point) on the couch and caught her just as my kung fu grip wore off and she started rolling toward the floor. We went over 100 days without incident and then one day she decided that she would take her first stab at crawling while on the couch. I moved faster than I ever have in my life. It was like the Matrix with cars and all kinds of debris from the house following behind me as I flew with lightning in my black trenchcoat and designer shades towards my plummeting three month old except this time Neo didn't make it. I caught her little foot just a nanosecond after her body hit the floor. I'm not the one after all.
Women will love you (if you're a guy)-- I've written about this before. The baby serves as a sign of adequate competence. If you're a man and you have your kid with you and her clothes match, you actually thought enough to bring a diaper bag and the baby is bundled up for the weather, you might as well be wearing a crown and carrying a scepter. Women will worship you. You're the man who has common sense. You, big guy, are caring and responsible and a good father/provider and whatever else that particular woman hasn't been able to find in a man yet still clings to hope and finds it in the most absurd places. They will approach you. You will feel good about yourself and your significant other will pick up on it make it her point to undo all of that because you're her property now and she's worked too damned hard to groom you into what she wants.
Your child will not play with anything that costs more than $20--Save your money. You can buy swings that play 5 different sounds including one that simulates the heartbeat heard in the womb. Go ahead and shell out money for that educational toy that lights up and teaches them words before they're able to walk. Buy whatever the people in Buy Buy Baby and Babies R Us convince you will make your kid smart and I guarantee you'll be on Ebay, Craigslist and Amazon a month later trying to see what you can get for it when you sell it. Ironically, they will play with an empty soda bottle, the box that the diapers came in, or a crumpled up piece of paper. My daughter actually knocked her $50 Activity Desk over so that she could get to the 25 cent plastic ring that we got at the dollar store.
One parent will be the sucker--My daughter plays my wife like a good hand of spades. She has two cries. One is for me and one is for my wife. She understands that crying is a limited resource with me. She better only use it for life threatening things like fire or nuclear attack. On certain occasions she can whimper to let me know that she wants something to eat. Other than that, we operate on the facial expression system. It's silent and most importantly, it's effective. With my wife, crying is the only language my daughter knows. The sun set? Time to cry. Happy to see mommy? Time to cry. My wife enables her by feeding into it and then looks at me like I'm a jerk when I walk out of the room.
To be continued...
Monday, February 14, 2011
For Sale: One Baby
For Sale
One baby girl. Two teeth. Shots are up to date. Able to walk when assisted by the couch, table or chair. Has recently figured out how to push the natural barriers (playpen, ottoman) out of the way and crawl into areas where she doesn't belong (kitchen, bathroom). Also knows how to pick up valuable items (iPhone, Macbook, Internet Router) and slam them to the ground while leaving cheaper, less important items alone (toy cell phone, toy laptop, stuffed animals).
Accepting best offer. If offer is high enough owner will throw in all toys that the child seems not to want to play with like the $80 jumper, $50 activity desk, $60 swing. Owner will charge you however for all toys that the child ironically does want to play with...$2 toy keys, $1 empty baby bottle, free cardboard box.
Caution: Child bites (literally). Uncertain of what precious metal the child's teeth are made out of, but they are able to draw blood. Buyer beware: the two teeth are the least dangerous part of her dental arsenal. The gums appear to be powered by a hydraulic press. Fractured fingers are possible.
Reserve Price: $100. While it is illegal to sell children, it is completely legal to sell Mogwais (aka gremlins). This mogwai is defective in that it does not turn green when fed after midnight and despite my best efforts...bright light does not seem to affect it or calm it down in any way. I cannot say what effect water has on it as it will not allow me to give it a bath. Holding Holy Water up in front of it only makes it laugh.
Shipping: This item is for pick up only. Placing the baby/mogwai in the car has only yielded negative results (crying, throwing things, screaming)
Please leave any additional questions in the comment field.
One baby girl. Two teeth. Shots are up to date. Able to walk when assisted by the couch, table or chair. Has recently figured out how to push the natural barriers (playpen, ottoman) out of the way and crawl into areas where she doesn't belong (kitchen, bathroom). Also knows how to pick up valuable items (iPhone, Macbook, Internet Router) and slam them to the ground while leaving cheaper, less important items alone (toy cell phone, toy laptop, stuffed animals).
Accepting best offer. If offer is high enough owner will throw in all toys that the child seems not to want to play with like the $80 jumper, $50 activity desk, $60 swing. Owner will charge you however for all toys that the child ironically does want to play with...$2 toy keys, $1 empty baby bottle, free cardboard box.
Caution: Child bites (literally). Uncertain of what precious metal the child's teeth are made out of, but they are able to draw blood. Buyer beware: the two teeth are the least dangerous part of her dental arsenal. The gums appear to be powered by a hydraulic press. Fractured fingers are possible.
Reserve Price: $100. While it is illegal to sell children, it is completely legal to sell Mogwais (aka gremlins). This mogwai is defective in that it does not turn green when fed after midnight and despite my best efforts...bright light does not seem to affect it or calm it down in any way. I cannot say what effect water has on it as it will not allow me to give it a bath. Holding Holy Water up in front of it only makes it laugh.
Shipping: This item is for pick up only. Placing the baby/mogwai in the car has only yielded negative results (crying, throwing things, screaming)
Please leave any additional questions in the comment field.
