when "good" just isn't enough

Happy Valentine’s Day…a day for love and all that jazz. Everybody deserves a little love right? Not just brotherly and sisterly love, love from your mama nem, love from your bestest friends but there persists this notion that everyone deserves to experience that one love, between soul mates if you will, a man and a woman presumably, the one that was made for you and you for him, who ain’t bout that bullshit and this love will lead to marriage and security and bliss. Or not.

I was talking to rum punch a few days ago about this notion. She was jumping off dark and stormy’s post about Black women complaining that there aren’t any good men and dirty red’s comment about some Black men also having a hard time finding good women. And this really stuck in rum’s craw (and mine too for that matter). It got me to thinking…

What is this amorphous “good” everybody’s screaming bout they can’t find?

Finished school, Got a job, Girl do your thang (c) little brother
No kids, 401K, can cook a mean spicy chicken wang (lol my attempt at the rhymes, forgive me)

But really, women are scrambling to make sure they have the wifely resume all set, educated and just independent enough, can cook clean and dip it real low and nasty in the bedroom and according to dark and stormy, with her lip balm and hair always hooked before she leaves the house. Isn’t having all these qualities “good” enough? wellll.... it seems not to be cause there are plenty “good” women by these standards running around.

Now I know there are some scalawags from both sexes among us talking bout they are quality material but put those people out of your mind for a minute and think on your friends and associates who are sane, funny, intelligent, good-looking, hard-working Americans just trying to find love. Think on those “good” men and women.

As Rum said, aren’t we good women, why don’t we have a man? I replied, are we really “good” women?

Hear me out, in the traditional sense we are banging, damn good. But for the male counterparts we have encountered thus far, are we the “good” that they are apparently so desperately searching for and vice versa? No matter how good we see ourselves, if it’s not the good ish that these men we encounter are looking for, aint nothing we can do but continue to look around cause the goods don’t match….

But to many women that’s unacceptable, just plain sucks. And I said as much to Rum. I told her, it’s like applying to law school. You can have perfect LSAT score, straight A’s on your college transcript, a well crafted personal statement with a diatribe on how you’ll save the world with your law degree. And you can apply to your dream school, Harvard. Yet you could still get that skinny envelope with the admission denied letter inside.

Why? You’ll ask yourself, aren’t I good enough, didn’t I have it all together, the perfect package? I deserve to be accepted.

Sadly, no you don’t. Law school admissions, and by my estimation, this whole man/woman dating/marriage thing don’t work like that. Maybe Harvard was looking for less than perfect, someone a little older, more committed to the cause, with more experience or compassion, or maybe someone got their application in a little bit earlier than you did and stole that last spot.

And what can you do? You can’t beg and pled with Harvard and no matter how well connected your parents are or how much money you have, if Harvard has picked someone else, that’s it.

Maybe Harvard isn’t for you, maybe Yale’s where you should be or Duke or some state law school. You won’t say there aren’t any good law school’s out there because Harvard rejected you (will you?). If you want to be a lawyer bad enough, you’ll keep applying and maybe you’ll find a match or maybe you'll decide that law school ain’t for you. You’ll do other, just as meaningful things with your life.

And this is how I’ve come to understand this idea of that good-good, soul mate-type love and marriage. Just cause you’re a good woman and you do all the right things and perfectly position yourself for love doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed, that it will fall in your lap when you look up and say I’m ready.

That kinda love is a privilege, not a right.

The Fact Is. . .

I have to catch you next week . . . in the meantime

enjoy!!!

Parents Just Don't Understand

Fifteen. It was a year of self discovery. And angst. An age of knowing that we were smarter than our parents. Couldn’t nobody tell us nothing! We were excited about driving, and moving out and going to college. Just waiting to be grown-legally, because in our minds, at fifteen we already were. Remember that? Makes you laugh now right?

My cousin is fifteen and she has me thinking a lot about my recent youth. It seems like she is so different from me. She’s been exposed to a lot more things than I was in her childhood, and it just seems like she’s lost something that I had at her age. I find myself doing that thing to her that I most hated; smooshing her face until she looks like a little pug dog and telling her how I remember when she was born. When she learned to walk. And talk. And would follow me around wherever I went. Then this segues into me telling her how much she’s grown. Then I realize what I’m doing and I apologize for being corny, but I just can’t help it. And I know it’s annoying to have someone go on and on about growth that is suppose to happen, because I was so annoyed at fifteen. But she doesn’t understand how amazing it is to watch someone not just grow taller, but become a person in the process.

