December 30, 2008

A milestone

Greetings from my barbershop. I keep a pretty low profile in here. For one, nobody gives a damn who I am. Second, I don’t like anything that involves waiting. I’m trying to get in and get out.

Walked in today, and one of the cats pointed at me. Seems they’d seen the TV One special and recognized me.

I mention this because being recognized in the barber shop is one of those things that’s kinda cool. Like a miniature version of making the cover of Jet.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must cue up the pentultimate song on the Purple Rain soundtrack.

December 28, 2008

PSA: Notorious

So I see Notorious, this movie about Biggie — which I hear is actually pretty good — is coming out on January 16.  As many of you have heard, the patron saint for us tall, skinny lightskinneded smart dudes is being inaugurated four days later.

With that in mind, I ask for one thing — can y’all please not get to shooting or nothing like that?

Now, here’s the thing…

There is a belief that you can’t take black folks nowhere, cuz we’re gonna act a fool.  Now, will we act a fool?  Probably not.

Will someone?  Absolutely.  

Why?  Because we can’t have anything without the fools showing up.

That’s the funny thing about race.  It’s taken a wildly diverse group of people and convinced them that they’re all the same.  When white folks get together in large groups, they do so in small groups centered around some common interest.

Spring break at Panama Beach?  The college students head out.  Biker rally at Sturgis?  The bikers come out.  It’s cliqued up like that.  There’s enough cool stuff for white people to do among themselves that they can break up into crews and do what they do.

Oh, but when my folks have something, we’re all showing up.  All someone needs to say is that there will be tenders, and we are all there.  Freaknic started as a picnic thrown by the DC Metro Club of the Atlanta University Center.  Few years later, it’s a friggin’ phenomenon.

Why?  Because someone heard Freaknic was off the chains.  And once word — and video — hit the barber shop, we were alllll coming, from the SGA President at Hampton to the cat wit the fattest sacks in Brooklyn.

That’s because black folks events are just that — black folks events.  The game hasn’t really allowed us to break into groups (at least not in any way I’d deem positive).  We all go to everything.  Go to the All-Star Game, and we’re all there.  The bougie, the students, the working man, the hoodlum…we’re all showing up.  We all like to kick it the same way, and we know there will be tenders.  Even tenders wanna go where they know tenders will be there cuz they know dudes will be coming to swarm the tenders.

So, without those clear class lines in the way that black folks congregate — an interesting study in essentialism, btw — there’s always a chance that a knucklehead is going to show up.  In fact, it’s a guarantee.  That’s actually not so much of a problem…assuming none of the knuckleheads the first knucklehead has beef with come.

But if they’re in the same sphere?  Smoke in the city, pimpin’.  Smoke in the city.

There’s your explanation for why something seems to go down whenever a bunch of black folks get together.  For better or worse, you can’t get some of us without getting all of us.  Don’t put it on all black folks when you see that stuff.  Just understand the circumstances that make these things happen.  It ain’t like they start buckin’ at the Jack and Jill convention, yanno?  That’s actually a place where we don’t all show up…but shit, who the hell would want to kick it with them anyway?  A couple of shots might liven those parties up.

Back to Notorious.  There are two sorts of people that are certain to show up for this affair — wannabe rappers and dope boys.  Who’s most likely to look at the screen and see their lives, yanno?

Remember the thing about two knuckleheads in the same sphere?  See why I worry about Notorious?

So, you think we can get the knuckleheads to create a Facebook group or something that’ll allow them to coordinate what theaters they go to?  It ain’t like quarreling knuckleheads wanna be in the same place, yanno?  Let’s just do what we can do to make things easier on all of us.

Cuz we all know that if there’s so much as a fistfight in DC that weekend, it will be front page news for the whole weekend.  We don’t need that.  And while I’m talking about the Negroid “we,” it’s also a larger “we.”  Anything that distracts us from one of the positive milestones in American history cheats us all.

