Not Guilty...Now What?

As an African-American man that has spent his life just a few hours away from where Trayvon Martin was killed and George Zimmerman was subsequently acquitted, I am saddened by the verdict, but I am not surprised.  I am angry, but not amazed.

At age six, I was overtly shown that my value had limits in this society.  I was man-handled and handcuffed, thrown into the back of a police car, and told "shut your little black ass up."  That incident, along with countless others over my decades of living, leaves me cynical regarding the ideal notion of true equality in this country.

Yes, the klan isn't lynching black men for the egregious act of looking at a white woman, anymore?  And that's a good thing.  But how far is that practice of yesteryear from happenings surrounding Trayvon Martin's murder?  Not very far.  How far is that practice from the outrageous "stop and frisk" practice implemented by the NYPD?  Not very far, at all.

And while these overt, unconscionable incidents occur far too often, much of the country's racial problem is of the implicit, subconscious variety.  These implicit racial biases permeate America and result in countless incidents of horror.  Should we be ANGRY?  Yes.  Should we want to be HEARD?  Yes. But the real question is, "NOW WHAT?"

Whether Zimmerman's acquittal reinforced or shattered your belief in justice or the system, what are you going to do about it, now?  And tomorrow?  And next month, two years from now?

Are you going to become a informed voter?  Are you going to follow what's going on in your community, city, state, AND the nation?  Will you seek out information to make knowledgeable decisions?   Will you make wiser decisions with YOUR life to make sure your RIGHT to vote isn't taken away by doing some dumb shit?

YOU MUST!

That is where the change will take place.

Will you vow to be a father to your children?  Will you sign up to be a mentor to any of the young people who are in dire need of some direction?  Will you be an active member of the educational community to ensure the success of our children?  Will you put as much time into the possibility of your son becoming a Supreme Court Justice (Thurgood Marshall) as you put into the idea of him becoming the a supreme athlete (LeBron James/RGIII)?

YOU MUST!

That is where the change will take place.

And remember, this is a capitalist country.  Your money has a voice.  If you do not like the stereotypes many people have of your cultural group, then stop watching the shows that perpetuate those stereotypes. Stop watching those channels: they cannot survive without the advertising dollars. Stop supporting the artists that rap/sing these stereotypes into the ears of EVERYONE.

And what about the athletes, entertainers, moguls out there?  Will you use your voice to inspire a movement?  Will you use your dollars to demand a change?  Will you use your platform, influence, status and contribute more than an Instagram photo donning a hoodie?  Or are you more concerned about your brand or your bottom line?

You've tweeted about it; now what?

This is a deeply emotional time, but it is not a time for aggression.  However, it is a time for AGGRESSIVE ACTION. Be diligent in your work to make improvements.

So I ask you...NOW WHAT?

Ahhh...to be Young

I have always echoed long-standing platitudes like "Age ain't nothing but a number" and "You're only as old as you think you are."  And I do not feel "old" by any stretch of the imagination.  However, there comes a time in every man's life when he realizes that he isn't as the spry young man he once was.

Recently, I engaged in a few events that reminded me that I was no longer 18 years old:

1)

So, because I am such a giving person and noble friend, I agreed to take part in a charity basketball game.  My team was comprised of a group of men who remember when NBA players' shorts looked like they came from Victoria Secrets.  And our opponents were a bunch of 16-19 year-old boys hyped up on Red Bull and Lebron/Blake Griffin dunks.

Now, while I was never NBA-caliber with my skills, I could always hold my own on the court.  I won intramural championships in college, and played basketball on, at least, 80 percent of my days as an undergrad.  But that was a few years ago. 

Now, I make it a point to keep myself in pretty good shape.  However, as the game began, I realized my "grown man" shape is quite different than "young man" in shape.  The first few plays were cool.  My team was scoring and defending well.  We were getting back on 'D' and contesting shots.  But then it happened, and it apparently happened to the entire team at the same.  I suddenly became "Old Dude at The Park".  You know, the guy on the neighborhood basketball court who is years past his prime and results to bully techniques- grabbing, pushing, holding; rather than using skills.  On my childhood court, "Old Dude at The Park" usually played with 40 oz beer in hand or within reach.  I became him.  I pulled t-shirts instead of making it past half-court.  Attempts at blocking a shot were replaced with forearms to the mid-section.  And you could easily find me "resting" and waiting for an easy basket to come my way.

Needless to say, after a bevy of bricks and air balls, and a virtual track meet by the youngsters, we loss.  And the pain of defeat was nothing compared to the pain that permeated my body when I woke up the next morning.  This ain't college.

2) 

A friend of mine gave me a call on a Saturday afternoon.

Friend:  Yo, what's up?
Me:        Chillin'.  You?
Friend:  Nothing much.  What you got going on tonight?
Me:       Man, I dunno.  What's up?
Friend:  I have these concert tickets wanna slide?

The only concert that I was aware of was the Alicia Keys concert.  So, I was a little hesitant to respond, because I couldn't see the two of us in the arena belting "This Girl is on Fire."  Before I could ask whose concert it was, he allayed my concerns but sparked more confusion by saying, "It's Busta Rhymes and Kendrick Lamar."  He furthered his perplexing invitation by adding that the concert was open to college students only. One of his wife's friends happens to be the event planner at the university and gave tickets to her friends.  Well, after a little convincing, I decided to go.  What else was I gonna do?

Fast forward to the concert - well, before the actual concert.  As I walked to the venue.  I found myself constantly looking away from the scantily-dressed teenage girls around me.  I felt like that older guy hanging out in a club or party that was at least a decade to young for him. Wait...that's exactly what it was.

I'm old enough to remember the spry, rambunctious Busta Rhymes with dreadlocks and over-animated gestures. This Busta was a little more Barry White than the Busta I remember.

TANGENT:

The new Busta reminds me of wrestling icon Junkyard Dog (J.Y.D.).




Busta Rhymes and his hype-man, Spliff Star did about a 40 minute set.  Ten minutes of the set was yelling at the sound man to "fix the mic, Son."  Ten more minutes went to general conversation between the Busta and Spliff and the audience.  The rest of the time was devoted to performing parts of his hits and misses.

I think maybe the older you get the less sense Rap concerts make to you. When Busta was rapping, I had no clue what he was saying until he got to the chorus. I'm thinking there must have been a dog whistle effect going on, and rap concert lyrics become inaudible after a certain age. Because I, and everyone I was with, was clueless.

And Kendrick Lamar's performance was like listening to a speech by unmotivated motivational speaker with loud music in the background and everyone yelling the speaker's word back to him.
He didn't have live music, a booty shaking crew, or even a hype man.  It was just him.  All 4'7" of him.

I've enjoyed Jay-Z, Kanye, and the Roots in recent years. Jigga and Mr. West have expansive catalogues and engaging energy on stage; the Roots are a tour-de-force in a category of their own.  But give me Jill Scott, Ledisi, or Kem, any day.  You couldn't have gotten me sit at a Kem concert when I was in college, but I've matured.

So, what did I learn? 

Most of my basketball games from now on will be with a 30+ league.  Nothing makes you feel young like a mean crossover on someone who's had hip replacement surgery.

Ahhh...to be young...

Relatively speaking.

I Resolve

I know it's been  a while since I've posted, but I've vowed to do a lot better this year.  And this post is about just that, vows for the new year, more widely known as New Year's resolutions.




The last few days of December are filled with people making lists, typing 1, 5, or 10-year plans, and updating their vision boards.  Inevitably, getting in shape or losing weight is at the top of most of those lists.  Just ask the membership counselor at any gym.

But why do we make these resolutions at all at the beginning of the year?  It doesn't make much sense.

