Random Acts- The Unknowing Benefactor

I've had a long day. There's a woman at work I want to slap into unconsciousness. My oil desperately needs to be changed and I have a tire that must be filled with air every three to five days (some financial obligations just never make it to the top of the list. It was either buy groceries or replace the tire). I slept horribly last night because I was stressing about school and I ended up waking up an hour earlier than usual. Thinking I'd get to work early and spend some time reading, I soon realized that I was out of gas and needed to put air in my ghetto tire. I arrived at work about thirty minutes early and started what was to be a ridiculously long day. I got stuck on the freeway on the way home because of a fender bender so I got home about fifteen or twenty minutes later than usual. I rested for about an hour, or rather sat in front of the computer in a state of unrest, then headed to school. As usual, the parking ticket machine was broken. Just as I was about to curse higher education, gainful employment, and modern transportation, I heard a soft voice say, "Hey". I turned and there was a man holding a perfectly good parking ticket out of his window. I smiled and excitedly thanked him. As I drove away to park, I burst into tears. All day long I'd suffered minor to no-so-minor atrocities and it all ended with a single act of kindness from a stranger. It wasn't the ticket that brought on the tears. It was the fact that after all I'd been through someone saw fit to do one nice thing for me. Sometimes that's all it takes

What Happens In This House, Stays In This House

When I was growing up, my mother always gave me the speech about "keeping her business out the streets". Basically, she was telling me to refrain from sharing her household skeletons with the outside world. Lately I've been wondering if the application of this theory to the black community is doing us some damage. Recently, a friend and I were watching footage from Tavis Smiley's State of The Black Family conference. Dr. Cornel West questioned Barack Obama's loyalty and interest in the state of black people in America due to his lack of presence at the conference. A quote from his diatribe ended up in a white publication and my friend hit the roof. He was angry with Dr. West for making what he considered to be disparaging remarks about Barack in front of white folks. I wondered aloud, "if you can't talk about this kind of thing at the State of the Black Family conference, then where in the world can you talk about it"? What good would it really do for black people in leadership positions to get together in an undisclosed broom closet somewhere to discuss the problems that plague us and upon completion hope that mental telepathy will get the message out to other black people? Why would a plan to advance us need to be carried across the underground railroad? I believe that part of the reason we haven't made more progress as a race is because we concern ourselves far too much with what white folks think. Worryin' about "massa" doesn't do anything but stunt our growth. We need to worry about what our children think about us and what kind of example we are setting for them as black adults. We need to be worried about what God thinks of what we do. We need to be worried about how to make smart investments with our money and how to keep the black dollar amongst ourselves. Worryin' about white folk ought to be at the very bottom of the list. While I don't think talking about each other and our shortcomings in front of white people is the best idea, I can't help but think that our silence is part of what has kept us stagnate for so long.

Nice Guys Aren't The Only Ones Who Finish Last

Lately I've had many conversations with men and read many profile pages complaining about the fact that women seem to prefer thugs over "nice" men. Men have been wondering where all the women are who just want a regular Joe (or Jaheem for these purposes). While their arguments seem to be meant to garner sympathy and understanding, I just can't bring myself to feel sorry for them. After all, many of the men who are having these conversations are carrying them with "nice" women. Go figure.
While I do like a man who can function in the hood as well as the boardroom, I am in no way interested in a saggy pant wearing, platinum grill sportin', criminal record havin', gun totin', man. That said, I then have to wonder where all these nice men are and why they keep trying to talk to women who don't want them all the while ignoring the good women. The men who complain are just as guilty as the women they complain about. Just as so many women are prone to lovin' a thug, the men are prone to chase the ever elusive, "model chick". These women are often high-maintenance, shallow, and only interested in the man who is the flavor of the month. When she rejects him, he turns to the nice girl and starts complaining about how all women just want thugs. Excuse me, but isn't the woman you're complaining to a good woman? So fellas, the next time you complain about all the good ones chasing after thugs, maybe you should take a good look around you. You'll probably find a good woman that you passed up on your way to the closest model chick.

...My Lips Is Like A Oowop As I Start To Spray It...