Growing up as an only child I didn’t consult too many folks with my questions. We always lived away from my family so I just had my parents; and I knew that most of the time they couldn’t relate to anything I had to say. Now I feel like it would have been nice to have someone else to talk to about life. So I try to be available for my little cousin. She’s gets on my last damn nerve sometimes though. I won’t go into the hours of conversation I endured in which she discussed, in minute detail, breaking up and getting back together with her little boyfriend. The “drama” she went through-like they were going to get married or something! Arrrgh! (insert my eye roll here)

On Saturday she called me with another tale. She said that she had this friend, who was having sex with her boyfriend and just found out she was pregnant.

“What should she do, she hasn’t told her mom yet?”

Wow. I nearly dropped the phone. You know, because usually when someone is talking about a friend, it’s really them. And I just wasn’t ready to deal with my baby cousin (notice she’s a baby now) having sex. Let alone being pregnant!

But what could be done in this situation I didn’t know. My views on abortion have shifted through the years, but the thought of being a mom at fifteen is an unimaginable reality. And yet I’ve seen the emotional aftermath abortions can wreak. Adoption? To carry a baby to term and give it up. To have that same child hunt you down one day, full of questions and maybe anger. It all seems too much for a young person to have to think about. Too real. Too grown. Especially when the girl’s biggest fear is telling her mom. Not feeding or clothing the baby. Not raising a child to be a productive member of society. Just telling her mom. Arrgh! Kids!

Little cousin assured me that it wasn’t her.

I asked her repeatedly “Are you sure it isn’t you? I mean it’s okay if it is.” It wasn’t though.

“It’s not me! Geez!” Then my aunt started calling her to do something in the background. Little cousin didn’t want to talk about this in front of her mom. Which I could totally understand. As she rushed to get off the phone she said

“So she has to tell her mom right? Even though she’s going to get mad?”

“Of course little cousin, when you do grown up things you have to face the consequences.”

I felt so much older than the 11 years that separate us as I said this. But I was glad she called me, and felt comfortable enough to ask me. The thought of three fifteen year-olds trying to figure out what to do about a baby was scary. At fifteen what do they know? Not a damn thing! But they'll realize that later on, in their twenties.

See You in Seven

Could You Be Loved?

From the very first time I rest my eyes on you girl,
My heart says follow through
But I no now that I’m way down on your line,
But the waitin’ feel is fine.
So don’t treat me like a puppet on a string,
‘Cause I know how to do my thing.
Don’t talk to me as if you think I’m dumb
I wanna know when you’re gonna come – soon.
I don’t wanna wait in vain for your love.

- Waiting in Vain, Bob Marley



Aaahhh.... Valentine’s Day is on the horizon. Hallmark commercials galore. An extra candy and decoration aisle is set up at the CVS and Walgreens. Films of every kind of love story are being aired on TV, day and night (The Notebook is a personal favorite). Your local nightclub is hosting a serenade-filled concert with Bobby Valentino, Ne-Yo, or somebody who sound like ‘em. Roses out the wahzoo at every flower shop nationwide. Y’all know the drill.

And single folks mad 'cause it's a big a** reminder they ain't got nobody.

Sorry, don't wanna offend anyone. Just tellin' it like I see it. I'm a single lady myself, so ain't no hateration or holleratin' on my behalf. But I have been a bit disturbed by all of the recent fuss I am hearing lately about the age old complaint about the lack of good men. Specifically- a lack of good Black men. I want my sistas to read my lips: THIS TUNE IS PLAYED OUT. THE RECORD IS WARPED. I'M TIRED OF HEARING IT! Ladies, it's time to write a new hook.

While cruising the blogosphere last week, a couple of conversations caught my eye. Lord Hannibal gave his dos centimos about the subject. He made a good point about like attracts like and good men being worth the wait. I know that as human beings we are shaped by our experiences and a bad break up or a stormy relationship ain't always easy to shake. But most of the women I hear complaining about difficulty finding good men never had one to begin with. Or they fear still being unmarried and childless in ten years but don't date. You can't make a basket 'til you throw the ball, ya dig?

