A-HA MOMENT #2
(OR WHAT’S YOUR IMPRESSION?)
So it is 3 a.m. on New Year’s Eve. What in the hell am I doing up? One of my bad habits, I suppose. Fell asleep on the couch around 11 and now I cannot get back to sleep. Also had a bad case of writer’s block for the past two days; but now I’ve, “got something to talk about,” so I’m up.
About 6 hours ago, I got two pieces of sad news. First, a fellow college alum lost his Dad; it was the end of a second battle with cancer. Ironically, his father passed away at the very moment I was at the cemetery visiting my Father. I went by to check on Dad’s shiny new headstone which reads: loving grandfather, father & husband. There is a little bus chiseled in at the top emphasizing his love of travel and that he had his own bus company for 16 years.
Right before I heard of my friend’s father’s passing—perhaps 30 minutes, I was scanning Yahoo! and noticed a story with the headline, “Sad news for ex-player” (Or Heartbreaking News for ex-NFL Player). At first I start to pass the story up. To me, every other story about an athlete or former athlete is some over the top outrageous incident that usually (but not always) started with voluntary reckless behavior.
This story, however, was different. I say again—this story was different.
You see, former Atlanta Falcon Chris Draft loved (La)Keasha Rutledge; and she, he. So on November 27, 2011, they married. She died of breast cancer one month later. At her wedding, she was on oxygen and frequently needed a wheel chair. This was indeed a remarkable couple—extraordinary together and as individuals.
Chris has a charity, Team Draft, dedicated to encouraging families to build a healthy lifestyle. And in 2002, homeboy pulled a man from a burning car on a busy interstate in Atlanta. Mrs. Draft was a native of South Carolina, had an Engineering degree from Clemson, and was a member of the Charlotte Hornet’s dance team. She had the courage to press on with her wedding despite being gravely ill; that speaks volumes right there. Most women, wanting everything to be perfect on their wedding day, might not have done the same. I can’t say that I could be bold enough to do the same thing, even for true love. Moreover, the thing I read repeatedly was how beautiful Keasha was inside as well as outside and that her smile was infectious.
Then I went back to what my friend Malcolm said about his Dad on Facebook:
"…I know he left the world knowing that I loved him. I know he had a wonderful life. It’s just so hard to say goodbye to a man who molded me into the father, husband and fraternity brother that I became. Most of all he made me a good man."
After watching Chris and Keasha’s beautiful, yet waterworks producing wedding video for the fourth time, I got to thinking about my Dad’s headstone. A cousin who saw it asked why and how my siblings chose the words that we did. My response was simply, “Because that is who he was.”
I have advised my children to cremate me and spread my ashes by the Brooklyn Bridge. Still, I wonder if I had had a headstone, what it would say. Up until tonight, I honestly, did not give two snots; my only worry about my obituary is that my name is spelled correctly. Say anything you want— just don’t misspell my name.
Now, I am not suddenly concerned with what people think about me after I am gone. I just wonder if the real me ever comes across. Like the fact that I love to write, but often I simply cannot transform my thoughts into words. Or that I can operate almost any vehicle up to a tractor trailer, yet I dislike driving. Additionally, that I don’t condone road rage, but in the words of Chris Rock, "I understand…" And while I may be tough on the outside (most of the times anyway) and love to laugh a lot, I cry like a baby during the last Vietnam scene in Forrest Gump and at the end of Dead Presidents.
Again, I thought about Dad’s headstone. I know that when people think of Dad they say, “Yeah, the dude who had the buses; standup guy and man, he loved them grandkids!” My goal? To be remembered as the chick who, “passed away with a pen in one hand (working on the next screenplay) and the strongest alcoholic beverage on Earth in the other.” Well, maybe I’ll tweak that a little.
What impression will you leave…?
Dedicated to Keasha Draft and the Father of Malcolm Aaron.
Ashay.
31 December 2011
26 October 2011
ONCE UPON A TIME WHEN WE WERE SLAVES
For the second time in my life, I went to sacred ground today: the First African-Baptist Church located on Franklin Square in Savannah, GA—which by the way, is where wrongly executed Troy Davis is from. This is the oldest continuous African-American congregation in America. Stress on continuous because a couple of other congregations take great exception to the title, “oldest African-American church.” FAB was established December 1788, but has moved four times and had a major split in 1802. And of course, it was a stop on the Underground Railroad for six years.
The tour guide, director of tours and recent Savannah State University grad, Johnny McDonald was articulate, insightful, and gave me cause to pause. A couple of things he mentioned I have never heard before:
• Church members gave up money they would have used to buy their family’s freedom to build the current church.
• It was the women who actually made the now infamous and valuable Savannah Grey Bricks, down by the river. They carried them up to Franklin Square by tying their aprons together.
• The crawl space where slaves hid during the Underground Railroad is only 4 feet high.
• Recently the Georgia Historical Society visited the church for a formal appraisal. Some items are so old, so authentic in nature that a value could not be put on them.
I know I am missing a few other, “Wow Factors,” but alas this writer went to the tour without a pen (say what?!?!?!). Furthermore, being as I am as old as, “Sesame Street,” my memory is shot.
Still, some things are etched in memory forever. For instance, it blows my mind that the pastor was able to convince the congregants to put the building of the church before the freedom of themselves or even their family. Mixed feelings, I have, about this, as this type of thing continues today—people putting the church ahead of their mortgage, car payment, etc. I don’t dig that at all, but that’s just me. Still, the way Johnny describes it, the pastor explained that even if they did not have freedom, they had Jesus; hmm… They also sacrificed their free time to build FAB. They only had permission to build at night, when they were done working in the fields. So instead of spending time with family, the FAB members fellowshipped with each other while building the church—that’s truly a beautiful thing.
Moreover, I was impressed with their organization. The women made bricks while the men laid them. According to Johnnie the man who laid the first brick also laid the last one. No one talked about the beautifully built and sound crawl-space below the church. Nobody. And even during the years immediately following the civil war, it was not discussed outside the black community for fear of retaliation from angry, bitter former slave owners. The church could’ve in fact, been burned to the ground.
What moves my spirit the most was the workings of the Underground Railroad. Runaways knew which buildings were stops based on the pattern in the ceiling resembling a quilt that had a hidden message only known by slaves. So although illiterate, we knew and comprehended the meaning behind the quilts—hot damn!
And, if anybody asked what the air holes in the floor were, the same response was given by all: African Tribal prayer markings. Slaves understood that while slave masters were cruel and just all shades of wrong, they would never say, “No” to, or question God. Why wasn’t religion the main justification for enslaving the savage Africans? But I digress…
And trust—this space does in fact exist. Workers doing maintenance below Savannah’s streets about five years ago had to dig a hole in the basement floor. Johnnie says he was not allowed into the crawl space because of insurance liabilities. Nevertheless, he laid on the basement floor and looked down into the hole while it was all lit up. I can only imagine what he must have thought looking down into a space where 150 years ago, our ancestors squatted, crouched and lived—stress on the “lived” part, for days at a time until it was safe for them to move further north.
So as I see it, when in bondage physically, we do more. We stretch beyond our imagination and do the impossible. It is a pretty common thing that when incarcerated, people “find religion” or get an education. A shining example of that statement is Malcolm X, who converted to Islam and immersed himself in education—reading the entire dictionary word for word while locked up.