Allow me to propose a few scenarios:

#1

A young woman sits at home with her three-year old daughter on a lovely afternoon in October..  The daughter approaches her mother and says, "Mommy, I'm hungry."  No response.  The little girl tugs on her skirt and with more desperation laments, "Mommy, I'm soooo hungry."  The mother looks down at her starving little girl and smiles. 

"Hold on, baby."  She gets up and walks to the kitchen.  She opens a drawer and pulls out a piece of paper and a pen.  As she scribbles onto the paper, she looks at her daughter and says, "I know you need to eat.  I'm gonna make sure I start feeding you at the beginning of the year."

#2

A bachelor, let's call him Joe, sits in his apartment watching ESPN .  Joe is a bit of a Renaissance man, therefore he has prepared a meal for himself: fettuccine with a seafood alfredo sauce.  After the delicious dinner, he falls asleep watching the game.  When he awakens he rushes out to work.  When he arrives home that afternoon and opens his front door, he is greeted by the wonderful smell of all the preparation of last night's dinner that he forgot to take out.  What does he do?  Does he immediately take out the trash and douse his with Febreeze?  No.  He goes to his vision board and looks at a picture of a pristine kitchen that he cut out of Better Homes and Garden and thinks "January 1st...January 1st."

My point is - if you know that there is a change you need or want to make in your life, you should start working the very moment you realize it.  Imagine the progress you can make between the time you you know the changes you want to make and the beginning of the year. 

There is truly no time like the present.

So, I resolve to better myself sooner rather than later.

Happy New Year!
(When is it too late to say Happy New Year?  I'm thinking after January 4th.  So, I take it back.)

Happy New Year! 

Hello there.

My 2 Cents on The Extremely Suspicious Case of Trayvon Martin

Trayvon Martin was shot and killed by George Zimmerman.  Trayvon was a seventeen-year old black kid wearing a hoodie and carrying a pack of Skittles and a can of iced tea. 
Zimmerman was a neighborhood watchman.
Trayvon Martin is dead.
George Zimmerman is free.

This is what we know.

The passion for this case is like little I've seen in my lifetime.  Young and old have donned hoodies, staged protests, participated in rallies, and vented vehemently all over social media.

Professional athletes have shown their support.



Politicians have stood up for the "movement".




Of course, the usual gamut of black leaders and intellectuals have grabbed the mantle and bullhorn and shouted for justice and blood at the same time. 




The New Black Panther Party has offered a one-million dollar reward for bringing Zimmerman to justice.

"I am Trayvon Martin" has become the new "Yes We Can!"

Even the president of the United States made a personal connection to the tragic shooting by stating, "If I had a son, he would look like Trayvon."

But as more and more time goes by without "justice" and George Zimmerman walks the street, probably wearing a hoodie to conceal his identity, I have one question:

What happens now?

I still see some Facebook profile pictures and t-shirts around.  But inevitably, the cycle remains the same.  People prefer sprints to marathons, any day.  The case has taken the backseat to Whitney Houston autopsy reports, Dwight Howard's antics in Orlando, and Beyonce bikini pics. 

Okay, I lied.  I have another question.

What is the aftermath?  If George Zimmerman is arrested and convicted, where does the energy and fervor go?  Is the mission accomplished?  Is the activism no longer necessary? Does everyone go back to their insular, ego-centric lives until the next tragedy can be found in a Google search or twitter feed?  

Trayvon Martin was killed and that is a deafening tragedy.  But all of the rallies and protests and changing of Facebook profile pictures cannot help Trayvon.  It has drawn international attention and hopefully, something positive will come out of the situation, but it cannot change the situation. However, there are millions out there that look just like Trayvon that can still be helped. 
 
People traveled miles and miles to attend rallies, but how many would drive around the corner to volunteer at a school or offer their time to mentor a child in need?

In 2010, the graduation rates for African-American males was 47%.   In Florida, the state in which Trayvon martin was killed, the rate is only 37%.  THIRTY-SEVEN PERCENT!!!  HELLOOOO?  That means almost two-thirds of the black males in Florida DO NOT GRADUATE!

Failure to graduate exponentially increases a person's chances of living in poverty, committing a crime, and going to prison.  That sounds rather tragic to me.  Where are the rallies about that?  Where are the good Reverends shouting about that on TV?

If a fraction of the energy, passion, and resources were put into finding solutions for this crisis, there would have to something done.  Lebron's "every 26 seconds" commercial is a start, but why isn't a Congressman sitting in the house with a dunce cap and handcuffs on?

Don't get me wrong.  I am by no means belittling this tragedy.  Trust me, as a black man growing up in the South, I've experience more than my share of "situations" that could have resulted in my death.  But I also know that without the help of some key people in my life, people that extended themselves for my sake, I wouldn't be where I am today. 

On a daily basis, I see hoards of young men and women simply lost. They have no direction and are being raised by Nicki Minaj and Twitter. I wonder if the parents of these children are the same people protesting and rallying but not attending their own child's parent/teacher conference.  

These children need you.  They need their parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, neighbors, deacons, community members, politicians, activists, entertainers, and anyone that gives a damn about the future to stand up and make some noise.

They need you to care, because if you don't care, we will lose so many more than Trayvon.  We will lose 63% of them.

Now, tweet that!

All Dat Jazz!!!

Blogging is kinda like going to the gym.  When you have a consistent workout regimen, it's fairly easy to remain consistent.  Even those days when you'd rather just sit on the couch and watch TV become days spent in the gym because that's what you're "supposed" to do.  But once you miss a day, it becomes easy to miss two, then three, then you find yourself staring in the mirror, pinching parts that weren't there before, and wondering what the hell happened!
That is exactly what happened to my blogging.  I needed a jolt.  I needed that moment in the mirror that would force my the get back into blogging shape.  Two things gave me that jolt.  The first was the Trayvon Martin saga and the second was Jazz in the Gardens.

The Trayvon case is taking me a little longer to write about.  That will be coming soon, so, on to Jazz in the Gardens.

If you don't know, Jazz in the Gardens is a 2-day music festival in Miami Gardens, FL.  From its name, you might expect it to be all about jazz: WRONG!  The list of artists included Jazz stalwarts: Ramsey Lewis and Kenny G., old-school heavyweights: Doug E. Fresh and Patti LaBelle, and soul singers: Ledisi, Kem, and Jill Scott. (Patti Labelle and Mary J. Blige performed on the second day, but I didn't go.  I had stuff to do.)

One of the most exciting aspects of the event was the overall energy.  Thousands of people gathered together from all walks of life and transformed a "show" into a party!  It wasn't uncommon to see hundreds off people line dancing, Cupid shuffling, or "wobbling" at once.  Everyone was just having a good time.  After all, isn't that what life is all about? 

Now, to my insights about the performances I saw:

Doug E. Fresh
I want to make enough money one day so that I can hire Doug E. Fresh to put on his "World's Greatest Entertainer " hat for my party.  From the moment this dude stepped on stage, the atmosphere went from "cool" to "outta control".  Everyone was on their feet throwing their hands in the air like they didn't care.  It wasn't rare to catch a sporadic "wop" or "running man" in one of the aisles.  And Mr. Fresh treated the crowd to a continuous beat box set that seemed to last for ten minutes; he even busted out the harmonica.  It's obvious that he's been working on his cardio and I could tell he's been in the gym recently.

Ledisi



In the beginning, Ledisi seemed to have trouble connecting to audience, or, maybe it was more the other way around.  It was clear that a small percentage of the audience really knew her music beyond the few singles heard on the radio.  But I guarantee that they knew her afterwards.  Once she kicked off her shoes and took 'em to church with soul-stirring vocals and stories of perseverance and persistence, recalling encouraging words from her mama, she had 'em hooked.  There are very few vocalists around that can rival Ledisi's skills.  She was amazing!

Kem

Kem was cool.  His performance was...cool.  The ladies seemed to enjoy it.  I listen to Kem's music if I'm at home reading or cleaning.  It may have been  a great performance, but I think my energy was tied up in anticipation for the next artist.