Happy Valentine's Day
This is a public service announcement sponsored by the good folks at MentalStorage.com
Valentine's Day is highly commercialized and for a few years I refused to celebrate it. Back when I was a kid, it was fun. You could use a candy-gram as a litmus test to figure out how popular you were with your junior high school female counterparts. Hell, in high school I discovered my inner Casanova by dressing up in a suit and handing out cards and single stem roses to all of the girls I didn't like in order to make the ones I did like jealous. I used to ride the high of V-day throughout the rest of the school year.
Once I became an adult, it became my most hated holiday. I work my ass off all year long to be the single greatest boyfriend/husband in the world only to be looked at with contempt by the women of America when my flowers don't bloom as wide as Leroy-the-misogynist or my cleverly thought-out gift isn't as shiny as Rob-the-man-ho's jewelry (He went to Jared's). Trust me, no one hated Valentine's Day as much as I used to.
One day I realized something: If you can find someone who loves you enough and is smart enough to realize that no holiday should serve as a gauge for how much love you have in your heart for them and if that person cares enough for you to say "screw it, just love me everyday" then she deserves the biggest and best Valentine's Day that you can give her. You know why? Because lesser women are getting gifts that they don't deserve and you have to make sure that not ONE day goes by where they feel that they have the upper hand on your woman.
The way I see it, I have a damn good woman at home and I try to show it every single day, but she often comes into contact with some skanks whose boyfriends/husbands probably don't do jack the majority of the year. They probably feel a little bad when they hear her good stories about me and if Valentine's Day should come and they get a million roses and a card they might take that time to point out that my wife didn't get anything. They may start to think, "well maybe he isn't so great after all." I am CEO of my marriage and as CEO it is my fiduciary duty to make sure that the value of our stock NEVER drops...not even one damn cent.
So that means that she gets a dozen roses, candy, a spa treatment and a photo of me and our daughter in a bulky over sized frame. She takes that frame and puts it on her desk at work and an hour after the joy of getting the gift wears off and she's hard at work, she'll hear her picture frame start to ring. Sitting there perplexed at a ringing picture, she'll take off the back of the frame and discover the iPhone that she wanted with a note that says, "I love you."
I don't have to do it. Valentine's Day is commercial...but my love isn't so I gotta do what I gotta do to protect the brand.
Valentine's Day is highly commercialized and for a few years I refused to celebrate it. Back when I was a kid, it was fun. You could use a candy-gram as a litmus test to figure out how popular you were with your junior high school female counterparts. Hell, in high school I discovered my inner Casanova by dressing up in a suit and handing out cards and single stem roses to all of the girls I didn't like in order to make the ones I did like jealous. I used to ride the high of V-day throughout the rest of the school year.
Once I became an adult, it became my most hated holiday. I work my ass off all year long to be the single greatest boyfriend/husband in the world only to be looked at with contempt by the women of America when my flowers don't bloom as wide as Leroy-the-misogynist or my cleverly thought-out gift isn't as shiny as Rob-the-man-ho's jewelry (He went to Jared's). Trust me, no one hated Valentine's Day as much as I used to.
One day I realized something: If you can find someone who loves you enough and is smart enough to realize that no holiday should serve as a gauge for how much love you have in your heart for them and if that person cares enough for you to say "screw it, just love me everyday" then she deserves the biggest and best Valentine's Day that you can give her. You know why? Because lesser women are getting gifts that they don't deserve and you have to make sure that not ONE day goes by where they feel that they have the upper hand on your woman.
The way I see it, I have a damn good woman at home and I try to show it every single day, but she often comes into contact with some skanks whose boyfriends/husbands probably don't do jack the majority of the year. They probably feel a little bad when they hear her good stories about me and if Valentine's Day should come and they get a million roses and a card they might take that time to point out that my wife didn't get anything. They may start to think, "well maybe he isn't so great after all." I am CEO of my marriage and as CEO it is my fiduciary duty to make sure that the value of our stock NEVER drops...not even one damn cent.
So that means that she gets a dozen roses, candy, a spa treatment and a photo of me and our daughter in a bulky over sized frame. She takes that frame and puts it on her desk at work and an hour after the joy of getting the gift wears off and she's hard at work, she'll hear her picture frame start to ring. Sitting there perplexed at a ringing picture, she'll take off the back of the frame and discover the iPhone that she wanted with a note that says, "I love you."
I don't have to do it. Valentine's Day is commercial...but my love isn't so I gotta do what I gotta do to protect the brand.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Black to the Future.
Okay I'll come out and say it since no one else has the balls to...
No one over the age of 12 and under the age of 40 really cares about Black History Month. Now don't get me wrong, if you mention taking it away then everyone and their mother will be up in arms about how important it is, but I just wanted to let you know that you don't really have to spend so much of your budget on those "Channel 4 salutes Black History Month" five second promo spots.
Now back in the day Black History Month was really something. The teacher used to roll out the old gray film strip projector, prop it up on a book and point it at a blank wall somewhere over Dr. Martin Luther the King's picture. Depending on how poor your school was, she'd either sync the projection to a tape or a record player. Eyes on the Prize would start playing and she'd turn the film strip at every chime.
Growing up in the 80's during the bull market phase of the crack epidemic, I found these film strips disturbing. It wasn't really the injustice of the water hoses and dog attacks that got me. I was more confounded by fact that they allowed it to happen. All of the Black people I knew growing up were violent as hell. DC averaged something like 400 murders a year in the 80's so my thought, however ignorant, was reflective of the times: Why didn't they just shoot the police like they do now?