Once upon a time when we were slaves, we would create. We’d let our minds soar. Once upon a time when we were slaves, we worked together. We got shit done! Once upon time when we were slaves, women supported the men—even if it meant working with women we could not stand! Once upon a time when we were slaves, we worked from sunrise ‘til sunset—and then worked some more! Once upon a time when we were slaves, we lived in small crawl spaces for days at time because it meant the chance for freedom. We didn’t worry about keeping up with the Joneses—so why can’t we cut up the credit cards, drive a hoopty for a few years and in general, live a little more meagerly in order to gain financial freedom?
Once upon a time when we were slaves, we risked our lives for each other and stood together—united in what we could do and also in our hopes, dreams and thoughts of a day when freedom would finally come.
So, did freedom divide us and make us lazy…?
Ashay.
For the second time in my life, I went to sacred ground today: the First African-Baptist Church located on Franklin Square in Savannah, GA—which by the way, is where wrongly executed Troy Davis is from. This is the oldest continuous African-American congregation in America. Stress on continuous because a couple of other congregations take great exception to the title, “oldest African-American church.” FAB was established December 1788, but has moved four times and had a major split in 1802. And of course, it was a stop on the Underground Railroad for six years.
The tour guide, director of tours and recent Savannah State University grad, Johnny McDonald was articulate, insightful, and gave me cause to pause. A couple of things he mentioned I have never heard before:
• Church members gave up money they would have used to buy their family’s freedom to build the current church.
• It was the women who actually made the now infamous and valuable Savannah Grey Bricks, down by the river. They carried them up to Franklin Square by tying their aprons together.
• The crawl space where slaves hid during the Underground Railroad is only 4 feet high.
• Recently the Georgia Historical Society visited the church for a formal appraisal. Some items are so old, so authentic in nature that a value could not be put on them.
I know I am missing a few other, “Wow Factors,” but alas this writer went to the tour without a pen (say what?!?!?!). Furthermore, being as I am as old as, “Sesame Street,” my memory is shot.
Still, some things are etched in memory forever. For instance, it blows my mind that the pastor was able to convince the congregants to put the building of the church before the freedom of themselves or even their family. Mixed feelings, I have, about this, as this type of thing continues today—people putting the church ahead of their mortgage, car payment, etc. I don’t dig that at all, but that’s just me. Still, the way Johnny describes it, the pastor explained that even if they did not have freedom, they had Jesus; hmm… They also sacrificed their free time to build FAB. They only had permission to build at night, when they were done working in the fields. So instead of spending time with family, the FAB members fellowshipped with each other while building the church—that’s truly a beautiful thing.
Moreover, I was impressed with their organization. The women made bricks while the men laid them. According to Johnnie the man who laid the first brick also laid the last one. No one talked about the beautifully built and sound crawl-space below the church. Nobody. And even during the years immediately following the civil war, it was not discussed outside the black community for fear of retaliation from angry, bitter former slave owners. The church could’ve in fact, been burned to the ground.
What moves my spirit the most was the workings of the Underground Railroad. Runaways knew which buildings were stops based on the pattern in the ceiling resembling a quilt that had a hidden message only known by slaves. So although illiterate, we knew and comprehended the meaning behind the quilts—hot damn!
And, if anybody asked what the air holes in the floor were, the same response was given by all: African Tribal prayer markings. Slaves understood that while slave masters were cruel and just all shades of wrong, they would never say, “No” to, or question God. Why wasn’t religion the main justification for enslaving the savage Africans? But I digress…
And trust—this space does in fact exist. Workers doing maintenance below Savannah’s streets about five years ago had to dig a hole in the basement floor. Johnnie says he was not allowed into the crawl space because of insurance liabilities. Nevertheless, he laid on the basement floor and looked down into the hole while it was all lit up. I can only imagine what he must have thought looking down into a space where 150 years ago, our ancestors squatted, crouched and lived—stress on the “lived” part, for days at a time until it was safe for them to move further north.
So as I see it, when in bondage physically, we do more. We stretch beyond our imagination and do the impossible. It is a pretty common thing that when incarcerated, people “find religion” or get an education. A shining example of that statement is Malcolm X, who converted to Islam and immersed himself in education—reading the entire dictionary word for word while locked up.
Once upon a time when we were slaves, we would create. We’d let our minds soar. Once upon a time when we were slaves, we worked together. We got shit done! Once upon time when we were slaves, women supported the men—even if it meant working with women we could not stand! Once upon a time when we were slaves, we worked from sunrise ‘til sunset—and then worked some more! Once upon a time when we were slaves, we lived in small crawl spaces for days at time because it meant the chance for freedom. We didn’t worry about keeping up with the Joneses—so why can’t we cut up the credit cards, drive a hoopty for a few years and in general, live a little more meagerly in order to gain financial freedom?
Once upon a time when we were slaves, we risked our lives for each other and stood together—united in what we could do and also in our hopes, dreams and thoughts of a day when freedom would finally come.
So, did freedom divide us and make us lazy…?
Ashay.
21 August 2011
Vanilla Is The New Black
(or Le Boom)
This is not the, “Why I Have Jungle Fever” remix or “I Hate Brothers” kick a lot of sisters ride every so often. This right here is, my true shit. Henceforth and forevermore, I am dating white men exclusively. Not my first choice by any stretch of the imagination—for real, but white men want me. And they have told me so repeatedly.
(or Le Boom)
This is not the, “Why I Have Jungle Fever” remix or “I Hate Brothers” kick a lot of sisters ride every so often. This right here is, my true shit. Henceforth and forevermore, I am dating white men exclusively. Not my first choice by any stretch of the imagination—for real, but white men want me. And they have told me so repeatedly.
Not an easy decision and I’ve been on the fence about this for over a year now. Since early 2010, there’ve been articles in the Wall Street Journal, blogs, etc., advising black women to, “give it up, turn it loose” and start looking to white men because black men ain’t got what it takes and it appears they never will.
Shit, even one of my sheroes, actress Regina King declared recently that black women need to expand and diversify our choices in men. Damn. Now, I took grand offense at Regina’s statements because, well, she got a man. A brother: Malcolm Jamal Warner—you know, Theodore Aloysius Huxtable. So, she advises other sisters to date white men while she has one of the finest brothers on the planet? Um, ‘cuse me, while I remove my earrings because Ms. Thang just slapped me in the face. Feels like she is saying, “I got a good brother and you’ll never have what I have, so, you need to look elsewhere…” But what it boils down to, is she is probably tired of weak and lonely sisters gawking, hawking and stalking her man—all while disrespecting her. Plus, she might feel that while she is checking us lonely bitches, mine as well try to help us out. I can dig it.
Still, I was not convinced I should give up on Black men. For about 11 years now, I have been waiting for them to stop living with their mothers, get a car (any car), get & keep a damn drivers’ license, “get their paper right,” learn to trust me, stop using their kids as an excuse, quit being assholes or simply cease breaking my heart. I’m tired; completely worn the hell out. And as I catch my breath, I realize that in that time, I have had almost twice as many white men approach me as black men. Here of late, quite a few have made serious effort to get to know me and I have met those offers with straight up racism—why on earth would I want to date the descendent of the men who brutalized, raped, traumatized and oh, yes, enslaved my maternal ancestors? Besides, we all know when it comes to the bedroom white men have the minimal required equipment…
But wait, not having a man—black or white, that means I am dealing with no equipment at all… Hmmm…
Here is what I know: Black men struggle and are met with unfair challenges that no one on this planet could ever understand unless you walk a mile in their shoes. And that truly breaks my heart. But guess what? Black women fight the good fight, too. We are stereotyped as well, and in some instances even worse than our counterparts (white women or black men, depending on the situation). I will not wait for a black man to decide he is ready to deem me his queen, especially since most just don’t seem to give a shit right now about black women. For example, they continuously allow and produce videos that demean sisters (when’s the last time you saw a half-naked woman in an Eminem, Garth Brooks or Green Day video?).