Jill Scott



Jill Scott's performance was legendary.  In her roughly 1-hour set, I felt at times like I was sitting in the pew and she was the preacher speaking directly to me, and other times like I was a teenager sneaking to watch grainy HBO and Cinemax soft porn.  She was simultaneously angelic and hedonistic, spiritual and carnal.  I fell in love with her about four times that night.  She sang and sang and sang.  Her band was hot!  Her background singers struggled to stay in the shadows.  But most importantly, she connected.  When she sang "Crown Royal", every single person in the audience bit their lip, shook their head, looked at the lover they came with or sent a text message to a lover that wasn't there.   

This isn't the performance, just the song.  But take this song and smooth and sexy it up, and you'll get half of what I was lucky to experience.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uguUTOenjxg


If you've never been to Jazz in the Gardens, put it on your agenda, now.  Request time off from work, check Hotwire for flights.  I don't know who's gonna be there, but I know it's gonna be amazing!

Needless to say, I was moved.  I was invigorated.  I was inspired and all that jazz!

And I'm back.

Now, on to Trayvon...

Get Yo Damn Kids!!!

If you've ever read my blog before, you probably know that I am totally in love with my niece, Na'Zyia.  She is absolutely the loveliest thing God has created.  I felt a similar adoration when I was ten and my baby sister was born.  So, I fully understand how people are about their kids.  To parents and grandparents, their little ones are precious.  Nothing can compare to a mother's view of their dear little one.  However, it is painfully obvious to me that not every one shares your love for your little one.  I know I sure don't.
Case in point:

Recently, I was in a wildly popular establishment that specializes in caffeinated beverages.  People come there for various reasons: some come just for a pretentious cup of coffee with a faux-Italian name, some are there to make sure their Match.com first date is in public and doesn't end in a missing person's report, and some, like myself, come to get some work done.  I bring my laptop and plug in my headphones to give myself an alternate venue to write.  So, the other day, a young lady came in pushing her stroller.  As her son's feet scraped the floor, I imagined that this wasn't going to end well.  After she purchased her beverage and sat in one of the plush chairs that were provided, her darling little one damn near exploded out of his stroller.  In a matter of minutes, he was running around the store, dodging unsuspecting caffeine junkies and LSAT studiers, alike.  As he ran from table to stranger to garbage can, the mother sat patiently and whispered "Maximo".  I assumed that she was just reminding him of Russell Crowe's Gladiator because it couldn't have been his name.  We'll call him Gremlin.

Gremlin continued to run around, but that wasn't the worst.  Noooo.  His personal game of "you can't catch me" was accompanied by melodic shrills at the top of his damn lungs!  Ahhh, now his mammy will get up and calm his little ass down, I thought.  I thought wrong.  She stood up and shook her head, then turned to the woman next to her, who apparently has Gremlins of her own, and said, "they're a mess at this age."  What?  No!  You're a mess at this age.  Get yo damn kid!  I had multiple thoughts of mushing him in his face, but I thought that might be slightly over-stepping my boundaries.  I just watched as he ate a cookie from the ground and licked the "wet floor" sign.  Hey, don't look at me like that.  Get yo damn kid!

Now, as much as that bothers me, another situation bothered me more.  Sitting in the same establishment on an entirely different day, poetically dribbling onto some pages, I was approached by a couple little boys.  What follows is an exact transcript of that conversation:

Two young boys, both around the age of eight, walk up to a cool and debonair young man as he writes in a pad.  The boys could have walked right off the pages of any story with main characters from Compton, the South side of Chicago, or Hoodville, USA.  Their clothes were tattered and they carried football helmets.

Boy 1:  Excuse me, Sir.

The gentleman, full of suspicion, removes his headphones.

Boy 1:  Would you like to donate?

Gentleman:  Donate to what?

Boy 2:  To our football team.

Gentleman:  Who knows that you're here?

Boy 1:  We told my mama we was gonna come get donations.

Gentleman:  How far do you live from here?

Boy 2:  It took about a hour to get here from home.

Boy 1:  We usually go 'round wit our coach, but we just caught the bus to get here.

Gentleman:  And what do you do with the money?

Boy 1:  We give it to our coach.

Gentleman:  You don't spend any of the money you get?

Boy 2:  No, sir.

Gentleman:  None of it?

They look at each other for assistance.

Boy 1:  Well, we bought some sodas and we got some pizza from next door, but we save the rest for Coach.

Gentleman:  Yeah, naa, I can't even support this.  Why don't y'all go home and read or something.

Boy 2: (to Boy 1)  That's alright; let's go ask the white people.

Get Yo Damn Kids!!!

I totally believe in the concept of raising children as a village.  But that doesn't mean that you drop your kids off at the village and you go to hit the club.  Please, raise your children right before someone, not me, does more than just think about mushing them in the face.

A Letter To Lebron

Dear LeBron Raymone "The Chosen One" " King" James,

It has been a year since you donned that purple plaid shirt and sat across from Jim Gray to announce to the world where you were taking your talents. All the world outside of South Florida scorned you for it. There were tears and fires ablaze in the streets of Cleveland. There was a letter from Cavaliers owner Dan Gilbert that seemed more like a drunken e-mail from a bitter girlfriend. You became despised.


A few weeks have passed since you and your teammates, with your abundance of talents, gave the NBA championship to the Dallas Mavericks. All the world outside of South Beach rejoiced. You became a punchline to fill ESPN airtime and for late night talk shows. TANGENT ALERT!

What happened to late night talk shows? Jimmy Fallon? Are you serious? Well, at least he has The Roots as his house band. And what's that British guy's name? What happened to the likes of Johnny Carson, David Letterman, Jay Leno? Hell, what happened to Arsenio Hall?




Okay, really, what happened to Arsenio? Did he just die after Coming to America?

(Attempt at a tie-in) In Coming to America, Prince Akeem had to come to terms with who he was and what he wanted. He could no longer allow the wishes of his family or those who admired him to determine his future...just like you, LeBron.


So, if you have time on whatever remote island you're on, take a few minutes to read this friendly letter.


Let me start this by saying: I'm here to help. And the first act of my assistance is to say in public what you've probably said in private to all those around the world who prayed and prayed for your downfall and rejoiced at your every air ball, errant pass, and offensive foul: FUCK 'EM!


This phrase, one I use liberally and with no reservation, is the perfect response to all those lonely souls in Cleveland who cried after you left them feeling like the "black girl". You know, the black girl that many black women refer to when talking about professional/successful black men. The black girl that is "there for him when he was struggling, but as soon as he makes it he drops her and goes for the brighter (lighter) option." Kanye referenced her in Gold-digger. But that oh so beautiful phrase isn't reserved for the heartbroken Ohioans. You can use it to address every Monday morning point guard calling sports radio shows, commenting on stories on ESPN, or at Scottie Pippen for allowing his personal feelings of inadequacy to inappropriately state that you might be better than Jordan, in turn, exponentially increasing the pressure you were obviously feeling.

After you've dropped the F-bomb one good time (all you need is one good time; any more than two would be uncivilized), you should do what all professional athletes do in the summer; go some where and have plenty of unattached, but safe sex. I think you need a release. Because in a few of those fourth quarters, you played like a fifteen year-old who just got his first French kiss and feel-up. It was like you were scared to move because you didn't want the world to see the little bundle in your over-sized basketball shorts. You might want to visit King of Diamonds. Nothing cures ills like "making it rain and pouring champagne" on somebody's daughters.