Some of my sistas refuse to date a man with less education than them or a man that has children. If that's your preference, cool. But there are good men that fit into both categories. Some women won't even talk to a man who is under a certain height (I've been guilty of this many times) or doesn't dress with a certain flair or doesn't have his own crib (guilty again- roommates are cool though). I'm not saying there's anything wrong with being selective. Please be. But some of our criteria is ridiculous and we our only hurting ourselves with these grandiose measuring sticks. I was watching Oprah last week and one of her guests was talking about making a list of desired traits in your potential mate and burrying it or some crap like that... Personally I think these lists are for the birds. But if you're going to make a list, keep it real.

Let's also start looking in the mirror. Literally. Fix your hair. I'm talking brush/comb it and give it a lil shine. Nothing extravagant. If you're having a bad hair day, put on a hat. But let the hat match your outfit. You ain't got to put on lipstick but a lil' chapstick or nude colored gloss would be nice. A nice apperance is important if you want a man to notice you. I don't care if you are just going to the grocery store... Men shop at the grocery store too, ya know. I'm sorry but first impression is important. He don't need to see what you look like on your worst day the very first time you meet. Then he won't ask you out. And then you'll keep singing that same tired a** tune that is driving me crazy!

If you're in a relationship that is not making you happy, end it. No it's not that hard. I don't want to hear about how complicated it is. The only thing I find complicated is why someone would choose to be unhappy and unfulfilled. And then mad at all men to come 'cause you stuck yourself in the mud and got dirty.

I've been blessed to have good men in my life, so I can attest that they do exist. They are out there. And there are lots of them. Every good man I meet may not be for me, but how would I know unless I give them a chance? Ladies, please give the men a chance. Hold brothas accountable for unacceptable behavior, but only the brothas that dish it. Not the entire brotherhood...

Ummm... I had a point and I got lost jumping up & down on the soapbox. Please forgive me. I just want my sistas to be happy. But y'all are killing me with the 'woe is me' sappiness. I just can't take it anymore. Let's be proactive in our quest for the Mandingo warrior of our dreams. Fix your hair. Fix your face (smile 'cause the smirk ain't cute). Fix your attitude. Love one another (haters are so unattractive). And love we shall receive.

On that note, to hell with Valentine's Day.


Tumultuously Yours,

Dark & Stormy

The Art of Being Colorblind

Growing up, my mother took us to any and every play, musical, or dance performance that had Black people in it. August Wilson and Pearl Cleage plays, check. Dance Theatre of Harlem and Alvin Ailey performances, check. Black Nativity, Dreamgirls, Five Guys Named Mo, Sarafina, Tina Turner & Patti Labelle concerts, check, check and check. And then there were our trips to Broadway shows. If you’re wondering, we saw performances with white people too- we drank the kool-aid and saw Rent, among others. But my mom truly believed and still believes in supporting Black artistes and their projects. So whenever a show with some Black people came to town, we were either going with a group, or with the entire family which was like 8-10 people. Aaah yes, the Rum Punch family rolled deep to support Black Arts.

Attending shows, plays, etc. became ingrained in my heart and soul. I have picked up the torch where my mother left off and I am becoming a certified patron of the arts. I am often times coordinating outings for the Fab 5 to attend: Black Lily Festival in Philly, Sugar Water Festival and independent film screenings. So, last weekend, Amaretto and I caught a matinee of The Brothers Size at the Studio Theatre. In a word: excellence. The play was written by a young Black male playwright, featured three young Black male actors, and explored the “Black” male experience in the 21st century, the push & pull that too many Black men experience: to walk the straight and narrow road or take the crooked path was beautifully captured.

So tell me why there were only like 10 Black people in attendance?