My final decision on this was yesterday. For the fourth day in a row, I was approached by a white man—just general conversation, but it was the way he spoke to me; he was interested. It was at the gym and he made more than an effort to talk to me about, “nothing.” I had been at the gym for over an hour. I came in close contact with several black men. None of them said as much as boo. ‘Nuff said.
And just a public service announcement for potential vanilla beaus—don’t get it twisted. Black women are not going to alter the rules because we change the color of our dance partner. We are still going to be quite outspoken, looking for a little bling (I, myself, require one trinket a year), expect that a man does NOT live with his mother, grandmother, etc., require that you open doors & pull out chairs, ask that you pay for dinner at least 3 out of the 4 times we go out without commanding or petitioning for sex afterwards, insist that while you may not have a new car, it has to be clean inside & out, stipulate that if you have any children, you are a good father to them and demand that you do not, I repeat, do not talk shit about your children’s mother.
Black women are revising their players and the music, and choosing vanilla cones instead of chocolate, as it were, but the standards are still the same…
Currently Listening To: Le Boom Suite by Jill Scott
14 August 2011
ENGINE ENGINE # 9
(or The Choice Is Yours)
Though generally meek and humble, I am stuck up about certain things. I refuse to take the bus. Rode it once back in ’08; made me sick to my stomach and simply disgusted at the amount of ignorant, ghetto, back woods people living in this country. But that is another blog, for another day. Howsonever, flying, for the past decade has become ridiculously high—we really need to protest about that shit, as well as lack of health care and gas prices. Again—another blog, for another day.
So as I planned I twice postponed trip from Georgia’s coast to DC, I had few options. Flying out of Savannah was crazy. Every single, solitary flight involved a layover someplace—mainly Atlanta. Even the flights out of Augusta, two hours away, had layovers or only went straight to Baltimore. Shit, we could drive to Atlanta and fly from there. But that would add stress to our vacation, thus defeating the purpose. Additionally, it would add miles to my vehicle, which has been feeling funky of late. Plus the fares got more ridiculous with each passing day. How about renting a car and driving to DC—only 10 hours; only. Not an option.
What about the train? Hmmm. Hadn’t been on the train since late ’91. Can’t recall much about the experience except my daughter was about 3 months old and we both slept a lot. Times have drastically changed and I had doubts this would work for me. See although I am super cheap, I also like getting where I am going in a “timely manner.” Twelve hours on a train seems slightly cruel when the actual drive is only 10 hours. Added to this, I am a germaphobic; with cutbacks, I know that Amtrak ain’t busting a move to keep shit sparkly clean throughout a trip—not gonna happen.
Still, gotta say for the money, it was worth it. The Pros and Cons were about equal, but go a little something like this:
CONS
Cleanliness: The seats do not get cleaned after each passenger leaves. You have no idea what kind of funk, etc. you will be sitting in afterward. If someone left crumbs behind, you gotta brush that shit off yourself. The bathrooms—oh my God! All I can say is, pee frequently before going, “all aboard” and be careful where you step when visiting the “loo” while riding the rails.
Food: Costs are outrageous; who wants to pay almost $10 for a meal that is really the equivalent to a snack? Nevertheless, at least one has an option (see PROS on baggage).
Other Passengers Getting On Your Last Damn Nerve: Okay, this can happen on a bus or a plane. But the difference with those two forms of transportation, things can get tense a lot quicker. First, tight ass fucking quarters—especially on a plane; plus on a plane prior to boarding, you have been frisked, patted down, warned against behaving badly, probably delayed, denied to bring your own drinks and just made to feel like shit while paying a grip. Not cool. Now you got somebody sitting beside, behind or in front of you pissing you off. Damn. And ain’t nothing you can do about it ‘til you land. On a bus, it’s the same feeling without all the security measures—which can be a bad thing. The only time I rode a bus was from New York City to Columbus, OH. A guy was thrown off said bus halfway through my trip after revealing a knife; that gentleman had been cutting a fool two hours before being ousted. While nothing indicated he had a weapon, I was not surprised when he was tossed for whipping one out to show another passenger during one of the stops. On a train, however, it is more likely someone will yak too much or too loudly on their cell, the volume on someone’s DVD player will be too high (you are supposed to use headphones, but…), a child will run up & down the aisle too much (happened on our trip, but enough people murmured loudly enough that the brat quickly stopped), passengers might disagree over an aisle or window seat, or folk may simply get “too close for comfort.” The latter is almost impossible since there is plenty of room on board. Still, there are some people who if you give them an inch…
Jump Around: For coach travelers, there are no assigned seats on Amtrak. None. But you are asked to sit in the car assigned to where you will be disembarking. When traveling from south to north, those journeying to Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey and New York, generally sit in the same car, usually up front. Sometimes, the conductors aren’t paying attention; when they finally stumble upon the fact that you are sitting in the wrong car, you gotta move—shit! Not a big deal, as long as you don’t have a lot of bags with you. And what if, by chance, you have gotten to know your neighbor already and actually like them? What if you don’t like your new neighbor?
Here, There, But Not Everywhere: Difficult to believe, but the train does not go everywhere. For example, Columbus, the capital of Ohio, does not have train service. Wilmington, NC, a popular coastal city and of late, home to a few movie production companies, does not have train service. And believe it or not to get from Savannah, GA to Atlanta, GA—one side of the state to the other, one would have to travel through two other states to get there. From Savannah, to Raleigh, NC, then from Raleigh to Charlotte, NC, then from Charlotte to Atlanta; that’s just ludicrous!
PROS
Somebody Else Is Driving: Hello! This was the deal closer for me right here. For about an hour while planning this trip, I seriously, earnestly tried to convince myself that I could make the drive to DC by myself. When I was younger, say 25, 30 and did not work 12-hour days riding around in 95˚ heat all day, sure, no problem. But at 40 plus, juggling two physically taxing jobs, I know I’m not up to long distance driving any more. Moreover, I needed to relax. This was in fact supposed to be a vacation.
Space—The Final Frontier: Don’t know where to start here, because, damn, riding on a train is almost like having your living room on wheels. For real, for real. The seats recline waaaaaay back. There is even a little leg lift under your seat. Furthermore, the aisles are just slightly wider than that of an airplane or a bus. Did I say space? Plus, you can walk up to the dining car, order food, sit down at an actual table, eat, drink, play cards, talk shit, etc., with a nice view of the countryside.
Bag Lady: You can check up to 3 pieces of luggage that weight less than 50 lbs. each for no charge. Let me say that last part again, “no charge.” Say what? Furthermore, you can bring 3 small carry-on items; coolers, purses and laptop bags do not count. Say werd. So, you can pack as much fried chicken, smoked link sausage, catfish, chips, brown liquor (shit, you ain’t driving, why not drink?), and snacks as you like.
Plug Me Up: Not only are there two outlets next to every seat, nobody is telling you to turn off your electronic devices all the damn time.
I Might Need Security—Or Not…: So Amtrak does require a valid, proper ID to board. But that’s it. Nobody patting you down, feeling on your goods, putting their grimy hands on your ass—none of that! Still after almost a combined 24 hours (about 9 of that, though, was honestly in & out of serious much needed sleep), I have every confidence that the Amtrak conductors would not hesitate to kick some ass even if Buddha himself were to start some mess on the train. So bring your nail clippers, tweezers, etc. so you can groom a little bit while en route. Pack your mouthwash—any size bottle will do, to freshen your breath as you ease on down the road.