When you come back from Vegas or Punta Cana or Rio, then it's time to work. Next season has to be your season. You have to make a comeback. A real comeback. Not a Michael Jordan comeback. Not a Muhammad Ali comeback. You have to make a comeback like Jason. Jason Voorhees, that is. You know, of Friday The 13th fame. You need to kill EVERYONE, metaphorically speaking of course. You need to treat every team, every opponent like a group of horny campers that know about you but figure that they you are simply a myth and it's okay to desecrate your name.

And when you come back, you need to get some new friends. Your boys obviously didn't have your best interest at heart when they said, "Yeah, dawg, it would be a brilliant idea to go on national television to break the hearts of everyone that has put you on a pedestal since you were seven or eight." Someone should have said, "It's cool as hell that you can get the whole sports world to stop and watch you say where you're going to play next year, but that shit might not be a good look in the end."


Once you get rid of those dudes, then just SHUT THE HELL UP! Don't talk about what happened during the playoffs. Don't talk about how financially distraught all of us are compared to you. Don't talk about cloning yourself or about how you're gonna win twenty championships before you retire. Just play ball.

And if you happen to take my "KILL EVERYONE" comment literally, just move to Orlando, change your last name to Anthony, and claim you were molested.

The Movie Critic in Me

In the span of a week, I saw five movies. I don't mean sitting at home flipping through the channels seeing what Showtime or AMC had to offer. I mean over-priced popcorn and six-dollar sodas. I mean uncomfortable seats and idiots who can't keep their feet off the back of them. I saw five movies at the theatre.

"How" you may ask, "does anyone, in this economy, spend twenty bucks a movie on five movies in less than a week?"

I didn't. I did what has been affectionately termed "movie-hopping" or "a sneak-a-peek". Some may call it stealing. But is it really stealing. What about the little old lady who picks up a bunch of grapes in the grocery store and eats half of them before she reaches the register? Is she stealing? What about the mom who takes twenty napkins during the latest visit to the local fast food restaurant or coffee shop just so she can keep them in her glove compartment or console for emergencies? Is she a thief?

So, if I happen to pay for a movie and see three or four others in the process, does that make me a thief? I think not. When I was younger, I was a thief. My friends and I used to steal whatever we could: t-shirts, boxing gloves, portable televisions. I once got shot at for stealing mangoes from a neighbor's tree.

Okay, on to the movies I saw. First, I'll rank them.

1. X-Men: First Class

2. Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

3: Kung-Fu Panda 2

4a: The Hangover Part II

4b: Bridesmaids

This is the part that I'm supposed to post a SPOILER ALERT. But I shall not. Why? No real reason. Just read on!

I'd heard that the new X-Men movie might rival the Dark Knight as the best superhero movie of all time. I was naturally skeptical, but I was highly impressed. While it didn't have the iconic acting performance of Heath Ledger's Joker, it was amazing in its own right. Smart, action-packed, thought-provoking, educational, and slightly romantic, X-Men: First Class is great even for those not too fond of comic book take-offs. Unfortunately, there is an instance of "the black man dies first" syndrome in the movie, but I let that slide. It still was a great movie.

When watching any of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies you pretty much know what to expect. Sword fights, sea creatures, witty Jack Sparrow one-liners enveloped in nearly indecipherable accents. But I'm into all that, so it was good to me.

Kung-Fu Panda 2 was a pleasant surprise. While I'm into animated films, Finding Nemo is one of my all-time favorite movies, I didn't think Panda was going to be that good, but it was. Maybe it was just me, but it was highly inspirational. I walked away from that movie with a renewed spirit even though it was my third movie in one day. Po the Panda had to discover the truth of his past in order to find inner peace. Once he found that inner peace, he was able to conquer all. Don't we all need a little inner peace? Amen.

The other two movies tied for the two failures of the week. In fact, they were two of the worst movies I've seen in a while. I had absolutely no expectations of Bridesmaids. In fact, I should have only seen four movies; I was coerced into seeing this one. There is no sensible reason any heterosexual man should see this movie. The movie was kind of like taking the entire Lifetime Channel, every episode of Bridezillas and any other wedding-themed show, and any moment in life that requires an absence of testicles for someone to sit through it. If you like those shows about cakes, wedding dresses, and obnoxious women trying to squeeze into dresses because they ate too much cake, then this is the movie for you. But in the words of In Living Color's Men on Film...hated it!

The Hangover Part II was horrible for an entirely other reason. It was the same as the first. I know the old adage, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. And I understand the mind of the producer who knows that there's a bundle of cash waiting if they use the same formula for success. But come on. You gotta do better. Give me something different. And by different, I don't mean take me to Thailand instead of Vegas. I don't mean have a pathetic Mike Tyson singing the finale'. (Side note: It is almost heartbreaking to see Mike Tyson today. He's like a former professional wrestler trying to collect a few more checks by wrestling at strip mall openings and baby showers. I know he ate a man's ear and all, but this is low.) And I don't mean show more penises, including "female" stripper penis. Yeah, there were some laughs on my part. But I was perplexed by the audience's raucous guffaws. It was like I was watching an old episode of Different Strokes with the automatic laugh track in place. Because that shit was not that funny.

So, out of the 5 movies I saw, one was a prequel, three others were sequels, and one was vomitted on to the screen by a Lifetime/Oxygen conglomerate. 1 was absolutely amazing, 1 was as expected, 1 was better than expected, and 1 was highly disappointing, and then there was, and the last was fodder for some divorced women Meet Up.

My conclusion is that with the bullshit they offer, the movie theatres and production companies are the thieves. So, the next time you go to the movies, be sure to get your money's worth. But you might wanna stop at three; it can be a little exhausting.

Reality TV is the Devil!!!

I'm not a big television watcher. I mean, I wake up every morning to ESPN and watch my share of sports. If you throw in the movie channels and a select few shows: Law & Order, Seinfeld, and Frasier, then you'll pretty much exhaust the gamut of my television watching. And every so often, I'll overhear a conversation about this show or that show, or someone will ask me if I caught a certain episode of something. My answer is inevitably 'no'.

But I was prompted to go on a journey. During my journey, I found a collection of the most ridiculous shows ever! And these are popular shows. Shows that otherwise intelligent people are faithful viewers of.

16 and Pregnant: That's right! Let's have a show that glamorizes the mistakes of teenagers. Yeah, I guess the idea should be to show the ills of their actions, but the show doesn't really make it seem all that bad. I'm sure it would make no sense to have a show called 16 and Taking Advanced Placement courses.

The Real Housewives of _________(Insert City of Your Choice): A show with a bunch of people with nothing else to do but host parties, drink themselves silly, and bitch at each other. Sounds like Congress. All the shows of this ilk are the same. Why would anyone invest an hour out of their lives to watch these women put on these extra obnoxious masks?

Celebrity Apprentice: Why the hell does this show even exist? I know Trump doesn't need the money. I guess it's just his way of staying relevant, especially given his White House delusions. But what really is the purpose of bringing together the likes of walking pharmacy, Gary Busey, crazy-ass Star Jones, and a woman whose name has no business being associated with the word "celebrity". What is a Nene Leakes? She reminds me of my aunt. I try my hardest to avoid spending long periods of time with that particular aunt. Why would anyone want to turn on the television and bring a Nene Leakes into their living room?

Dog The Bounty Hunter: So, what we want to do is give a racist, druggie bounty hunter and his husband a platform to reinforce generalizations and stereotypes while putting legal beat downs on Blacks and Latinos at a disproportionate rate. Oh, but he gives them a pep talk and prays for them before he drops them off to jail. Man, we get to see racism and redemption all in one show. How can anything beat that?

No offense to the Christian network, but with all of the nonsense on the airwaves, there should be one network dedicated to stupid ass "reality" shows. This will be the new TBN: Tiger Blood Network, all Charlie Sheen all-day. Just a bunch of mind-numbing, intellect-diminishing dribble with as little redeeming value as humanly possible.