In 1988 my generation was so far removed (mentally at least) from everything pre-Civil Rights Movement that it's a bit lofty to think that kids who came after me would really pay any more attention, especially now that we have a Black president. I'm not one of those people who thinks that racism ended in November 2008. Racism is a Twilight vampire that will never be killed off. Unfortunately, a lot of us are supplying the blood that's keeping him alive.
For one, my understanding of the mission of the Civil Rights Movement was equality. The goal was to one day live in a world where there was no discernible difference between races as far as potential and options available. Why then is it that Black people seem more openly racist these days then anyone else? We hate everybody from Whites to Hispanics to Asians. We even hate each other, hence the whole Black person vs Nigga thing. Every Black comedian has a bit about what White people do that Black people don't.
If we don't really hate anyone then we do a hell of a job killing what little opportunities there are to foster integration into mainstream psyche. Black Entertainment Television, Ebony, Jet, TV One, The Afro, Black Enterprise--The titles basically scream Hey, this aint for you! People talked shit about the Cosby Show for not being realistic, but it was the number one show in America for several years in a row. The goal of any decent actor is to not be seen as a Black actor, but rather to not be seen at all. The audience should just see the character. That's where I think our culture was trying to go. Somewhere along the way we just got distracted by the difficulty of the dream and settled somewhere between bitterness and not letting it go.
Call me an Uncle Tom, say I don't know what the hell I'm talking about or whatever the hell else you want to say but how can we ever move forward if all we do is rehash the past? We've been celebrating Black History Month for a while now and things for us seem to have gotten worse. There are way more Black doctors, lawyers, artists, engineers, politicians and entrepreneurs than EVER before but we don't highlight that. We talk about how White people didn't want us to eat at a lunch counter fifty years ago, but that means nothing to a generation that doesn't even use the term lunch counter anymore.
The average grandmother today wasn't even alive when that stuff happened. Instead of talking about what White people did to us, we need to address what we did to ourselves. How about the whole moment of silence the NAACP took when stuff like BET Uncut used to run all the time. Jena Six brought back bad memories? Well they aren't memories for us. Why don't you talk about why the younger generation seems so comfortable saying nigger and yet you constantly take it upon yourself to remind White America that they can still use it to hurt you. You somehow feel that having a funeral for a word will change the way people feel about us. Address the coonery in movies, music and television first.
Address the fact that there is so much garbage in our neighborhood to eat and no healthy options. Since you love the Civil Rights Era so much, restart some of the Black Panther Party's school programs. They used to take food to poor schools so the kids could eat. They did tutoring and mentoring for the kids. Maybe the law (and common sense) won't allow you to drop off bags of food, but you can do so with your vote, tax dollar and your influence. Get on TV and talk about that. You can volunteer after hours for tutoring. Maybe you could do some real drug reform and legalize half of the stuff that they're out here killing each other for so that the prison industrial complex won't profit from something so dumb as murder over a fucking plant. Maybe you set the wheels in motion so that one day being able to throw a ball won't make you richer than being able to design a building or a bridge.
I could go on and on (1000 words so far) but I guess what I'm really trying to say is: Enough with Black History, let's focus on our present because our future is looking grim right now.
No one over the age of 12 and under the age of 40 really cares about Black History Month. Now don't get me wrong, if you mention taking it away then everyone and their mother will be up in arms about how important it is, but I just wanted to let you know that you don't really have to spend so much of your budget on those "Channel 4 salutes Black History Month" five second promo spots.
Now back in the day Black History Month was really something. The teacher used to roll out the old gray film strip projector, prop it up on a book and point it at a blank wall somewhere over Dr. Martin Luther the King's picture. Depending on how poor your school was, she'd either sync the projection to a tape or a record player. Eyes on the Prize would start playing and she'd turn the film strip at every chime.
Growing up in the 80's during the bull market phase of the crack epidemic, I found these film strips disturbing. It wasn't really the injustice of the water hoses and dog attacks that got me. I was more confounded by fact that they allowed it to happen. All of the Black people I knew growing up were violent as hell. DC averaged something like 400 murders a year in the 80's so my thought, however ignorant, was reflective of the times: Why didn't they just shoot the police like they do now?
In 1988 my generation was so far removed (mentally at least) from everything pre-Civil Rights Movement that it's a bit lofty to think that kids who came after me would really pay any more attention, especially now that we have a Black president. I'm not one of those people who thinks that racism ended in November 2008. Racism is a Twilight vampire that will never be killed off. Unfortunately, a lot of us are supplying the blood that's keeping him alive.
For one, my understanding of the mission of the Civil Rights Movement was equality. The goal was to one day live in a world where there was no discernible difference between races as far as potential and options available. Why then is it that Black people seem more openly racist these days then anyone else? We hate everybody from Whites to Hispanics to Asians. We even hate each other, hence the whole Black person vs Nigga thing. Every Black comedian has a bit about what White people do that Black people don't.
If we don't really hate anyone then we do a hell of a job killing what little opportunities there are to foster integration into mainstream psyche. Black Entertainment Television, Ebony, Jet, TV One, The Afro, Black Enterprise--The titles basically scream Hey, this aint for you! People talked shit about the Cosby Show for not being realistic, but it was the number one show in America for several years in a row. The goal of any decent actor is to not be seen as a Black actor, but rather to not be seen at all. The audience should just see the character. That's where I think our culture was trying to go. Somewhere along the way we just got distracted by the difficulty of the dream and settled somewhere between bitterness and not letting it go.