Currently Listening To: (what else?) The Choice Is Yours By Black Sheep
(or The Choice Is Yours)
Though generally meek and humble, I am stuck up about certain things. I refuse to take the bus. Rode it once back in ’08; made me sick to my stomach and simply disgusted at the amount of ignorant, ghetto, back woods people living in this country. But that is another blog, for another day. Howsonever, flying, for the past decade has become ridiculously high—we really need to protest about that shit, as well as lack of health care and gas prices. Again—another blog, for another day.
So as I planned I twice postponed trip from Georgia’s coast to DC, I had few options. Flying out of Savannah was crazy. Every single, solitary flight involved a layover someplace—mainly Atlanta. Even the flights out of Augusta, two hours away, had layovers or only went straight to Baltimore. Shit, we could drive to Atlanta and fly from there. But that would add stress to our vacation, thus defeating the purpose. Additionally, it would add miles to my vehicle, which has been feeling funky of late. Plus the fares got more ridiculous with each passing day. How about renting a car and driving to DC—only 10 hours; only. Not an option.
What about the train? Hmmm. Hadn’t been on the train since late ’91. Can’t recall much about the experience except my daughter was about 3 months old and we both slept a lot. Times have drastically changed and I had doubts this would work for me. See although I am super cheap, I also like getting where I am going in a “timely manner.” Twelve hours on a train seems slightly cruel when the actual drive is only 10 hours. Added to this, I am a germaphobic; with cutbacks, I know that Amtrak ain’t busting a move to keep shit sparkly clean throughout a trip—not gonna happen.
Still, gotta say for the money, it was worth it. The Pros and Cons were about equal, but go a little something like this:
CONS
Cleanliness: The seats do not get cleaned after each passenger leaves. You have no idea what kind of funk, etc. you will be sitting in afterward. If someone left crumbs behind, you gotta brush that shit off yourself. The bathrooms—oh my God! All I can say is, pee frequently before going, “all aboard” and be careful where you step when visiting the “loo” while riding the rails.
Food: Costs are outrageous; who wants to pay almost $10 for a meal that is really the equivalent to a snack? Nevertheless, at least one has an option (see PROS on baggage).
Other Passengers Getting On Your Last Damn Nerve: Okay, this can happen on a bus or a plane. But the difference with those two forms of transportation, things can get tense a lot quicker. First, tight ass fucking quarters—especially on a plane; plus on a plane prior to boarding, you have been frisked, patted down, warned against behaving badly, probably delayed, denied to bring your own drinks and just made to feel like shit while paying a grip. Not cool. Now you got somebody sitting beside, behind or in front of you pissing you off. Damn. And ain’t nothing you can do about it ‘til you land. On a bus, it’s the same feeling without all the security measures—which can be a bad thing. The only time I rode a bus was from New York City to Columbus, OH. A guy was thrown off said bus halfway through my trip after revealing a knife; that gentleman had been cutting a fool two hours before being ousted. While nothing indicated he had a weapon, I was not surprised when he was tossed for whipping one out to show another passenger during one of the stops. On a train, however, it is more likely someone will yak too much or too loudly on their cell, the volume on someone’s DVD player will be too high (you are supposed to use headphones, but…), a child will run up & down the aisle too much (happened on our trip, but enough people murmured loudly enough that the brat quickly stopped), passengers might disagree over an aisle or window seat, or folk may simply get “too close for comfort.” The latter is almost impossible since there is plenty of room on board. Still, there are some people who if you give them an inch…
Jump Around: For coach travelers, there are no assigned seats on Amtrak. None. But you are asked to sit in the car assigned to where you will be disembarking. When traveling from south to north, those journeying to Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey and New York, generally sit in the same car, usually up front. Sometimes, the conductors aren’t paying attention; when they finally stumble upon the fact that you are sitting in the wrong car, you gotta move—shit! Not a big deal, as long as you don’t have a lot of bags with you. And what if, by chance, you have gotten to know your neighbor already and actually like them? What if you don’t like your new neighbor?
Here, There, But Not Everywhere: Difficult to believe, but the train does not go everywhere. For example, Columbus, the capital of Ohio, does not have train service. Wilmington, NC, a popular coastal city and of late, home to a few movie production companies, does not have train service. And believe it or not to get from Savannah, GA to Atlanta, GA—one side of the state to the other, one would have to travel through two other states to get there. From Savannah, to Raleigh, NC, then from Raleigh to Charlotte, NC, then from Charlotte to Atlanta; that’s just ludicrous!
PROS
Somebody Else Is Driving: Hello! This was the deal closer for me right here. For about an hour while planning this trip, I seriously, earnestly tried to convince myself that I could make the drive to DC by myself. When I was younger, say 25, 30 and did not work 12-hour days riding around in 95˚ heat all day, sure, no problem. But at 40 plus, juggling two physically taxing jobs, I know I’m not up to long distance driving any more. Moreover, I needed to relax. This was in fact supposed to be a vacation.
Space—The Final Frontier: Don’t know where to start here, because, damn, riding on a train is almost like having your living room on wheels. For real, for real. The seats recline waaaaaay back. There is even a little leg lift under your seat. Furthermore, the aisles are just slightly wider than that of an airplane or a bus. Did I say space? Plus, you can walk up to the dining car, order food, sit down at an actual table, eat, drink, play cards, talk shit, etc., with a nice view of the countryside.
Bag Lady: You can check up to 3 pieces of luggage that weight less than 50 lbs. each for no charge. Let me say that last part again, “no charge.” Say what? Furthermore, you can bring 3 small carry-on items; coolers, purses and laptop bags do not count. Say werd. So, you can pack as much fried chicken, smoked link sausage, catfish, chips, brown liquor (shit, you ain’t driving, why not drink?), and snacks as you like.
Plug Me Up: Not only are there two outlets next to every seat, nobody is telling you to turn off your electronic devices all the damn time.
I Might Need Security—Or Not…: So Amtrak does require a valid, proper ID to board. But that’s it. Nobody patting you down, feeling on your goods, putting their grimy hands on your ass—none of that! Still after almost a combined 24 hours (about 9 of that, though, was honestly in & out of serious much needed sleep), I have every confidence that the Amtrak conductors would not hesitate to kick some ass even if Buddha himself were to start some mess on the train. So bring your nail clippers, tweezers, etc. so you can groom a little bit while en route. Pack your mouthwash—any size bottle will do, to freshen your breath as you ease on down the road.
Currently Listening To: (what else?) The Choice Is Yours By Black Sheep
16 June 2011
WHAT TRACY MORGAN SHOULD'VE SAID...
A lot of people are not digging comedian and actor Tracy Morgan’s recent diss on the gay community and simply talking off the hook regarding homosexuality. Why? The man was expressing how he felt. And his feelings are a true reflection of that of a lot of the people in the Black community. That’s why New Birth Baptist Church, although undeniably wrapped up in the biggest homosexual and child molestation scandal of all time, still has members despite Eddie Long (the Predator) continuing as pastor. Moreover, when you have Creflo “Dollar Bill Y’All” backing Long and simply referring to this thing as a mere “accident,” it shows that the Black community, and especially the Black church has no tolerance for gay activity, even when children have been hurt. In the case of Long, the victims were dismissed with a few dollars that could never erase the pain of being assaulted by a man who is supposed to be a servant of the Most High.
But that’s not my point.