• They could give the O'Jays a show. It could be called, The O'Jays (or insert the name of any old rock, R & B, or Rap group that is still trying to hold on 20 years after their popularity): Remember? The whole show could follow as they go around to see if anyone recognizes and remembers them. Once they find a person that knows them, then the purpose of the show switches to them trying to remember enough lyrics to perform a song for the lucky person.
• How about The Ties That Bind? This show would focus on toddlers' struggles to tie their shoes, men's struggles for that perfect Windsor knot, and the nearly impossible task of a woman trying to tie the back of her dress.
• The most popular show would be, "I work at Mickey D's, can hardly read and write, but swear with conviction that I'm going to be a superstar rapper and all the women are going to want me then, even though they barely look at me now!"

I must admit that I do have one little reality TV pleasure. It's called Bully Beatdown. It's brilliant. It takes a couple of lovable losers with a story of how they've been tormented by some obnoxious bully. The show then puts the bully in the ring with a mixed martial artist who proceeds to beat the bully's ass into submission. All to the delight of the once-bullied losers who receive money for each time the bully is knocked down or submits to the grasp of the martial artist. I question the authenticity of the show. It may all be a rouse. But the premise is amazing. A sense of redemption for all of us out there that ever had to suffer at the hands of a bully.

And every once in while, there is a gem of semi-reality television. Case in point: Comedy Central's roast of Donald Trump. These roasts are simply an hour full of comedians and semi-celebrities making as many disparaging remarks as they can about a willing figure. Flavor Flav and Hulk Hogan are previous recipients of this honor. The Donald Trump roast was comedy gold because of one particular member of Jersey Shore. Some prophetic genius booked Mike "The Situation" as one of the roasters. It was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. Remember the kid in the high school talent show who swore he could sing, but could barely carry a tune. And once he started singing, the giggles and blank stares from the audience alerted him to his less-than-stellar voice. But he was already on the stage and too far into the song to simply stop singing. So, he suffered through what seemed like an hour to get to the end of the song, only to be met by raucous laughter, boos, and pitying applause. Well, that was like winning an Oscar compared to this. And even though I really don't want to do anything to give any more attention to "The Problem", if you haven't seen it, here it is:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4gfhM4_ogwo

If this was what reality TV was, I would be hooked. But instead, we get a million versions of The Real World, a thousand cake/bake/wedding shows, and voyeuristic looks into the fake lives of people that we really shouldn't care about at all.

Read a book!

Fools and a Poem

April Fool's Day just passed. Remember when you lived for April Fool's Day? On what other day are people of all ages encouraged to blatantly lie, deceive friends and family, and bask in other's embarrassment? I remember creating an elaborate story about how one of the fiiiinest girls in school had asked me about one of my best friends. "She said that when you see her at lunch, you should grab her from behind and whisper 'Hey, Beautiful' in her ear," I told him as I watched his eyes gleam in delight. So, my excited friend saw her at lunch and proceeded to take my advice. As he grabbed her waist, she quickly turned around, slapped him in the face, kicked him in the 'goods', and gave a verbal lashing Richard Pryor would have blushed at. When my embarrassed friend limped over to the group of us doubled over and wiping laughter-induced tears from our faces, the only solace I could offer was - "APRIL FOOL'S!" Priceless. Imagine that worked in all facets of life. 1) You walk into your job and say to your boss, "I hate you! You are absolutely the worst person on the face of the planet. The world we be a better place when you're no longer in it...April Fool's." or 2) "Baby, I slept with your sister. I didn't mean to; I just kinda fell in. Wait! That's not all. I went to the doctor and I'm sure she gave me some sort STD! April Fool's! Ha Ha." And then all is forgotten. That would be great. Okay, just had to let that one out. Now, a poem from me to you. Awake!!!

Awake!

Awaken from your dormancy, your normalcy.

Arise from your slumber and tumble into consciousness.

Wipe the apathy from your eyes.

Wash your face with gasoline and brush your teeth with a book of matches.

Greet all you meet with a kiss on the cheek.

Set the world a fire!

Be inspired.

And in turn, inspire others to greatness.

Take this poem and burn it, write a better one.

Incinerate the world, make a brighter sun!

Awake this very moment and choose life and let life choose you.

Steal hours and conceal minutes.

Hide time and its very conventions in your mind, behind nice thoughts that mask rebellious intentions.

Dare to dream despite the worlds constant pinching.

Take religion, replace it with spirituality.

Take conformity, replace it with individuality.

Replace education with knowledge,

Let experience be your college or university.

Embrace diversity.

Realize it’s worse if we were all the same.

Stop taking life for granted.

Just Stop.

Listen. Look. Love.

© Darius D.

Preteen Dreams & Grown Man Wishes

This post is in serious violation of "MAN LAW", and I am fully aware of that. It's a good thing that I don't buy into any of that BS, so I have absolutely no qualms with the following statement:
Men need to grow up!

Yeah, I said it. And I don't mean in the "You're how old and still playing those damn video games while I'm over here in my new lace, tiger-print, Frederick's of Hollywood lingerie?" kind of way. I don't even mean it in the "They're only shoes; who cares that he stepped on them and didn't say sorry?" kind of way. I mean it in the Al Bundy drooling over the centerfold of the Jugs magazine kind of way.

Now, don't get me wrong; I am truly a fan of the female physique. Along with The Pyramids and Machu Picchu, the feminine form is one of God's most amazing creations. Poets and sculptors have crafted masterpieces from its inspiration. Amazing lyricists like Carl Carlton, "Her body measurements are perfect in every dimension~She's got a figure that's sho' 'nuff gettin' attention~She's poetry in motion, a beautiful sight to see~I get so excited viewin' her anatomy," and Sisqo: "She had dumps like a truck, truck, truck~Thighs like what, what, what~Baby move your butt, butt, butt," couldn't help but pen classics in honor of a woman's body.

And I understand that. But I don't understand what drives men to the point of losing their damn minds over the mere prospect of seeing ass and titties.

When I was young, I used to sneak under my uncle's water bed mattress to find a deluge of dirty magazines. It was a preteen's paradise. The mere sight of naked breasts was enough to work my burgeoning libido into a frenzy. Every chance I got, I would sneak a magazine out of the house to share with neighborhood friends. You would then find 5 or 6 googly-eyed adolescents smiling wildly as they stared at things our young minds could only imagine of experiencing first-hand.

But we were kids. We had nearly the same reaction when my friend Jarvis showed us his new G.I. Joe with the Kung Fu grip.

Why do grown ass men have the exact same reactions when it comes to strip clubs? I don't get it. Friends have tried to explain the merits. Some even talk about the great food many establishments serve. Maybe it's my aversion to germs. Maybe it's my ego. But I have never been a big fan of paying for a sweaty stranger to invade my personal space.

I was recently a groomsman in one of my really good friend's wedding. As is customary, the Best Man did his due diligence of organizing the bachelor party. To the delight of almost everyone invited, the itinerary basically consisted of strippers, dinner, and more strippers. (I hope my boy's new wife doesn't read this.) Almost to a man, everyone was happier than a rooster in a hen house when talking about the dancers. They were even willing to forsake a good meal just to see naked women. They reminded me of that huddled corner of kids I used to be a part of.

I'm not knocking a person's desire to view the physical form, or to toss money into the vicinity of the hard-working women. And if you're helping someone get the school, keep their lights on, or pay for their panther paw tattoo, isn't it all worth it in the end?

I just question some of the personal lives of those who go crazy at the thought of seeing naked women. Come on, man; you're an adult. Behave like one. Save all of your drooling and panting for the privacy of your own home...in front of your own computer screen...watching whatever porn site you choose.

Cuck Fupid!!!

Okay. It's One Question Quiz time.

Ready?

1. What is the most ridiculous singular day on the calendar?

Ground Hog Day? While a day in which the world waits for a rodent to determine the transition of the seasons is unbelievably inane, it is not the correct answer.