Call me an Uncle Tom, say I don't know what the hell I'm talking about or whatever the hell else you want to say but how can we ever move forward if all we do is rehash the past? We've been celebrating Black History Month for a while now and things for us seem to have gotten worse. There are way more Black doctors, lawyers, artists, engineers, politicians and entrepreneurs than EVER before but we don't highlight that. We talk about how White people didn't want us to eat at a lunch counter fifty years ago, but that means nothing to a generation that doesn't even use the term lunch counter anymore.
The average grandmother today wasn't even alive when that stuff happened. Instead of talking about what White people did to us, we need to address what we did to ourselves. How about the whole moment of silence the NAACP took when stuff like BET Uncut used to run all the time. Jena Six brought back bad memories? Well they aren't memories for us. Why don't you talk about why the younger generation seems so comfortable saying nigger and yet you constantly take it upon yourself to remind White America that they can still use it to hurt you. You somehow feel that having a funeral for a word will change the way people feel about us. Address the coonery in movies, music and television first.
Address the fact that there is so much garbage in our neighborhood to eat and no healthy options. Since you love the Civil Rights Era so much, restart some of the Black Panther Party's school programs. They used to take food to poor schools so the kids could eat. They did tutoring and mentoring for the kids. Maybe the law (and common sense) won't allow you to drop off bags of food, but you can do so with your vote, tax dollar and your influence. Get on TV and talk about that. You can volunteer after hours for tutoring. Maybe you could do some real drug reform and legalize half of the stuff that they're out here killing each other for so that the prison industrial complex won't profit from something so dumb as murder over a fucking plant. Maybe you set the wheels in motion so that one day being able to throw a ball won't make you richer than being able to design a building or a bridge.
I could go on and on (1000 words so far) but I guess what I'm really trying to say is: Enough with Black History, let's focus on our present because our future is looking grim right now.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Black Future Month
Oh my God. If you want to study the antithesis of Black History Month, spend five hours in DC Superior Court like I did yesterday. I now know why the police academy didn't work out for me. God gave me a heart defect because He knew that I would shoot some of those niggas. And see, with it being February I try to avoid that kind of talk. We can save Black on Black crime for the other eleven months. But nooooo, not today folks. I spent five hours watching what basically amounted to a documentary of how I don't want my daughter to turn out.
The highlight of the day comes from a family court trial that I sat in on. Basically this dude was trying to get joint custody of his kids. The kids already lived with him but his ex kept popping up in the middle of the night to take them to her house and threatening to call the cops because I guess he wasn't on the birth certificate.
Anyway, the details don't really matter. What stood out was when the judge asked about the kids. One in high school, one in junior high and one in elementary. Two are on honor roll and one is not. The judge asked about the non-honor student. "Your honor, my kid has a blood clot in his brain and it causes seizures so he misses a lot of school, but I still try to work with him." I had a hallmark moment inside, like "awww, what a good dad."
Then the judge asked why he wanted joint custody and not sole. "She's their mom. If anything ever happens, she needs to be able to sign paperwork too. They're her kids too and they need her in their life." Again, I'm like..."awwww."
So then the judge asks, who currently lives in the home. This is where it all changed. "It's me, my three kids and my wife. I got married a year ago, your honor." The judge asked if anyone else lived in the house. "Yes, your honor...her five kids live with us as well."
Hold up.
What the hell?
Did this nigga just say that him, his three kids, his wife and her FIVE kids live in this APARTMENT? Now I omitted a part. The judge asked about occupations. The dude works for the city and the lady works at Ross. That's right...Ross. The judge asked about child support from the mom and the dude declined. Know why? Cuz she works at Dollar Tree. What the hell!
A job is a job, EXCEPT when you have eight damn kids living in an apartment. My heart was torn. Part of me was like, "FINALLY a brother doing something positive, taking care of his kids and has a steady job." The other side of me was like, "What's wrong with this nigga. It's ten people living in your house...I'm sorry, APARTMENT. You need to be robbing banks or something."
I salute the man for being positive but DAMN...is this what Black History Month has come to. We can't get any more Booker T Washingtons? We gotta get Jamal the Sanitation Worker with a family of ten in a two bedroom apartment? Damn!
The highlight of the day comes from a family court trial that I sat in on. Basically this dude was trying to get joint custody of his kids. The kids already lived with him but his ex kept popping up in the middle of the night to take them to her house and threatening to call the cops because I guess he wasn't on the birth certificate.
Anyway, the details don't really matter. What stood out was when the judge asked about the kids. One in high school, one in junior high and one in elementary. Two are on honor roll and one is not. The judge asked about the non-honor student. "Your honor, my kid has a blood clot in his brain and it causes seizures so he misses a lot of school, but I still try to work with him." I had a hallmark moment inside, like "awww, what a good dad."
Then the judge asked why he wanted joint custody and not sole. "She's their mom. If anything ever happens, she needs to be able to sign paperwork too. They're her kids too and they need her in their life." Again, I'm like..."awwww."
So then the judge asks, who currently lives in the home. This is where it all changed. "It's me, my three kids and my wife. I got married a year ago, your honor." The judge asked if anyone else lived in the house. "Yes, your honor...her five kids live with us as well."
Hold up.
What the hell?