We tolerate what we want to. And in the Black community, we do have some trifling men. President Obama tried to address this issue a few years back and caught hell. It was Father’s day at the Apostolic Church of God in Chicago. He challenged brothers to step up and be a father to their children. His speech was refined and articulate. Howsonever, I could tell he was poised to put things differently. Something along the lines of, “get off your ass, pull up your pants, and dammit, stop blaming the ‘man’ for all your shit.” But he didn’t because he probably felt Sister Jenkins glaring at him from the second pew. Furthermore he knows good and hell well that the Black community apparently revels in tolerating bullshit. We allow our kids to get C’s and D’s, just to get by. We allow others to tease, taunt and bully our kids when they do well. We allow our kids to be obese by eating all kinds of crap at Church’s, the corner store, and the Chinese restaurant. We allow lil Kim ‘n em, the East Indians and er’body else to come into our neighborhoods, open up businesses where we spend millions of dollars and then they don’t invest in our community. Added to that, we allow those same shop owners to treat us like shit—i.e. outrageous prices, sub-par products, filthy establishments and assuming we are going to steal something the second we walk through the door.
But again, that’s not my point.
What Tracey Morgan should’ve said is, “If my son ever, ever, had babies all over the place that he couldn’t take care of, or refused to be a positive influence in his children’s lives, or walked around with his pants sagging, or had locks in his hair, but didn’t make them look half-way presentable, or signed a million dollar sports contract and then says he is superior to everyone, or fucked numerous women without a condom and all the while engaging in homosexual activity but without telling those women, or buys an expensive ass vehicle while still living at home, or simply acts like the world owes him something—I would stab him…”
It’s a run-on sentence, but it makes my point…
Axe.
A lot of people are not digging comedian and actor Tracy Morgan’s recent diss on the gay community and simply talking off the hook regarding homosexuality. Why? The man was expressing how he felt. And his feelings are a true reflection of that of a lot of the people in the Black community. That’s why New Birth Baptist Church, although undeniably wrapped up in the biggest homosexual and child molestation scandal of all time, still has members despite Eddie Long (the Predator) continuing as pastor. Moreover, when you have Creflo “Dollar Bill Y’All” backing Long and simply referring to this thing as a mere “accident,” it shows that the Black community, and especially the Black church has no tolerance for gay activity, even when children have been hurt. In the case of Long, the victims were dismissed with a few dollars that could never erase the pain of being assaulted by a man who is supposed to be a servant of the Most High.
But that’s not my point.
We tolerate what we want to. And in the Black community, we do have some trifling men. President Obama tried to address this issue a few years back and caught hell. It was Father’s day at the Apostolic Church of God in Chicago. He challenged brothers to step up and be a father to their children. His speech was refined and articulate. Howsonever, I could tell he was poised to put things differently. Something along the lines of, “get off your ass, pull up your pants, and dammit, stop blaming the ‘man’ for all your shit.” But he didn’t because he probably felt Sister Jenkins glaring at him from the second pew. Furthermore he knows good and hell well that the Black community apparently revels in tolerating bullshit. We allow our kids to get C’s and D’s, just to get by. We allow others to tease, taunt and bully our kids when they do well. We allow our kids to be obese by eating all kinds of crap at Church’s, the corner store, and the Chinese restaurant. We allow lil Kim ‘n em, the East Indians and er’body else to come into our neighborhoods, open up businesses where we spend millions of dollars and then they don’t invest in our community. Added to that, we allow those same shop owners to treat us like shit—i.e. outrageous prices, sub-par products, filthy establishments and assuming we are going to steal something the second we walk through the door.
But again, that’s not my point.
What Tracey Morgan should’ve said is, “If my son ever, ever, had babies all over the place that he couldn’t take care of, or refused to be a positive influence in his children’s lives, or walked around with his pants sagging, or had locks in his hair, but didn’t make them look half-way presentable, or signed a million dollar sports contract and then says he is superior to everyone, or fucked numerous women without a condom and all the while engaging in homosexual activity but without telling those women, or buys an expensive ass vehicle while still living at home, or simply acts like the world owes him something—I would stab him…”
It’s a run-on sentence, but it makes my point…
Axe.
13 April 2011
STRIKES, FOUL BALLS AND ALL THAT GOOD SHIT
Note on this Note: if you are easily offended by profanity, this may not be the Note for you…
A Woman should never be like a bus—ridden by anyone, anywhere, anytime. And a Man should not be like an interchange, housing so many buses. No one wants to walk into a relationship with everyone having slept with your partner… ~ Mike Nab
This quote is written by a fellow alum about 7 years younger than I and wise beyond his years. And it gives me major cause to pause for two reasons. First, Mike’s right. Nobody wants to get all comfy and cozy with a person and then discover that said person has been intimate with any of your friends. Even a friend of a friend is hard to swallow. I have always avowed I am “a stingy bitch who refuses to share my m & m’s or my man…”
The second and last long pause is caused by the undeniable double standard. While Mike neither stated, nor implied that women are held to a higher moral standard, we are. No getting around that. And it’s been like that for a minute. Ironically, I recently came across an old clip from the film, Bingo Long All-Stars… The semi-fictional account of Negro baseball in the 1940s was made in 1974. In an opening exchange between superstar pitcher Bingo Long (phine-ass Billy December Williams) and his on the field nemesis, Leon Carter, the two men discover that they have something (or someone) in common.
Leon: I heard you done taken up with a hot number by the name of Violet.
Bingo: You heard right. Wait til you lay eyes on her.
Leon: Well if you are talking about Violet Graham (shoots Bingo a knowing glance sideways), I done laid more than eyes on her already.
Bingo tries to shake off the fact that his new found “jewel” has been screwing Leon. But it’s evident that Leon “gets Bingo’s dander up.” Prior to this exchange, it’s two strikes, and no balls. Yet instead of striking Leon out, Bingo goes off the mark. Carter, played by James Earl Jones, who was incredibly fine back in the day, hits a home run—out of the park, no less. Bingo half smiles tilts his head to the side and mumbles to himself that he was, “tired of Violet anyhow.”
Fast-forward to that evening when Violet greets Bingo at the local watering hole. She is ready to dance, dine, etc. (stress on the “etc.”) with Bingo. But Bingo stiffens and ever-so-smoothly takes a half a step back, advising Violet that she has “let him down.” Translation: Um, I had no idea you had fucked Leon.
It’s definitely a given that Violet had been intimate with Leon, probably in the very recent past, but she is not currently sleeping with him. So really, Bingo should have been willing to let what was past, “be past.” Furthermore, it usually takes one or two major infractions for a person to call it quits in a relationship; two people ordinarily have been going together for a while to actually make those miss-steps. Violet committed this offense, as it were, before she and Bingo got together. Ergo, it’s a “non-issue” because she anything or anybody she “did” before him, is none of his business. Yet, she doesn’t even have a chance to step up to the plate and take a full swing before he counts her out—damn!
Still, this brings me back to Mike’s statement. It’s disheartening to find out that your new boyfriend, or girlfriend has had a lot of partners, especially when those partners may travel in the same circles, or within spitting distance, of the ones that you do. Not only does it take the “fresh” feeling out of the relationship (shit, somebody else has in fact played with your new toy!), there’s the feeling that perhaps, you are now in possession damaged goods. Sure, you knew this person is not a virgin, but the fact that somebody else knows what you now know—or about to know, if you haven’t yet “done the do,” can put a damper on things. It makes you question if you want to continue to get to know that person on other levels because in fact, someone else already knows those levels. Someone else may know that story about how he really wanted to be a police officer because his Uncle was one. Or, that he went alone to the prom and watched the girl of his dreams (at the time) dance the night away with the captain of the football team. Or that he loves scary movies but the sight of Tinker Bell traumatizes him. Or the hopes and dreams he has for his firstborn. Or, that for him why it really is about making love and not just sex.