I'm not sure what the politically correct response should be, but I just feel down right embarrassed and irritated about the elaborate funeral given a few weeks ago for the "N" word. I watched some footage on the news and all I could really think was that all of those people should have been at work or somewhere volunteering to help someone downtrodden or illiterate, or temporarily disabled. ANYTHING other than standing around in their Sunday best trying to bury a word that has yet to die. I mean, when was the last time you were invited to a funeral for someone who was sitting up in the coffin talking to all the guests and thanking them for coming? I'm not really sure how we can bury something that hasn't died. Yep, I know the word is ugly. I know it's history as well. However, I must say that I subscribe to Chris Rock's theory of there being Black People and Niggas. If we bury that word, what will we use to describe that guy who makes a million babies and won't take care of any of them? How about the guy in front of the liquor store selling drugs and passing out disrespectful comments to every sista who walks by? Or even the guy who makes money by stealing from those of us who work hard? I guess there are other words like bum, miscreant, irresponsible bastard, or even villain but frankly, nothing says it all like the words, "sorry %#&@$! nigga". Whew, I feel better already. Before you get upset with me, yes, I know I shouldn't. Yes, I know what our people have been through to obliterate this word and it's connotations. I even know that most people of color, are not examples of the "N" word. But damnit, when they stop making niggas, I'll be the FIRST one to stop saying nigga. Until then, when I see one, I plan to continue calling him/her like I see him/her. Burying the undead? Nigga, please! That's crazy talk.

Just Hand Over The Pens and There Won't Be Any Trouble

I finally did it. I got registered for school and I start back in a few days. Sure, part of me had some reservations at first, but the rest of me is excited about the change I'm making in my future. At least my future is what I thought was most important about my decision until I discovered something about myself while pushing a basket at Wal Mart. I dropped by two days ago to purchase a notebook, some pens, and a few highlighters for class but once I arrived on the school supply aisle, I saw the Promised Land. There were multi-colored post-its, a variety of pens, highlighters in every hue, rulers, staplers of the "mini" variety, and even three hole punchers made to fit in one's binder. It was all so much! My heart started to beat just a little faster and an involuntary grin spread across my face. I suddenly realized, I love school supplies more than I love school. There's just something about ripping open your school supply booty and sliding each item into its special book bag compartment. Oh, be still my heart! Sure, I'm working on my personal and professional goals by going to school. I'm securing a better place for me with my employer. Hell, I may even change a few lives before it's all over. But to tell the truth, you can keep all that. Just give me the supplies.

When All Else Fails, Blame Hip Hop

Yeah, I know, hip hop can be evil. It often glorifies violence, misogyny, and materialism over substance. I get it. Who doesn't? But damnit, we can't blame hip hop for everything! These days it seems as if it is a catchall scapegoat for all things evil and it just isn't fair or even logical. Unfortunately, I've been watching some coverage of the whole Mike Vick scandal involving illegal dog fighting. The news reporter said that a national animal rights group blames hip hop for glorifying dog fighting and making it "cool". I couldn't believe my ears, and thought what next? Shall we blame the war in Iraq on hip hop? I can just see W now, holding a press conference after a major attack in Iraq saying, "This never would have happened if it wasn't for E40 and this stupid hyphy movement". Is hip hop also to blame for global warming? Or perhaps the hole in the ozone layer? Yeah, it's really all TI's fault. At what point do people stop blaming someone or something else for their choices and actions and start accepting responsibility? I'm so ready for Tipper Gore to start a campaign on personal integrity instead of one to censor hip hop. As unbelievable as it may seem, if people actually started holding themselves accountable for what they do, negative hip hop and the images that sometimes accompany it would be so irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Let's wake up and blame ourselves instead of hip hop.

What Happens When A Hot Ghetto Mess Goes Global

If you haven't ever visited the site, chances are you've at least received an email or two (or more) with pictures taken from hotghettomess.com , the bane of black people's existence. I, like many other black people, have looked at the ridiculous pictures, burst out laughing, and forwarded them to my other friends so they too could share in the delight of laughing at someone who doesn't have sense enough to know fashion from a hole in the ground. Yep, it's all fun and games until it comes on BET. According to an article I read on yahoo news, BET's new fall lineup will include a show based on the website, hotghettomess.com, where film clips will be shown of black people acting a fool (because there just aren't nearly enough of these) while a panel of some sort provide commentary regarding the material. Reading that article made me think of how the site is not really funny. It's tragic and embarrassing. Just the mere fact that it's called hotghettomess.com and features mostly pics of inappropriately clad black people should concern us. First of all, why must we equate ourselves with that term? Are black people the only ones who can be a hot ghetto mess? Why isn't there a website for non-hot ghetto messes that features black folks? It was all fun and games until I started getting pictures from the website from my white co-worker. We do share a certain rapport but now I must tell him that he needs to refrain from sending any further hot ghetto messes to me as I find it shameful and a gross misrepresentation of my people. Surely he's always thought it was okay because as black people, we laugh at the emails as if it's cool. Well, now I finally realize it isn't cool. While Reginald Hudlin, the head of programming for BET, may not be wise enough or even care enough about the plight of his people to not perpetuate this existing foolishness, I do have sense enough not to watch it or forward it to others. We have enough problems as it is. We don't need yet another hot ghetto mess.