Did this nigga just say that him, his three kids, his wife and her FIVE kids live in this APARTMENT? Now I omitted a part. The judge asked about occupations. The dude works for the city and the lady works at Ross. That's right...Ross. The judge asked about child support from the mom and the dude declined. Know why? Cuz she works at Dollar Tree. What the hell!
A job is a job, EXCEPT when you have eight damn kids living in an apartment. My heart was torn. Part of me was like, "FINALLY a brother doing something positive, taking care of his kids and has a steady job." The other side of me was like, "What's wrong with this nigga. It's ten people living in your house...I'm sorry, APARTMENT. You need to be robbing banks or something."
I salute the man for being positive but DAMN...is this what Black History Month has come to. We can't get any more Booker T Washingtons? We gotta get Jamal the Sanitation Worker with a family of ten in a two bedroom apartment? Damn!
Monday, February 7, 2011
It Came, It Saw, It Conquered
[caption id="attachment_674" align="aligncenter" width="435" caption="At Last, my love has come along"]
[/caption]
Dear Steve Jobs,
Thank you for sending the iPhone three days early. I would say, "You shouldn't have," but considering the fact that I paid full retail price for this thing ($750 + tax)...you really should have. As a matter of fact, for $750 + tax, you should've dropped it off yourself. Then again, I hear that you're sick so that would've been asking too much for you to fly across the country just to give me my phone. Well, you could've sent the plane to me, then had me come to where you are to pick it up. You probably own a few commercial airliners. I mean, how much could those black turtlenecks be running you? I paid like 10 bucks for eight black t-shirts from Rugged Wearhouse. Discount black turtlenecks? There's actually an app for that...it's called shopsavvy.
Anyway, I don't want to take up too much of your time, even though I get unlimited data through Verizon unlike AT&T. Here's a question: Did you switch to Verizon now that your phone is on both? It's the network, you know. I swear that if I find out you're on T-Mobile or Sprint I'm tossing my Macbook in the trash. Okay, that's a bit excessive. I'll think about throwing it in the trash and then I'll look at that $400 paperweight on my couch that's running Windows 7 and remember that I don't have too many options. You're cool Steve Jobs. I haven't written imaginary letters to anyone else, let alone three (or has it been four) imaginary letters.
You're like my hero. Well, not really. I don't really have any heroes...except GI Joe. Now he was a real American hero. You know Steve (May I call you Steve?), I watched GI Joe my entire childhood and they never actually showed "Joe." There was Duke, Sgt Slaughter, Cobra Commander, the Black dude who set us back a few years with his jive...but Joe never showed up. It's almost as disappointing as watching Sesame Street every single day for five years and they never give out the directions on how to get there even though the little kids at the beginning ask them for directions in the song at least four times. I hate to think about those poor kids who probably froze to death on the side of the road hoping for directions to a place that was filled with sunny days sweeping clouds away.
Those kids must've seen some dark times to be so young and yet be able to distinguish the rosy world of Sesame Street from the harsh reality of "everywhere else." That's so different from the Muppet Babies who just imagine themselves elsewhere all the time. I guess that's what happens though when your parents abandon you at a daycare and the nanny just locks you in a room with no food, water or a bathroom. She came back to check on em from time to time, but the damage from hours upon hours of neglect was already done. Maybe that's why Kermit grew up and went to live on Sesame Street as a reporter. Who knows what became of the rest of them. I did see Ralph the dog in one of those Save the Animals commercials that plays that depressing ass Sarah Maclachlin song, In the Arms of the Angels. Poor guy.
Well Steve (You said it was cool to call you Steve, right?) I didn't mean to take up so much of your time with this letter. I'm sure you have a lot to do like swimming in your money bin or something. Do a lap for me, will ya? I'm going to go buy Angry Birds from your App Store. There's one more dollar to swim in.
Sincerely,
The guy who just wanted to see who would actually read through the whole post.
[/caption]Dear Steve Jobs,
Thank you for sending the iPhone three days early. I would say, "You shouldn't have," but considering the fact that I paid full retail price for this thing ($750 + tax)...you really should have. As a matter of fact, for $750 + tax, you should've dropped it off yourself. Then again, I hear that you're sick so that would've been asking too much for you to fly across the country just to give me my phone. Well, you could've sent the plane to me, then had me come to where you are to pick it up. You probably own a few commercial airliners. I mean, how much could those black turtlenecks be running you? I paid like 10 bucks for eight black t-shirts from Rugged Wearhouse. Discount black turtlenecks? There's actually an app for that...it's called shopsavvy.
Anyway, I don't want to take up too much of your time, even though I get unlimited data through Verizon unlike AT&T. Here's a question: Did you switch to Verizon now that your phone is on both? It's the network, you know. I swear that if I find out you're on T-Mobile or Sprint I'm tossing my Macbook in the trash. Okay, that's a bit excessive. I'll think about throwing it in the trash and then I'll look at that $400 paperweight on my couch that's running Windows 7 and remember that I don't have too many options. You're cool Steve Jobs. I haven't written imaginary letters to anyone else, let alone three (or has it been four) imaginary letters.
You're like my hero. Well, not really. I don't really have any heroes...except GI Joe. Now he was a real American hero. You know Steve (May I call you Steve?), I watched GI Joe my entire childhood and they never actually showed "Joe." There was Duke, Sgt Slaughter, Cobra Commander, the Black dude who set us back a few years with his jive...but Joe never showed up. It's almost as disappointing as watching Sesame Street every single day for five years and they never give out the directions on how to get there even though the little kids at the beginning ask them for directions in the song at least four times. I hate to think about those poor kids who probably froze to death on the side of the road hoping for directions to a place that was filled with sunny days sweeping clouds away.