Most, but not all men are concerned with a woman being spotless. While women do have standards, in general, we are not overly concerned with who our current beau has been with—unless of course, it was another man (and that’s a whole other blog!). And of course we do get jealous if the former girlfriend is not totally out of the picture (Note to the Fellas: if she’s gone, let her STAY gone; don’t resurrect her number when your current lady won’t give you any or you get angry with her. Not a cool move at all). Violet was going to cuddle up with Bingo, although she has to know that as a ball player, he is going from town to town and has more moves than an overloaded and unbalanced washing machine; or maybe not. Yet, she is willing to take that chance.
Still, a new friend said something profound today about women and our choices. “This is why it is important to choose the right partner so that when we give energy to a man, he is also giving it back to us…like a plug and an outlet. ~ Nichelle Ryan (thanks, Lady!)
Axe.
Note on this Note: if you are easily offended by profanity, this may not be the Note for you…
A Woman should never be like a bus—ridden by anyone, anywhere, anytime. And a Man should not be like an interchange, housing so many buses. No one wants to walk into a relationship with everyone having slept with your partner… ~ Mike Nab
This quote is written by a fellow alum about 7 years younger than I and wise beyond his years. And it gives me major cause to pause for two reasons. First, Mike’s right. Nobody wants to get all comfy and cozy with a person and then discover that said person has been intimate with any of your friends. Even a friend of a friend is hard to swallow. I have always avowed I am “a stingy bitch who refuses to share my m & m’s or my man…”
The second and last long pause is caused by the undeniable double standard. While Mike neither stated, nor implied that women are held to a higher moral standard, we are. No getting around that. And it’s been like that for a minute. Ironically, I recently came across an old clip from the film, Bingo Long All-Stars… The semi-fictional account of Negro baseball in the 1940s was made in 1974. In an opening exchange between superstar pitcher Bingo Long (phine-ass Billy December Williams) and his on the field nemesis, Leon Carter, the two men discover that they have something (or someone) in common.
Leon: I heard you done taken up with a hot number by the name of Violet.
Bingo: You heard right. Wait til you lay eyes on her.
Leon: Well if you are talking about Violet Graham (shoots Bingo a knowing glance sideways), I done laid more than eyes on her already.
Bingo tries to shake off the fact that his new found “jewel” has been screwing Leon. But it’s evident that Leon “gets Bingo’s dander up.” Prior to this exchange, it’s two strikes, and no balls. Yet instead of striking Leon out, Bingo goes off the mark. Carter, played by James Earl Jones, who was incredibly fine back in the day, hits a home run—out of the park, no less. Bingo half smiles tilts his head to the side and mumbles to himself that he was, “tired of Violet anyhow.”
Fast-forward to that evening when Violet greets Bingo at the local watering hole. She is ready to dance, dine, etc. (stress on the “etc.”) with Bingo. But Bingo stiffens and ever-so-smoothly takes a half a step back, advising Violet that she has “let him down.” Translation: Um, I had no idea you had fucked Leon.
It’s definitely a given that Violet had been intimate with Leon, probably in the very recent past, but she is not currently sleeping with him. So really, Bingo should have been willing to let what was past, “be past.” Furthermore, it usually takes one or two major infractions for a person to call it quits in a relationship; two people ordinarily have been going together for a while to actually make those miss-steps. Violet committed this offense, as it were, before she and Bingo got together. Ergo, it’s a “non-issue” because she anything or anybody she “did” before him, is none of his business. Yet, she doesn’t even have a chance to step up to the plate and take a full swing before he counts her out—damn!
Still, this brings me back to Mike’s statement. It’s disheartening to find out that your new boyfriend, or girlfriend has had a lot of partners, especially when those partners may travel in the same circles, or within spitting distance, of the ones that you do. Not only does it take the “fresh” feeling out of the relationship (shit, somebody else has in fact played with your new toy!), there’s the feeling that perhaps, you are now in possession damaged goods. Sure, you knew this person is not a virgin, but the fact that somebody else knows what you now know—or about to know, if you haven’t yet “done the do,” can put a damper on things. It makes you question if you want to continue to get to know that person on other levels because in fact, someone else already knows those levels. Someone else may know that story about how he really wanted to be a police officer because his Uncle was one. Or, that he went alone to the prom and watched the girl of his dreams (at the time) dance the night away with the captain of the football team. Or that he loves scary movies but the sight of Tinker Bell traumatizes him. Or the hopes and dreams he has for his firstborn. Or, that for him why it really is about making love and not just sex.
Most, but not all men are concerned with a woman being spotless. While women do have standards, in general, we are not overly concerned with who our current beau has been with—unless of course, it was another man (and that’s a whole other blog!). And of course we do get jealous if the former girlfriend is not totally out of the picture (Note to the Fellas: if she’s gone, let her STAY gone; don’t resurrect her number when your current lady won’t give you any or you get angry with her. Not a cool move at all). Violet was going to cuddle up with Bingo, although she has to know that as a ball player, he is going from town to town and has more moves than an overloaded and unbalanced washing machine; or maybe not. Yet, she is willing to take that chance.
Still, a new friend said something profound today about women and our choices. “This is why it is important to choose the right partner so that when we give energy to a man, he is also giving it back to us…like a plug and an outlet. ~ Nichelle Ryan (thanks, Lady!)
Axe.
01 February 2011
WHERE’S THE FOUR?
(Or Why Isn’t Anyone Standing In The Gap for Kelley Williams Bolar?)
As I write this blog, I pause to think about the significance of tomorrow: February 1st. This date is more affectionately known as “February One,” on the campus of North Carolina A & T State University, an HBCU in Greensboro, NC. Usually a cold dreary day, it has had a warm place in my heart ever since I set foot on “Aggie Land,” back in 1995. I spent 4 of the best years of my life there and in addition to earning my degree, I learned about the “Greensboro Four.”
(Or Why Isn’t Anyone Standing In The Gap for Kelley Williams Bolar?)
As I write this blog, I pause to think about the significance of tomorrow: February 1st. This date is more affectionately known as “February One,” on the campus of North Carolina A & T State University, an HBCU in Greensboro, NC. Usually a cold dreary day, it has had a warm place in my heart ever since I set foot on “Aggie Land,” back in 1995. I spent 4 of the best years of my life there and in addition to earning my degree, I learned about the “Greensboro Four.”
On February 1st, 1960, Joseph McNeil, Franklin McCain, Ezell Blair Jr. and David Richmond walked downtown to Woolworth’s, peacefully sat at the counter and asked to be served coffee. They waited all afternoon for service yet did not receive it. The next day, they returned, bringing more students. Soon sit-in protests were being held all over town and in nearby cities like Winston-Salem and Raleigh. This non-violent challenge continued until July 25, 1960, when the five & dime relented, serving its black employees at the counter first. The next day, Woolworth’s desegregated their counters nationwide.
Fast forward to January 2011; Kelley Williams-Bolar is found guilty of taking the law into her own hands. She did not commit murder, assault anyone, or rob a bank. Fed up with the school system where her family lives, she lied about her residency and enrolled her two daughters in the “less brown” township of Copley, where her father lives. At trial, the school deemed that Williams-Bolar should repay “$30,000 for the cost of educating her children. By the way, Copley officials spent $6,000 to investigate when they suspected the girls were attending school outside of their zone. Williams-Bolar refused to pay. She was thereby sentenced to 10 days in jail, three years’ probation and may lose her current job as a teacher’s aide. The single parent is just 12 credit hours shy of becoming a school teacher, but now is a convicted felon.