So holla at the bootleg man if you’re in a bad mood on Notorious weekend.

I refuse to allow anyone to pretend, even for a second, as if some dude I’ve never met is at all a representation of me.  That groupthink bullshit reinforces the racism we claim we’re tired of, completely ignoring that racism, by definition, strips us of our individuality.  And, well, individuals are allowed to be as foul and stupid as they want.  Ain’t got a lick to do with me.  If there’s a groupthink attitude to take toward those people, then Americans should be doing that.  As Americans, let’s be embarrassed about the knuckleheads and try to fix it.

I mean, we are Americans, right?

That said — if only for that weekend, please don’t shoot at the screen.  In its own way, it’ll be like stabbing your own folks in the back.

December 27, 2008

Airplanes

They’re strange places.  Germ incubators, marvels of technology, and tests of any rational person’s patience.

That’s because, while no one wants to be talked to on a plane, we’re all connected to each other in the flying tubes.  What one person does affects another.  Blow up the bathroom, and we all suffer.

And if you bring your four children, all under the age of 7, we all gotta put up with them.

This was a flight from Atlanta to RDU.  Six hour drive.  Now, I felt super lazy about flying, but I was tired.  I imagine the parents in question were tired, too.  But you don’t need to share what’s making you tired with the rest of us.  You didn’t see me doing a show on the plane, did you?

So I had four critters behind me, and you know critters can’t be together without acting up.  Admittedly, these kids weren’t dreadful.  That said, why roll the dice with the rest of us, ha?  If it’s less than eight hours, pack up the minivan and leave us alone.  Thanks.

Now, let’s talk about the funny of the trip.  Some dude with an S-curl was sitting next to me.  That was humor in and of itself.  But right before the plane takes off, dude starts stirring next to me.  I look over, and what has he done?

Put on a fur coat.

It was almost 70 degrees in Atlanta today.  My flight took off at 6.  It was not fur weather.

And what was his hand?  A clear plastic hanging bag with his clothes.  I’m reluctant to say “bag” because that wasn’t what it was.

So you such a baller that you wear a fur on the plane, but you can’t afford a hanging bag?

The friendly skies.  The friendly friggin’ skies.

December 4, 2008

Kanye’s Masterpiece

First, I must share a story of how I know I’ve waited too long to post.  First, I don’t even remember what the last post was (which means I’ll probably do three tonight).  But I did a remote at a Jersey Mike’s in Raleigh the other day, and a woman said I needed to post on my blog again.  Now, I do really modest numbers on this bad boy, so it’s always surprising when someone knows something about the blog.  Irregular posting after about a year of being like clockwork will chase the folks off.

Well, I’m back.  What have I been up to?  Listening to that damn Kanye record.

Look, I’ve heard every single reason someone has not to like 808’s and Heartbreaks, and I don’t begrudge a single one of them.  This record won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, largely because it’s so fuckin depressing.  There’s really no other way to put it.  This is a bad mood on wax.

Had I been feeling lovely about life the first time I heard this album, I might not have dug it.  I’ve had more than a few people tell me they just couldn’t get past how gloomy the record is, and i can dig that.  I just happen to be one of those people that can’t do super happy albums.  That’s false.  Shit ain’t that sweet.

This Kanye record is real.  The backstories are pretty well known, so well known that I can summarize this record in a few words.  Goes something like this…

“My mama died.  Me and my girl broke up.  I’m in real bad shape.  That’s it.”

I had my best friend die, my old man have a health scare, and me and my girl break up in about a six month period when I was 20.  That kind of stuff just makes you go numb.  Also makes you drink, largely because numb can get boring after a while.  It’s just the kind of monotony that’s hard to shake without some “help.”

This Kanye record is numb.  Except it’s chilling and heartbreaking.  It’s heartbreaking because that numbness comes through so clearly.  Now where does it come from?  Partially lyrically, but then there’s the other thing that holds people up from loving this album… Continue reading Kanye’s Masterpiece…