Those kids must've seen some dark times to be so young and yet be able to distinguish the rosy world of Sesame Street from the harsh reality of "everywhere else." That's so different from the Muppet Babies who just imagine themselves elsewhere all the time. I guess that's what happens though when your parents abandon you at a daycare and the nanny just locks you in a room with no food, water or a bathroom. She came back to check on em from time to time, but the damage from hours upon hours of neglect was already done. Maybe that's why Kermit grew up and went to live on Sesame Street as a reporter. Who knows what became of the rest of them. I did see Ralph the dog in one of those Save the Animals commercials that plays that depressing ass Sarah Maclachlin song, In the Arms of the Angels. Poor guy.
Well Steve (You said it was cool to call you Steve, right?) I didn't mean to take up so much of your time with this letter. I'm sure you have a lot to do like swimming in your money bin or something. Do a lap for me, will ya? I'm going to go buy Angry Birds from your App Store. There's one more dollar to swim in.
Sincerely,
The guy who just wanted to see who would actually read through the whole post.
Here's Someone Who Knew The Words
Unlike Christina Aguilera, here's someone who knew the words to the song. She didn't need a fancy outfit either. I don't even think she had her hair done. She had on a sweatsuit and a headband like she was on her way to the grocery store and decided to stop by.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHmdu_I_0zI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHmdu_I_0zI
Sunday, February 6, 2011
No Super Size This Year...LargeBowl
This Superbowl kinda sucked. The game itself was okay, but Super Bowl Sunday has always been about much more than just the game. Around five o'clock I was thinking to myself, "Damn is it really Super Bowl Sunday?" The same way that some people say that it doesn't feel like Christmas or it doesn't feel like their birthday...well that's how I felt about the game today. Besides the actual fans of the Steelers and the Packers, no one seemed to care compared to last year when everybody was jumping up and down before game day.
The pre-game show sucked. The announcers were bland. The commercials SUCKED this year. And, to quote one of my Facebook friends, the halftime show looked like TRON the musical. The Doritos commercial with the old man coming back to life was funny and I chuckled at the jab that Verizon took at AT&T when they brought the original "can you hear me now" guy back. Outside of that, it was just...meh. The game itself was decent. There were no real nailbiter moments or any insane plays. It didn't feel like post-season to me at all.
It was an okay way to spend four hours but I really could've had a V8.
The pre-game show sucked. The announcers were bland. The commercials SUCKED this year. And, to quote one of my Facebook friends, the halftime show looked like TRON the musical. The Doritos commercial with the old man coming back to life was funny and I chuckled at the jab that Verizon took at AT&T when they brought the original "can you hear me now" guy back. Outside of that, it was just...meh. The game itself was decent. There were no real nailbiter moments or any insane plays. It didn't feel like post-season to me at all.
It was an okay way to spend four hours but I really could've had a V8.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
I Love the 80's and 90's
I'm sitting here watching I Love the 80s on VH1 and I just realized that I'm getting old. I don't really care that I'm getting old, but it just hit me how old I actually am. Now to a forty year old, I'm just a baby, but to the little high school kids that I have to push out of my way on the subway, at 28 I'm like a senior citizen.
You don't realize how old you are until you find yourself being shocked at how old the people on TV are. I was watching something the other day, can't remember what it was, and they flashed this lady's age. I thought to myself, "Damn she looks good for thirty. I thought she was like my age." Then I remembered...I'll be 29 in a few months. She is my age. Another weird thing is realizing that your memories live outside of time. I was like eight or nine when Jordan got his first ring. Back then he looked like any other adult...old. I'm the same age now that he was back then, but I think of myself as like 22 or something. It's weird and hard to explain.
Even stranger is when you see people that you think are your age (because they look young) and you learn that they are like five or six years younger than you and then you realize, "Hey, maybe I don't look that young after all." So with all of this in mind, I still don't care about getting older. I hope to add so many numbers to my age that they run out of wax for the birthday candles. I just find it weird when I realize that a person turning 18 today
I'm sure that anyone older than me can say something similar about me, but this is my post and my thoughts. It's also my time to resent these little bastards for never having to go to a library and use ENCYCLOPEDIAS, the Card Catalog and the Dewey Decimal System to do their homework.
Things done changed.
[caption id="attachment_643" align="aligncenter" width="610" caption="1994's version of Google"]
[/caption]
[caption id="attachment_633" align="aligncenter" width="628" caption="Cue the commercial: Ya-HOOoooo!"]
[/caption]
You don't realize how old you are until you find yourself being shocked at how old the people on TV are. I was watching something the other day, can't remember what it was, and they flashed this lady's age. I thought to myself, "Damn she looks good for thirty. I thought she was like my age." Then I remembered...I'll be 29 in a few months. She is my age. Another weird thing is realizing that your memories live outside of time. I was like eight or nine when Jordan got his first ring. Back then he looked like any other adult...old. I'm the same age now that he was back then, but I think of myself as like 22 or something. It's weird and hard to explain.