This seems to be the norm. I remember when I was little, wondering why so many white people came all the way into Chocolate City to see a show that was clearly not “about” them. As I got older, I just started asking the question out right: “how come there are so many white people here?” Cause, every time I went to a insert your favorite “conscious” hip hop artist show here or a play written by a “new, fresh, Black voice” or a Sweet Honey and the Rock show, white folks were in abundance. And I wondered what the hell they were getting out of it. Sure, there is the whole enjoying the arts, blah, blah, blah argument. But there were also the inside jokes that flew over the white people’s heads while Black folks were cracking up. There were uncomfortable silences when the word n****a was used repeatedly (this is at plays, not at hip hop shows, mind you). There were the white people clapping off beat. There was the nationalist song a little Black girl sang at the Dead Prez show, that went “hey do you want a nation…be Black, be Black, be Black” that left white people with puzzled looks on their faces.

So, if you can’t tell, something about all these white people being at Black shows sticks in my craw. I have pondered this and I have narrowed it down to this: they want to see Black people in dance, in word, in music, but they don’t want to see Black people, in their every day lives, in the streets, in reality, live and in color. They would rather see a show on how Black folk live, go home and feel enlightened: ahh yes, now we know about Black people, now we know what makes them tick, now we understand their perspective, now we know how they feel about that pesky little racism thing…

It’s how I felt when I saw a bunch of young white people showing support for Obama in one of the most gentrified parts of D.C. And I said to Amaretto: there they are holding signs for Obama while they are taking Black people’s houses and shit. Exaggeration? Maybe a little bit, but there is also truth there. There, standing in the cold, holding signs for a Black man to be President, because race doesn’t matter, they were seeing the parts but not the whole, ignoring their part in changing and dividing the city. They see Obama as a different kind of Black person, not as one of those Black people who threaten to mug them on the way home. They view these artistic performances as a glimpse into "real" Black life without feeling the need to actually know "real" Black people.

So what are you saying, Rum Punch? White people just shouldn’t come to these shows? YES! Ok, no, of course not. How would Black Art survive without the patronage of white people? We won’t even buy a $10 ticket to see the Great Debaters, let alone a $40+ ticket to a live show. And therein lies the problem. It’s not that I want to see less white people but rather that I would like to see more Black people. I would like for Black people to realize there are more than Tyler Perry plays and the Oprah stamped Color Purple Broadway show. I would like for Black folk to understand that there are so many shows that are telling our stories from various angles. I would like not to receive the looks and smiles from the older white folk that say, “oh it’s so nice that you came to this play too.” What?!? I’m supposed to be here! I would like for us to take our children to these shows so that they can see what exists for them, the possibilities, the creativity. I would like for Black people to realize that too many times, it is white people who are keeping our stories, our traditions, our sounds and rhythms alive. I would like for us to recognize that if we can work to make history, then we must also work to preserve history. Preserve our stories, our voices. If we won’t, who will?

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

You want to be somebody that might get you kilt?

Did you catch African American lives 2 on PBS last night? Fascinating stuff. A recurring theme throughout the night was the sacrifices that people made in order to make a better life for themselves and those to come. They would rather risk life and limb for feedom, the right to vote, the right to have land and raise their families peacefully. Chris Rock shed actual tears as he learned that his great great grandfather served in the civil war, the South Carolina legislature and was a prosperous land owner.

And then Chris talked about how he wanted to be president when he was little. "President or a comedian" and his mother was like noooo. To paraphrase he said, "I was born feb 7th and 2 weeks later Malcolm X was shot. That was the world I was born into." His mama said, "You want to be somebody that might get you kilt?"

and that immediately made me think of Obama and all this talk about people not wanting him to run cause he might get kilt. But watching the AAL2 and also having just finished Lalita Tademy's Red River (the true story of the masscre of hundreds of free Black men who dared exercise their right to self-government in Reconstruction-era Louisiana), I thought damn is this what we have evolved to?

self preservation over progress. unwilling to sacrifice so that we can maintain what we have. I know it's hard to make comparisions to those before us. those where-would-we-be-if-they-hadn't-marched-and-fought type arguments. Cause they aint had much to lose (or did they?) So many of us think it is futile today but wasn't it even more futile then? With what they went up against: Jim Crow, the White League, the KKK, and regular apathetic white folk who didn't stop their more radical brethern, just on the other side of slavery, not a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, practically speaking they couldn't have possibly had a chance in hell to overcome, succeed, win yet they tried anyway and they did.

Why? Because they were fed up with the way they were living. And fighting was better than pushing through, barely making it, living with the scraps.