April Fool's Day, you say? Hmmm...a day when everyone, children and grown-ass people, alike, try their hardest to concoct some elaborate rouse just so they can have the pleasurable experience of yelling, "April Fool's Day" to someone who should be skeptical of any out-of-the-ordinary occurence does seem like a likely answer, but...WRONG!

I'll give you one more try. Okay, here's a hint. A large percentage of the population celebrates it with as much reluctance as certain members of Congress and the Senate have about referring to "That One" as Mr. President.

Still no clue? Okay. I'll tell you. It's Valentine's Day.

Now, this isn't your typical male rant about the day of pinks and reds. I am far from a non-romantic. That's just it. There is nothing romantic about Valentine's Day.

How romantic is it for someone to show their love for you on the day that the rest of the world has decided they should? Sure. Reluctantly giving you a gift because I don't want to hear your moaning is sooooooo romantic.

True story: There's this guy. He'd been married for a few years. During those brief years, he'd been with seven or eight other women. She'd "expected" his infedility (read: she knew but never had any concrete proof.) Needless to say, their marriage was in shambles. What kept it together? He would rush in at around 11 pm with a silly plastic-wrapped gift basket containing a bear and some old chocolates, and somehow, this would build up an incredible amount of goodwill that would last until her birthday came around.

So much importance was put on one day, that this woman sold her dignity for it.

Now, I believe in love and all that shit. Flowers are great. Who doesn't like some nice chocolates? Ferrero Rocher is my favorite. And you can never go wrong with a brand new bottle of "smell good". But having one day that you're "supposed" to show your love is plain stupid.

When I was younger, I loved the thought of going to school on Valentine's Day and exchanging little Scooby-Doo cards and chalky candy hearts with messages like "you're sweet" and "be mine". It was innocent, then. But even then, if someone you weren't great friends with didn't give you a Valentine, you felt slightly hurt. You tried to recall a time when you didn't share your crayons or took too long on the swings: anything that would have caused them to pass you by.

Today, the importance of this day has increased exponentially. It's become some sort of measuring stick for lovers. If your significant other is the only one in the office who doesn't receive flowers, chances are, you won't be "receiving" anything for a long time. Who cares if she doesn't like flowers or if some of the other women sent flowers to themselves?

Tip O' The Day:

Don't try and do the truly romantic thing like write a poem to her. If your sonnet isn't accompanied by something from FTD, Godiva, and your local your jewelry store, you might as well had written last year's winning lottery numbers on that paper; it would mean the same thing to her.

We, as a society, have become so wrapped up in the external matters of life, that the truly ethereal things don't matter. If you can't touch it, taste it, smell it, or show off to your friends then it doesn't really matter. So, with that, Valentine's Day has reached the pinnacle of pertinence, especially for those whose love language is "gifts". (By the way, whose love language isn't gifts? Don't we all like gifts?) Does a spontaneous, heartfelt gesture on a random day in August truly carry less weight than a box of undesired, coconut-filled chocolates on society's pre-established day? It seems that way.

I'm sure on February 14th Facebook statuses will change to reflect fanciful notions of love. And profile pics will transform to hearts and pictures of embracing lovers or a naked nymph ready to shoot his arrow at unsuspecting hearts. But why isn't that spirit of love and romance a constant? Women: If you truly want to be treated a certain way, why accept the opposite on 364 days of the year?

Somewhere a man is being hated for his anti-love stance. Somewhere else, a woman is hating herself because all of her loneliness is compounded on this day and she equates her flowerless desk as a sign that she is truly unloved. But that shouldn't be.

If you "looove" love and think that February 14th is the most romantic day ever: good for you. Just make sure that you don't substitute one day for substance. One bouquet of roses and a seafood dinner make not a romance. A box of chocolates and a Victoria Secret's Secret gift card do not prove his love. And if he brings you a gift basket from the corner, he's probably sleeping with your sister, or brother.

Bottom line: When all else fails, buy yourself a Scooby-Doo card and candy of your choice. And love yourself!

Should Two Roosters Be Able To Cluck Each Other?

Okay. I have serious dilemma. I have come to an impasse regarding an extremely important decision in my life. Rarely am I completely torn, but this is one of those rare times. So, I'll treat this situation like I have done most of the important decisions in my life: I'll write about it. Usually, once I start writing about things I gain some clarity. Sometimes the clarity comes about in the midst of me writing and before I put the final period in place, and on other occasions, I need time to reflect on the things I committed to paper that were stuck somewhere in my confused or afraid subconscious.

So...the problem.

Should I stop eating at Chick-fil-A?

Now, some people may scoff at my quandary and feel it warrants little contemplation. You may chalk it up to a simple dietary decision.

I can already hear my vegan and vegetarian loved ones' comments on this. They're probably shipping me some tofu and hummus, and emailing me their best tofurkey recipe. Thanks.

But this is serious.

I looooove Chick-fil-A.

I am not a heavy partaker of fast food at all. I can't recall the last Big Mac or Whopper I enjoyed; it had to be in my teens. I have even weened myself off of McDonald's fries. (Even when they are fresh, hot, and perfectly salted.) I am an overall healthy eater. I've even learned to reduce my portion size. Now, I'm only slightly gluttonous.

However, a #7 with extra-large waffle fries and a lemonade with little ice is a sin that I proudly confess to. But the recent controversy regarding my favorite chicken spot has caused me to put a pause on all of that. I've passed by a few times, my taste buds crying out for those potatoes dipped in barbecue sauce, but I kept driving.

But should I really stop eating there because they have donated food and/or funds to organizations that lobby against gay marriage? Hmmm.

Well, friends have compared it to patronizing a company that supports the KKK. Of course I wouldn't buy a soy caramel macchiato from Starbucks if they provided free coffee at a David Duke rally, so shouldn't I feel the same way about Chick-fil-A?

Should I? Many people who support the rights that gays have to get married and be as miserable as heterosexuals are proponents of all rights and freedoms for all people. So, doesn't that apply to religious beliefs? And if I am free to have my personal religious beliefs. can I not be an entrepreneur as well? And if I am a religious entrepreneur, should I not be able to espouse my beliefs and run my business at the same time, as long as I don't break any laws?

The argument on gay marriage is not simply one of politics, but simple humanity.

Dr. King said, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." And I understand that. My beliefs about gay marriage are clear: we should all have the right to fall in love, get married, become disenchanted, and get divorced. But does that have to get in the way of me enjoying a tasty meal?

It's okay that I patronize a company that may support an organization that has some beliefs that vary from my own, isn't it? I am an advocate of fathers being significant part of children's lives.

Chick-fil-A sponsors a program with that exact purpose.

Hmmm...I'm still confused.

Does everything in the world have to become politicized? Can Chick-fil-A just be a spot that makes a damn good chicken and sandwich and not the Don Imus?

Okay, I think that's it. I think I'll go and get some Chick-fil-A today, tomorrow, or the next day. And I'll eat it while making a donation to the ACLU.

What's Really Going On?

With Black History Month right around the corner, I felt obligated to pay homage to and examine the mighty words of my father, Marvin Gaye. Well, Nona and Frankie Gaye, if you're reading this, don't be shocked. Chances are that Marvin is not actually my father; a brotha can dream, can't he? But I do have an undeniable connection to him, his music, and his spirit. And while I can't sing, he's sorta my musical daddy. A day does not go by that I fail to listen to something Marvin created.

In Tupac's, Keep Your Head Up, he mused, "I remember Marvin Gaye used to sing to me. He had me feeling like black was the thing to be."

That's how I felt growing up. But not only black, I felt that it was cool to be dark, creative, sensitive, sensual, conscious, spiritually conflicted, and so much more. From Sexual Healing to God is Love, Pops showed the world that depth can come on many levels and from the same spirit. And if you dig deep in the archives, you will see that he could be as metaphorically nasty as 2 Live Crew and as socially conscious as BONO.