For crying out loud, where THE hell is Jessie Jackson? Al Sharpton? Oprah Winfrey? Michael Jordan (true—you leapt through the air for millions during the 90’s and was America’s boy-next-door. You have now, however, decidedly grown into a definition ass, but you are a parent, too)? Will Barbara Walters interview her? Will Bono sing a song in Williams-Bolar’s honor? Why hasn’t Brad Pitt, George Clooney or any other celebrities who have asked for an audience with the President about injustices abroad rang the bell at 1600 Pennsylvania on her behalf? Sarah Palin? Surely Kelly’s actions are a maverick move you have to respect… How about any of the potential Presidential candidates for the ‘12 election? I mean, damn, education is a Top Ten issue during a political race. Nobody; not a damn soul of national or international prominence has said, “a word nor a syllable” on this woman’s behalf. Pathetic; simply pathetic.
Why is everyone running scared from this one? Probably because a lot more people than we think do what Williams did—break the law in one form or another, to achieve, “a greater good.” This probably causes a fear of receiving the same scrutiny and the same results—jail. Shit, if Dr. King, Rev. Abernathy, etc. had been afraid of jail, there is no telling where we would be right now. Plus, in the wake of the uprisings in Egypt, and the start of Black history month, I think Americans need to recognize they’ve taken on a lazy, self-centered and inexcusable state of contentment. Bottom line, US citizens are settling for the “okie-doke” and not exercising their right to speak up when something is wrong.
Yes, Williams-Bolar broke the law. But this law kept her children locked into what she perceived “a dangerous environment” and force fed them a second class education. Her stance goes beyond a mere cry of “it’s not fair.” Every child in the United States is supposedly granted the right to an equal education. But we all know that this does not happen. The truth is that many US children receive a shitty education. By putting her children in another school, Williams-Bolar was simply acquiring what is guaranteed her under the law. Furthermore, why is it a crime to do such a thing? True, if no rule was in place, parents would do whatever they wanted, leaving the potential for grand pandemonium. School districts are there to maintain order.
Still, wouldn’t it be cool if kids got an equal education under the law? But they don’t. Wouldn’t it be cool if the parent, who has to work way across town, could put their kid in a school near their job so they wouldn’t miss the PTA meetings, could have lunch with their kid every so often, or attend parent-teacher conferences without feeling rushed? But they can’t. And wouldn’t it be really cool if we could stop being so uptight about this shit and work together on it? But we won’t.
Fast forward to January 2011; Kelley Williams-Bolar is found guilty of taking the law into her own hands. She did not commit murder, assault anyone, or rob a bank. Fed up with the school system where her family lives, she lied about her residency and enrolled her two daughters in the “less brown” township of Copley, where her father lives. At trial, the school deemed that Williams-Bolar should repay “$30,000 for the cost of educating her children. By the way, Copley officials spent $6,000 to investigate when they suspected the girls were attending school outside of their zone. Williams-Bolar refused to pay. She was thereby sentenced to 10 days in jail, three years’ probation and may lose her current job as a teacher’s aide. The single parent is just 12 credit hours shy of becoming a school teacher, but now is a convicted felon.
For crying out loud, where THE hell is Jessie Jackson? Al Sharpton? Oprah Winfrey? Michael Jordan (true—you leapt through the air for millions during the 90’s and was America’s boy-next-door. You have now, however, decidedly grown into a definition ass, but you are a parent, too)? Will Barbara Walters interview her? Will Bono sing a song in Williams-Bolar’s honor? Why hasn’t Brad Pitt, George Clooney or any other celebrities who have asked for an audience with the President about injustices abroad rang the bell at 1600 Pennsylvania on her behalf? Sarah Palin? Surely Kelly’s actions are a maverick move you have to respect… How about any of the potential Presidential candidates for the ‘12 election? I mean, damn, education is a Top Ten issue during a political race. Nobody; not a damn soul of national or international prominence has said, “a word nor a syllable” on this woman’s behalf. Pathetic; simply pathetic.
Why is everyone running scared from this one? Probably because a lot more people than we think do what Williams did—break the law in one form or another, to achieve, “a greater good.” This probably causes a fear of receiving the same scrutiny and the same results—jail. Shit, if Dr. King, Rev. Abernathy, etc. had been afraid of jail, there is no telling where we would be right now. Plus, in the wake of the uprisings in Egypt, and the start of Black history month, I think Americans need to recognize they’ve taken on a lazy, self-centered and inexcusable state of contentment. Bottom line, US citizens are settling for the “okie-doke” and not exercising their right to speak up when something is wrong.
Yes, Williams-Bolar broke the law. But this law kept her children locked into what she perceived “a dangerous environment” and force fed them a second class education. Her stance goes beyond a mere cry of “it’s not fair.” Every child in the United States is supposedly granted the right to an equal education. But we all know that this does not happen. The truth is that many US children receive a shitty education. By putting her children in another school, Williams-Bolar was simply acquiring what is guaranteed her under the law. Furthermore, why is it a crime to do such a thing? True, if no rule was in place, parents would do whatever they wanted, leaving the potential for grand pandemonium. School districts are there to maintain order.
Still, wouldn’t it be cool if kids got an equal education under the law? But they don’t. Wouldn’t it be cool if the parent, who has to work way across town, could put their kid in a school near their job so they wouldn’t miss the PTA meetings, could have lunch with their kid every so often, or attend parent-teacher conferences without feeling rushed? But they can’t. And wouldn’t it be really cool if we could stop being so uptight about this shit and work together on it? But we won’t.
The Sit-in Movements of the 1960’s worked because somebody did something. Somebody took that first step. On February One, four gentlemen took a step. Kelley Williams Bolar took a step and stands alone…or does she?
28 January 2011
THAT’S ALL YOU GOT…?
Really gotta kill the addiction to the idiot box. Seriously. I was hooked to two shows: “The Closer,” and “Southland.” Then I saw Kathy Bates’ performance in the pilot of “Harry’s Law.” The NBC mid-season replacement might have a life. Maybe. A 60-minute law drama, it details Harriet “Harry” Korn’s departure from a law firm where she made $600Gs as a copyright lawyer and decides to open up shop in a “bad” part of Cincinnati. Instead of lying and pissing off rich clients, she is talking straight shit to ‘hood clients. I dig this show, but I’m concerned…
With only a few episodes aired, NBC and David Kelley (creator) are giving me the feeling they plan to theoretically “take me out for coffee” twice in a row and maybe even again, if I allow it. But I ain’t having it. This week’s episode felt like a repeat of the first, only with a little twist in the plot and the addition of 5 (possibly recurring?) characters. Still, now that we have made all the “introductions,” “gotten to know each other better,” etc., I’m looking for something more before I commit.
First, I am sick of seeing the same type of black people: angry, poor, ignorant and “looking for help.” Yes, times are hard and people of ALL colors are hurting. I appreciate the spotlight because frankly, I don’t think mainstream America truly understands that when they bleed, the poor, disenfranchised people of color are hemorrhaging. Still, I want to know from Kelly, with regards to his characters of color on this show, “is that all you got?”
