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!