You know I think about it sometimes. Why bother? What are we all doing just playing in the White man's bullshit game. Let me protect me and mine. It's funny this mentality is the norm from middle class to the projects. young men die sensilessly cause they don't see nothing better. the middle and upper class die the death of complacency cause they don't want to lose the small status they've attained and they damn sure aint steppin out to push for better, more for those who don't have.

True enough, Obama is no Martin (he says so himself) he's not the conventional civil rights leader gettin bricks thrown through his window. and he's not ours alone (which may be the real problem). But dammit if that uppity Negro aint trying to do something. Stepping over the black establishment, the white establishment, the democratic establishment and saying ima do this my way. And yeah I hear it, can he really, what if he flip when he gets in, what if he fails? really though, these are concerns any time we elect a new president.

But watching AAL2 last night I kept thinking, damn the ancestors would be proud, those who stepped up, fought and died. One difference may be that they didn't have so many whites behind them. Or maybe we have memories of those whites that were behind them during reconstruction who cut and run when things got difficult. who knows...

Listen as Michelle talks about her husband's safety in america as a black man...

An Indictment on Feminism

For the past month, there have been a litany of articles by women professing their support for both Democratic front-runners’ candidacies. What I seem to find intriguing and puzzling is the raison d’être given by Clinton female supporters. It all reads as a crock-pot full o’ s*** (excuse my French)!

So, Gloria Steinem kicked things off, first. There may have been others before her, but I honed in on her op-ed piece in the New York Times Women are never Front-runners . An op-ed written and published in that newspaper is a big deal, since it is a national newspaper with undeniable national exposure. The brouhaha began with Steinem’s declaration of why she was voting for Hillary. Her assertion that Hillary’s fight for the White House is to break the highest glass ceiling and that Barack Obama’s candidacy embodies the “good ol’ boys network” of preclusion – is bull****. Now, I’m not sure if Gloria truly believes what she meant or the implications of her assertion, but if you have the clout and you utilized your leverage to run an op-ed piece in the New York Times you want to be heard. And Bellini heard you loud and clear.

Did Steinem forget the glass ceiling was created by white men? Unbeknownst to Steinem she alienated legions of women of color – me included – who find her assertion inaccurate thus insulting. If you want to make the reckless decision and dismiss Barack Obama’s candidacy as a cakewalk, I am hear to inform it is not. I’m sure you read his autobiographies. This man had dealt with paternal abandonment, interracial upbringing, substance abuse – all while being Black in the United States of America – don’t get me started. But that’s okay Gloria, I’ll characterize your opinion as pure naiveté. All your life you’ve seen black men active members and participants of the “good ol’ boy club”, you’ve seen them create businesses just to tell women NO, you’ve seen black men flourish with their wealth and deny you entrance – right. . . right?

Let’s move south of Intestate 95

Over the weekend, Erica Jong featured an op-ed piece in the Washington Post, Hillary vs. the Patriarchy (read this crap). (Folks when you travel to the Nation’s Capital you will get caught up inside the beltway – and the Capital beltway by virtue of its design creates an echo chamber. At times, there are views and opinions espoused by our Members of Congress, punditocracy, etc. . . that only resonate inside the echo chamber. So for most of your benefit, you are given the pleasure of not hearing what bounces of the walls of the beltway. . . I digress.)
Although, Jong does a better job of pinpointing the target by exposing Bill Kristol, her title’s inclusion of patriarchy does little to buffer the damage. Jong asserts her support for Hillary, yet implores the reader to identify with Hillary’s obstacles including persevering in a precarious marriage with a philandering husband – ummm. . . that’s not my problem. She would also add that Hillary’s commitment to raising their child is pure admiration – ummmm. . . that’s her job irregardless of the circumstances. Jong wants sympathizers for Hlllary, she is running for commander-in-chief – there is no sympathy. You must get the job done irregardless of sex, creed, or gender.

You feminists are hurting your plight, yes your because I choose to dismiss myself from this farce.

P.S. Folks Tsunami Tuesday shook things up and the Dems have a long way to go -- there is no clear victor. To my Republicans -- do yourself a favor and tell Romney to go sit down (he is a stubborn somebody) Just like the Super Bowl Sunday's upset -- continue to expect the unexpected in '08!


cheers,

Bellini