Even stranger is when you see people that you think are your age (because they look young) and you learn that they are like five or six years younger than you and then you realize, "Hey, maybe I don't look that young after all." So with all of this in mind, I still don't care about getting older. I hope to add so many numbers to my age that they run out of wax for the birthday candles. I just find it weird when I realize that a person turning 18 today
- Wasn't even alive when Michael Jackson's Black or White debuted on prime time TV after In Living Color
- Was two when the Playstation came out and missed the entire video game cartridge generation
- Was too young to witness the greatness that used to be the Dallas Cowboys and San Francisco 49ers
- Was five when The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, Hard Knock Life and DMX's It's Dark and Hell is Hot came out
- Never got to play with a Teddy Ruxpin
- Probably never had a TV with knobs
- Doesn't remember Yahoo having those dumb sections: "Arts and Humanities, Entertainment" instead of a simple search bar
- Missed the whole America Online buddy list, "You've got mail," five minute boot-up period while you waited for dial-up to connect
- By the time they turned five...Martin, Living Single, In Living Color, The Cosby Show and A Different World were all off the air.
- Never had a brown cable box with the bright red numbers and the A/B side.
I'm sure that anyone older than me can say something similar about me, but this is my post and my thoughts. It's also my time to resent these little bastards for never having to go to a library and use ENCYCLOPEDIAS, the Card Catalog and the Dewey Decimal System to do their homework.
Things done changed.
[caption id="attachment_643" align="aligncenter" width="610" caption="1994's version of Google"]
[/caption][caption id="attachment_633" align="aligncenter" width="628" caption="Cue the commercial: Ya-HOOoooo!"]
[/caption]
iCan't Believe It
Dear Steve Jobs,
Hardy Har! I ordered the iPhone at 3AM along with the other cultists and at 10 I got an email saying that my iPhone had shipped "overnight mail." I knew that had to be a mistake because it isn't supposed to come out until the 10th. I shrugged it off and went about my pious non-iPhone-having life.
The next day the concierge downstairs (bougie term for the guy that works the front desk downstairs) tells me that a package came from me. He pulled out a FedEx box sent from Verizon. An orb of light emanated from the box and a choir of angels sang in my head the entire elevator ride up to my apartment.With surgical precision I cut the seal on the box, made my way through the bill of sale and packing slips to pull out
A DROID X.
(cue that whooshing sound from Lost that played before a flashback)
Two days earlier
(A two-day younger version of me walks into the Verizon store. A gust of wind flows through the store a la Michael Jackson walking into the bar in the Smooth Criminal video. Everyone pauses to look at my handsome self.)
"Yeah my Droid keeps acting up. I can't hear any music when I put my headphones on."
"No problem sir, I'll just order another one for you since you're still in your warranty. It'll take a while for the phone to get to you though. I'd say probably a week or so."
"That's cool, by then I'll probably have my iPhone."
(cue whooshing Lost sound as we come back from the flashback)
Yeah, Steve Jobs...real effing funny. Hardy har! I just checked the tracking status and it says that the phone will be here Monday. It better be Steve! It better be!
Hardy Har! I ordered the iPhone at 3AM along with the other cultists and at 10 I got an email saying that my iPhone had shipped "overnight mail." I knew that had to be a mistake because it isn't supposed to come out until the 10th. I shrugged it off and went about my pious non-iPhone-having life.
The next day the concierge downstairs (bougie term for the guy that works the front desk downstairs) tells me that a package came from me. He pulled out a FedEx box sent from Verizon. An orb of light emanated from the box and a choir of angels sang in my head the entire elevator ride up to my apartment.With surgical precision I cut the seal on the box, made my way through the bill of sale and packing slips to pull out
A DROID X.
(cue that whooshing sound from Lost that played before a flashback)
Two days earlier
(A two-day younger version of me walks into the Verizon store. A gust of wind flows through the store a la Michael Jackson walking into the bar in the Smooth Criminal video. Everyone pauses to look at my handsome self.)
"Yeah my Droid keeps acting up. I can't hear any music when I put my headphones on."
"No problem sir, I'll just order another one for you since you're still in your warranty. It'll take a while for the phone to get to you though. I'd say probably a week or so."
"That's cool, by then I'll probably have my iPhone."
(cue whooshing Lost sound as we come back from the flashback)
Yeah, Steve Jobs...real effing funny. Hardy har! I just checked the tracking status and it says that the phone will be here Monday. It better be Steve! It better be!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
iCan't
Dear Steve Jobs,
You win!
Sincerely,
The guy who wanted to curse out everyone at Apple and Verizon for announcing the iPhone two days after his thirty day return policy expired on his Droid X and vowed to not to buy an iPhone until the next New Every Two upgrade as an ill-conceived attempt to prove a point.
P.S.
That guy is much better now and realizes that with or without his measly $800, you will still continue to make money and churn out products that catch his eye. Without the iPhone, his bitterness would peck away at him until all that would be left is a shattered Droid on the ground floating in a puddle of tears.
PPS
He hopes that the $800 finds you in a get well soon card, because he can't conceive of an iPhone 5 without Steve Jobs' stamp of approval.
You win!
Sincerely,
The guy who wanted to curse out everyone at Apple and Verizon for announcing the iPhone two days after his thirty day return policy expired on his Droid X and vowed to not to buy an iPhone until the next New Every Two upgrade as an ill-conceived attempt to prove a point.
P.S.
That guy is much better now and realizes that with or without his measly $800, you will still continue to make money and churn out products that catch his eye. Without the iPhone, his bitterness would peck away at him until all that would be left is a shattered Droid on the ground floating in a puddle of tears.
PPS
He hopes that the $800 finds you in a get well soon card, because he can't conceive of an iPhone 5 without Steve Jobs' stamp of approval.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Child Abuse?