My concern is personified by one of the new additions, Anna Nicholson, played by Irma P. Hall. You know, Mother Joe, from Soul Food, and The Ladykillers. Yes, that Irma. Her portrayal of an impoverished woman who committed armed robbery “to eat,” was clearly beneath her skills; Hall a former language teacher, poet and an accomplished actress, plays a cranky, toothless senior citizen. While I truly understand that her character is supposed to be poor, I was disheartened at the sight of her. Her pretty white dentures were absent and in their place were a few teeth, huddling for shade every time Hall spoke. Her beautiful gray hair was pulled back into a seriously no-frills bun. Ms. Hall looked much like Minerva, the voo-doo priestess she played in Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil.
Nicholson barges into Harry’s law office verbally berating Bates’ character for moving in and “taking over the neighborhood.” Harry expeditiously dismisses Anna’s rants, going out of her way to show she is educated. As a person of color who happens to know what gentrification means, I find the response and use of the word to someone who clearly did not, a slap in the face. Furthermore, do people of color on television always have to be that ignorant? True, ignorant people exist in every shape, form and color. It just seems that the ones of color seem to get more air time, especially on the 6 o’clock news when they inarticulately relay, “what had happened was…”
Then there’s the magic tricks; two weeks straight, Harry pulls a rabbit out of a hat. In the pilot, the defendant was in fact guilty, yet the judge was so impressed with Harry’s antics, I mean argument he set aside the verdict and gives the kid probation (surprise, surprise…). This kid, who happens to be a college student with a “slight” cocaine addiction, now works as a paralegal at Harry’s Law (what a co-ink-e-dink…). This week, Harry wrangles a not guilty verdict for Anna. Harry, with her sly magic wand, moves Anna’s crime from focus and dwells on how unfair it is that Anna is left with no resources, even though she is a citizen—a senior citizen at that. How could the jury imprison an 80-year-old woman? So they didn’t. But that was luck. There are people out there committing less serious crimes, but who get time nonetheless; a few are even Anna’s age. And while Bates’ character does not make it look easy, she certainly does not break a sweat, either.
When Anna storms into Harry’s office, wrongly accusing one of the new, recurring characters of being the “manager,” she is spitting fire and venom. Once the record is set straight, she continues and it is all I can do to watch. True, African-Americans do have a lot to be angry about, despite having an African-American president in office. But do we always have to bust down doors, act nasty and make demands? I mean, damn, it’s not like we are still working the cotton fields—well work places are like plantations but that’s a whole other blog. We have reason to shout, but do not have to shout all the time and there is a place for it. This show ain’t it—at least not every week. I’ll accept that type of storyline maybe once every four weeks, but not every single episode. I’m looking for the creative plot lines from Picket Fences, Boston Public and L.A. Law.
Once Anna decides that she in fact wants Harry to defend her, she drops a rolled up dirty sock on her desk and advises there is $26.50 inside. “That’s all I got,” she adds. I hope that David Kelly is offering up more than coins in a rolled up dirty sock…
18 January 2011
GET IT TOGETHER OR LEAVE IT ALONE
“Once Again, We As A People Are Late. Late, late and more late…”
~ Vaughn Dap Dunlap, School Daze
Yes, this entry’s title is a quote from a Jackson (5) hit from the early ‘70s. And those are my instructions to us. Blacks, Folk, African-American—Negroes! I showed up for the Atlanta King Day Celebration March 32 minutes late. I did. And I own that. But for the parade to start 84 minutes late, I need to know who in the hell “owns” that? It’s ridiculous. Ludicrous (not Mr. Bridges, either). Why can’t we be on time?
It’s 2011. There is every type of technology you can think of at our fingertips. We are not slaves working the fields anymore (well, not technically…but that’s a whole other blog). Added to that, the weather up until around 3:30 was almost perfect (the mercury nose-dived and it started raining right when the parade ended). And I’m going to say this even though it really has no bearing, but still—we have a Black President, for crying out loud!
I enjoy fellowshipping with people and meeting new folk, but on the real—I froze out there today. I had on sufficient clothing, and even brought a hot cup of tea. Howsonever, I was not prepared to stand and wait almost an hour and a half for the march to start. Now as it was explained to me by a city official in attendance and on the job, the event cannot begin until the service at Ebenezer Baptist is over. Hmmmm. Furthermore, it appears that every year more speakers are added (say what?). This is no hate, nor sacrilege, but somebody needs to be bold enough to step up to the pulpit and tell them preachers, senators, judges, etc., to shut it down. Cue the organist to play “wrap it up music” like they do at award shows. And I know the latter can be dangerous in a Baptist church, because folk might get confused and start shouting and falling out. Still, its gotta be done.
Now a holiday in honor of Dr. King’s birthday is more than parades, speeches and all that good stuff. It is about serving others and lending a hand to your fellow man. But we are doing ourselves a serious disservice by continually being late for stuff, even something such as a march. What are we teaching our children? “Get there when you get there?” Furthermore, what are we showing the world about us as a people? I have never liked nor associated myself with the term, “colored people’s time.” Its derogatory and we need to move away from it. Now stuff happens. Things get changed around. But tardiness of this nature (an hour and change) is unacceptable. We need to stop saying that this is how we “do” or how we “be.” The belief that people of color cannot be on time, “do” or “be” full of ignorance. I fully and truly believe that if Dr. King were alive, he would say the same thing.
We cannot turn the Dream into a reality unless we get our asses where we are going on time.
~ Sonia Clark
Ashay.
“Once Again, We As A People Are Late. Late, late and more late…”
~ Vaughn Dap Dunlap, School Daze
Yes, this entry’s title is a quote from a Jackson (5) hit from the early ‘70s. And those are my instructions to us. Blacks, Folk, African-American—Negroes! I showed up for the Atlanta King Day Celebration March 32 minutes late. I did. And I own that. But for the parade to start 84 minutes late, I need to know who in the hell “owns” that? It’s ridiculous. Ludicrous (not Mr. Bridges, either). Why can’t we be on time?
It’s 2011. There is every type of technology you can think of at our fingertips. We are not slaves working the fields anymore (well, not technically…but that’s a whole other blog). Added to that, the weather up until around 3:30 was almost perfect (the mercury nose-dived and it started raining right when the parade ended). And I’m going to say this even though it really has no bearing, but still—we have a Black President, for crying out loud!
I enjoy fellowshipping with people and meeting new folk, but on the real—I froze out there today. I had on sufficient clothing, and even brought a hot cup of tea. Howsonever, I was not prepared to stand and wait almost an hour and a half for the march to start. Now as it was explained to me by a city official in attendance and on the job, the event cannot begin until the service at Ebenezer Baptist is over. Hmmmm. Furthermore, it appears that every year more speakers are added (say what?). This is no hate, nor sacrilege, but somebody needs to be bold enough to step up to the pulpit and tell them preachers, senators, judges, etc., to shut it down. Cue the organist to play “wrap it up music” like they do at award shows. And I know the latter can be dangerous in a Baptist church, because folk might get confused and start shouting and falling out. Still, its gotta be done.
Now a holiday in honor of Dr. King’s birthday is more than parades, speeches and all that good stuff. It is about serving others and lending a hand to your fellow man. But we are doing ourselves a serious disservice by continually being late for stuff, even something such as a march. What are we teaching our children? “Get there when you get there?” Furthermore, what are we showing the world about us as a people? I have never liked nor associated myself with the term, “colored people’s time.” Its derogatory and we need to move away from it. Now stuff happens. Things get changed around. But tardiness of this nature (an hour and change) is unacceptable. We need to stop saying that this is how we “do” or how we “be.” The belief that people of color cannot be on time, “do” or “be” full of ignorance. I fully and truly believe that if Dr. King were alive, he would say the same thing.
We cannot turn the Dream into a reality unless we get our asses where we are going on time.
~ Sonia Clark
Ashay.
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