The first verse of the title song on arguably the greatest album of all-time is absolutely iconic.

Mother, mother There's too many of you crying. Brother, brother, brother There's far too many of you dying. You know we've got to find a way To bring some loving here today.

This verse, inspired by police brutality and the horrors of the Vietnam War, could have been written today as an indictment of the violence in impoverished parts of the country, the lives loss in America's overseas conflicts, or the current unrest in Egypt. The song is laden anti-war and pacifist sentiments. Paraphrasing MLK, he let us know that "Only love can conquer hate."

What's Going On has my vote to replace our national anthem. I know I relate to it a lot more than the talk of bombs bursting in air, and what the hell is a rampart? What good is it to have a black president if he can't make some impactful and soulful changes? Let's Go, Barack!

The second song on that revolutionary album, What's Happening, Brother?, is like a diary of the millions of people suffering from the current economic situation. I could hear my uncle, Kevin, bemoaning about the difficulties of finding work and how the world seems to be passing him by.

Below is a recording of live performances of those two songs. Apart from the beauty of the songs and Marvin's flawless and empassioned delivery, the thing that stood out for me was Happiness. From the smiling, excited kids in the crowd, to casual person in the street, there seemed to be a certain level of happiness. Even in times that seemed harsh and draining, you can still smile. You can have a cookout with your friends in the park and dance to your favorite song. You can walk with your new lover or old lover and feel each other's heartbeat through your hands. You can push your child to new heights on a swing and in life.

So, the next time someone asks you, "What's going on?" or "What's happening, Brother(Sister)?" smile at them. You can tell them about the trials of your day and the trevails you're sure to face, but in the midst of it all, flash that smile like my daddy.

More Than Dreams

Every year when January 15th comes around, we turn our attention towards the greatness of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Dr. King is one of most influential people in American and world history. So, why is his legacy often relegated to one day and one moment?

Everyone recognizes the power and brilliance in Dr. King's speech during the March on Washington. We know that he had dreams of "that this nation would stand up to its creed" and that his "four little children will live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."

Those will forever be some of the most important words ever spoken. However, Dr. King had so much more to say about so many different things. Let's take a look.

• "In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."
  

As citizens of humanity, it is imperative that we stand up for what is inherently right and stand against what we know to be wrong. Standing by nodding or shaking your head will benefit no one, not even you.

• "Life's most persistent and urgent question is, 'What are you doing for others?"

I continue to work at this one. But I do realize how important service is. It doesn't have to be something major or something public, just something significant for someone else.

• "Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscious stupidity."

Damn! We see examples of this on all levels, from the blinded students in high school classrooms to those who take their ignorance to violent extremes.

• "Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power. We have guided missiles and misguided men."

This was true then and is true today. And I fear that as technology reaches new heights and the depravity of man reaches new lows, there is an inevitability for some higher spiritual force to correct that imbalance.

• "It may be true that the law cannot make a man love, but it can keep him from lynching me, and I think that's pretty important."

Yes. Pretty damned important, indeed.

Go ahead and live that dream that Mahalia urged Martin to speak on. But take these with you as well.

Can't Touch This!!!

This blog began as the customary look at the New Year. I started typing about resolutions and how they fill up the gyms for a few months or weeks. I typed about the concepts of new beginnings, fresh starts, and clean slates. There were examples of my never-fulfilled and near-reached resolutions. It was going to be rather interesting; maybe I'll get to it next week or month.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the end of the blog. I went to the grocery store. While I was in the produce section, I had an encounter with a random older gentleman. As I was examining bananas, he started talking to me. He began opining about the poor quality of bananas and how they tasted differently than bananas in other countries, especially in the Caribbean. His conversation was innocent enough; truth be told, I blocked out about 78 percent of what he was saying. But he found a way to gain my attention.

He touched me!

As he got deeper and deeper into his banana versus plantain dissertation, he started touching me. First, it was my elbow: a simple gesture seemingly intended to reel me into the conversation. Then, it escalated. Somehow, in some swift move resembling a teenage guy yawning and stretching to place his arm behind his "unsuspecting" date, he quickly moved his hand to my shoulder as he smiled and blabbered on about nothing at all.

Now, I'm a considerably friendly guy. I'm not the one to meet total strangers and greet them with a full-on embrace. (My boy, Marlin, might disagree.) But I'm at least cordial. But I've realized that I have a "thing" about touching. Each time this stranger touched me, my skin crawled. My natural reaction was to move my arm, as to suggest, "Dude, get your hand off of me!" But that didn't work. He felt entirely comfortable violating my personal space. So, eventually, I had to make it more obvious.

He had taken his hand off for a second, but then attempted to give it what he assumed was its rightful place. As he reached for my upper arm, it was like a scene from a movie. His hand moved in slow motion as I simultaneously leaned back and put my hands up in a position similar to one I'd learned in Tae Kwon Do class.

"Yo, I can hear you without you touching me," I stated. His face dropped and luckily, so did his hand.

"Oh," was all he said before he walked away.

He seemed so enthusiastic about the fruit conversation, but he dropped it all simply because I asked him not to touch me. Why was the touching so important?

Maybe he was trying to "kino escalate".

If you don't know, kino escalation is the art of initiating physical touch: starting with with small, innocent gestures, and steadily moving into more intimate situations.

Think:

1. a guy meets a girl in the club and starts talking to her.
2. as they are talking, he touches her elbow during the conversation.
3. as she seems more comfortable, he eases into touching the back of her arm or her shoulder.
4. and if things go as planned, he's kino escalated himself into whatever his horny little heart desires.

Well, that's all according to this guy:

His name is Mystery, and apparently he's an expert in the art of picking up women. So, was old dude in the grocery store trying to pick me up? I don't know. I was looking kinda cool that day. Maybe it was more innocent than that.

We touch people every single day. When we meet strangers, what's the first thing we do? Shake hands. Now, we have no idea what that person was doing with those hands before we saw them. Think about what you do with your hands when no one is looking. Now, would you want to someone who was just doing what you just thought about? I think not.

But touching is such a natural part of our society. In certain cultures, men greet each other with kisses on the cheeks and sometimes lips. In other cultures, individuality and independence is more highly regarded, and personal space is placed at a premium.

A touch can mean so much, yet so many different things. The gentle touch of a mother's hand across the forehead or cheek of her child is entirely different than the sensual touch of a lover massaging work-weary muscles. A simple hand on the shoulder of a friend during a moment of sorrow can go as far as a father's swift hand of correction placed on the backside of a misguided child.

It's hard for me to imagine a life devoid of another's touch. No more of my niece's kisses to the cheek or slaps to the cheek that get increasingly harder. No more embracing my grandmother as if she was my child. No more of the...ummm..."touches" that the adult me has come to greatly appreciate.

However, I can go without the waiter touching my shoulder as he places the bill on the table. I don't need the dude in the gym to shake my hand, "dap" me up, fist bump me, or give me a half-hug every time he sees me. The minister in church slapping "the claw" on my forehead as he prays for me seems a little unnecessary. And those strangers who want to reach out and put their hands in my hair...back the hell up!

Maybe my feeling towards touching is some metaphor for my fear of intimacy. Maybe me not wanting people touching me is code for me not wanting anyone to get cclose to me, emotionally. Or, maybe I just don't people's filthy hands on me.

Somehow, though, touching each other seems to be justified. I guess touching is our link to humanity. When we touch or are touched, we know we're alive. It gives us a connectivity that our other senses can't. Maybe one day I'll let down my guard and allow people into that invisible space that I hold dear. But until then, unless I know you and invite you, then take this as a friendly request.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otCpCn0l4Wo

It's Beginning to Feel A Lot Like...