Did anyone else see this on the news? An Alaska woman has been arrested for disciplining her seven year old son by making him drink hot sauce and take cold showers. Apparently the lady was on Dr. Phil where they showed a home video that she submitted when she asked for help. That video has been used as evidence to charge her with child abuse. If convicted she can face up to a year in prison. My only question is...
When the hell did the bar for conviction lower to hot sauce and cold showers???
This must be something new because during the 80's my mother and grandmother played Passion of the Christ with my little ass and NOT ONE legal aide made me aware of my rights. Hot sauce and cold showers? (In my Clay Davis voice from The Wire) Shiiiiit! Man, first off we poured hot sauce on every damn thing from pork chops to chicken to fish to Capn Crunch. You pour hot sauce in a Black kids mouth and the only reason he's gonna cry is because you didn't bring some meat to go along with it. As for cold showers...When the gas got cut off and no one had money to turn it back on, every bath was a cold bath. My mother told me to just think of it as going to the pool.
Now I know what you're thinking. "That's different than purposely causing your child harm. You liked hot food, and your family was broke and couldn't get hot water. This woman intentionally hurt her child." You know what I have to say to that? Bullllllshit! One time I asked my mother to take me to the fair. She told me she didn't have any money. I knew she had money because by six years old, I knew her payroll schedule. When I brought up the fact that it was the fifteenth, she gave me the Black mother's line: "Boy, you got one more time!" So being tough I said, "That's okay, I'll ask my father to take me."
My mother turned into Maximus from Gladiator. I've never run so fast in my life. I ran a full block down the street. I then ran up ten steps to the front door. I opened the door, and closed it behind me. I ran up 19 steps to my room and hid under the bed. I did all of this in like three and a half seconds. I lie to you not... my mother was underneath the bed waiting for me with a belt when I got there. With one hand she lifted the bed up, with the other hand she yanked me from under the bed and somehow while simultaneously holding the bed and me she somehow grew another arm which she used to beat my ass so bad that I started hearing African drums beating in the distance.
Where the hell was Child Protective Services then?
They sure as hell didn't come when my grandmother broke out what she called a "switch" but was really a small piece of the crucifix. My grandmother would beat me with whatever was available at the time: House slipper, mixing spoon, iron cord. One time she got mad at something I did and ran over to my hot wheels race track. I thought she was taking it apart as kind of a, "You can't play with this til you get yourself together." Nope. Mattel didn't say anything about putting two of the long pieces together and making a nunchuk out of em. You know you have skills when you can beat someone's ass with a church fan in the middle of a sermon.
So with these memories fresh in my mind...No, that woman shouldn't be arrested.
To the Alaskan police: I'll trade you that lady for two women here in DC.
When the hell did the bar for conviction lower to hot sauce and cold showers???
This must be something new because during the 80's my mother and grandmother played Passion of the Christ with my little ass and NOT ONE legal aide made me aware of my rights. Hot sauce and cold showers? (In my Clay Davis voice from The Wire) Shiiiiit! Man, first off we poured hot sauce on every damn thing from pork chops to chicken to fish to Capn Crunch. You pour hot sauce in a Black kids mouth and the only reason he's gonna cry is because you didn't bring some meat to go along with it. As for cold showers...When the gas got cut off and no one had money to turn it back on, every bath was a cold bath. My mother told me to just think of it as going to the pool.
Now I know what you're thinking. "That's different than purposely causing your child harm. You liked hot food, and your family was broke and couldn't get hot water. This woman intentionally hurt her child." You know what I have to say to that? Bullllllshit! One time I asked my mother to take me to the fair. She told me she didn't have any money. I knew she had money because by six years old, I knew her payroll schedule. When I brought up the fact that it was the fifteenth, she gave me the Black mother's line: "Boy, you got one more time!" So being tough I said, "That's okay, I'll ask my father to take me."
My mother turned into Maximus from Gladiator. I've never run so fast in my life. I ran a full block down the street. I then ran up ten steps to the front door. I opened the door, and closed it behind me. I ran up 19 steps to my room and hid under the bed. I did all of this in like three and a half seconds. I lie to you not... my mother was underneath the bed waiting for me with a belt when I got there. With one hand she lifted the bed up, with the other hand she yanked me from under the bed and somehow while simultaneously holding the bed and me she somehow grew another arm which she used to beat my ass so bad that I started hearing African drums beating in the distance.
Where the hell was Child Protective Services then?
They sure as hell didn't come when my grandmother broke out what she called a "switch" but was really a small piece of the crucifix. My grandmother would beat me with whatever was available at the time: House slipper, mixing spoon, iron cord. One time she got mad at something I did and ran over to my hot wheels race track. I thought she was taking it apart as kind of a, "You can't play with this til you get yourself together." Nope. Mattel didn't say anything about putting two of the long pieces together and making a nunchuk out of em. You know you have skills when you can beat someone's ass with a church fan in the middle of a sermon.
So with these memories fresh in my mind...No, that woman shouldn't be arrested.
To the Alaskan police: I'll trade you that lady for two women here in DC.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Failure...
The baby's crying, the wife is busy and I'm three days behind on sleep. In other words...Today is a bad day for posting.
So, enjoy this video from JK Rowling regarding the benefits of failure, while I try to get some rest.
http://vimeo.com/1711302
So, enjoy this video from JK Rowling regarding the benefits of failure, while I try to get some rest.
http://vimeo.com/1711302
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