There are some very distinct things that make it feel like Christmas to me. One, is The Temptations' rendition of Silent Night. There are a lot of holiday songs out there, but this one is at the top of my list. I recall riding in the car with my grandma. She would always drive with the radio turned down so low that I had to press my ear close to the speaker so I could hear what song was playing. But if it was December and I yelled out, "Grandma, your song on," she would immediately turn the radio on full blast so she wouldn't miss that opening "Woooohooohooo." Hearing that song always seemed to make her smile. I love that memory. That's Christmas.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFc7STuQF0U

Another is the wonderment of the Christmas movies. Now, we all have our favorites, and there are a lot to choose from. You may like the sentimentality of A Miracle on 34th St, or the hilarity of A Christmas Story. But my favorite has to be my favorite Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer. I think it's the most complete of all the Christmas movies. There's a rich and moving love story, a Rudy-esque underdog story, a tattered father-son relationship story; there's the independence-seeking dentist stuck in elfdom. It has everything. There's even a hot soundtrack! How didn't that win an Oscar?

Movies notwithstanding, like most kids, the biggest thing for me was the gifts. Each year was different. Some years, I would try to stay up all night so I could hear Santa Claus come in. Other years I would go to sleep extremely early so Christmas can get here faster. And it didn't really matter what I got. Of course, the more gifts the better. Some years were better than others. And there were times when Moms couldn't afford to get me the same things that the parents were getting my friends down the street. The youthful me learned to appreciate everything I got and to not compare my situation with anyone else's. It took a couple Christmas day smacks to completely sell me on that theory, but I got it. As I got older, the whole gift thing began to seem less significant. Maybe because I knew there was no Santa. Maybe because my sister came along and I was no longer the top priority for the family. But, mostly, it was because I was maturing. I began to understand that Christmas shouldn't be all about the gifts. I was fourteen.

Sooooooo, someone please tell me why the average American will spend somewhere around $1,000 this year on Christmas gifts. Now, this is the same America that has an unemployment rate hovering around 10 percent. This is the same America that is on pace for 1 million foreclosures by year's end.

I'm sure those three wise men weren't neglecting to pay their credit card bills so they can pick up that frankincense and myrrh for the baby Jesus. And conversely, I'm sure Jesus, Mary, nor Joseph looked at the wise men, sucked their teeth, and said, "Oh. Is this it? Umm...thanks. Thanks a lot."

We should change the name of this time of year from Christmas Season to Go Out and Spend Way Too Much Money On Things People Really Don't Need and You Really Can't Afford, But You Buy Anyway For No Apparent Reason Season.

So many people stress themselves out buying gifts they can't afford, often for people who don't deserve a gift in the first place. Parents feel inadequate. Children feel unloved. Relationships deteriorate. Families bicker and brawl. Over what? Christmas gifts.

I see people "making" themselves buy gifts all the time. No one should ever have to talk themselves into buying a gift for someone. If you can't afford it; don't get it. If you really don't like that person enough to buy them a gift; don't buy it. If you don't know the person enough to figure out if they'll like the gift or not, then why the hell are you stressing over buying them a gift anyway? If anything, get them a gift card and keep it moving.

One thing I've realized over the years is that a gift does not say "I love you." As I've gotten older, my family rarely gets me anything for Christmas. And I'm pretty sure they still love me.

Let's get back to those feelings that Christmas use to give us.
Back to the feelings of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows on 80 degree days.
Back to riding your new bicycle for hours, hoping the thugs down the street wouldn't steal it from you on this first day.
Back to being happy with a football or a cassette tape or a Michael Jackson t-shirt.
Back to playing with your cousin's toys as if they were your own until he got mad and you got into a fight for a few minutes, then your uncle broke it up and you were back friends again.

This Christmas, Kwanzaa, Ramadan, or whatever, enjoy your loved ones, appreciate your blessings, and drink some hot chocolate.

And yeah, if you can't find the Temptations, then listen to this little gem. It's at the top of the list, too.

I'm Not a Hater, But...

Okay. Let me start this off by making one thing perfectly clear: I AM NOT A HATER! People use that term quite loosely these days. Anybody that isn't in love with what someone else does=HATER.

Note the following "hater" scenarios:
#1

Friend: Hey, D. I just spent $200 dollars on these vintage canvas Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers. Whatcha think?

Me: Two-hundred dollars? They look like regular twenty dollar Converses to me.

Friend: Aww, man. You're just a hater!

#2

Cousin: Yo, did you see that new Jackie Chan and Jet Li movie? I loved it; it was great!

Me: Naa, I like movies with more dialogue and storyline, and I can't understand a word either one of those dudes are saying.

Cousin: What? Man, why you hatin' on Jackie and Jet? I bet they'll kick your ass!

Me: You're right. And I'm sure I can beat them in a debate.

#3

Friend: Yo, see shorty over there?

Me: Yeah, that's Sheila.

Friend: I hit that last night!

Me: Word? You might wanna go get yourself checked out; the word is that she might be infected.

Friend: Man, you probably tried to talk to her. Stop being a hater!

Just because you don't like something doesn't make you a hater. Am I an onion-hater or a mayo-hater? I just don't like them. Actually, I do hate onions. But I digress.

I said all that to say this: Who the hell made Steve Harvey a relationship guru?

Please, someone tell me how he has risen to the level of expert on all things love-related? I read his first book, Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man. Okay, I read the first chapter, the table of contents, and a few other paragraphs. But that was enough to get the gist. I wasn't incredibly impressed. It's not like some of what he said doesn't make sense; that's just it, it makes a lot of sense: common sense. I guess people just have a need to hear things they already know. Maybe it's just me, but I wouldn't rush to buy a book that told me a bunch of reasons why I shouldn't walk into oncoming traffic.

But his book became a best-seller and he became an authority on love. Women started taking the words from his book as the GOSPEL TRUTH. You would have thought that God was sitting at a small table in Barnes and Noble drinking lattes and signing copies of HIS (or HER) book.

Now, Steve admits that he is not an expert on love, but that he is an expert on men. Therefore, in his book, he speaks for ALL men and gives women the decoded version of what mean think about relationships, love, etc. So, naturally, because he speaks for ALL men and women want to know what ALL men feel, they read what he has to say. Especially since it's usually difficult to get it from the man they are actually dealing with.

But, hold up! In my dealings with women, I often tend to generalize according to my past relationships with women, including the women in my family. But when I do, I always get, "Mmmph...I am not every other woman! I am my own person. I have my own unique genetic code. Check my deoxyribonucleic acid!"

So, if I can't generalize, and sometimes my generalized comments are dead on, how can Steve Harvey generalize and you swear that it applies directly to me? Hmmmm. Check my DNA!

You know what? Maybe I am hating. Maybe Steve Harvey's position as one of the kings of comedy makes him an authority on things like this. I heard Cedric the Entertainer was writing a diet book, and D.L. Hughley was writing a book about how much he loves white people, especially white Republicans. And I'm sure there will be a posthumous release of a book on public speaking by the late, great Bernie Mac.

After the success of his first book, Harvey has a new book, Straight, No Chaser: How to Find, Keep, and Understand a Man. And I'm sure that a comedian with several marriages and divorces under his belt is the perfect person to help women with this.

I could put my feminist hat on and say that these books are just another example of the misogynistic, ultra-male perspective being showered down on women telling them how and who to be. But I won't go there.

But I will say this, these books tell women how to act and think in order to get a man. The women I know would cringe at the thought of a man telling them how to act or think, but every man doesn't host a morning radio show.

I think I should I write a relationship book. After all, I'm a man and I know some other men. Plus, I've dated women and I've known some other women. What else do I need?

My book would actually only be a relationship haiku:

You must know yourself.

If not, find yourself.

Always love yourself.

Common sense, right?

If you don't think so, I won't call you a hater.