Rules of Engagement

I love all things Wiz related. The actual musical. The movie even with all its highs – the Emerald City scene, and lows – the whole NYC Subway theme and Diana Ross’s old ass playing Dorothy. But one of my favorite parts of the Wiz (the movie – cause this part is not in the musical) is when Michael Jackson (R.I.P.) sangs, You Can’t Win. And I love this line: You can’t win. You can’t break even. And you can’t get outta the game. This pretty much sums up how I would describe being a Black person in America. In the past. Right now in the double 0 9. And dare I say in the future.

So I didn’t want to comment on Gatesgate because as Bellini emailed us article after article, I told her, “don’t send me nary another article on this mess. Cause right now whilst I type this at work, that nygga is chilling at Martha’s Vineyard on some ‘don’t cry for me Argentina.’” But then the chaos continued. And Obama made that “the Cambridge police acted stupidly,” comment and people jumped all on him, demanded an apology. I was like “dang son. These white people ain’t messing around.” And Obama looked like he wanted to say, “muhfcuka, I ain’t apologizing for shyt.” And so he went the Sotomayor route with his “I regret I made those statements.” And then he, Gates and Officer Charlie Crowley had a beer together at the White House. A Kodak moment. A teachable moment. A Rum Punch rolls her eyes moment.

Look, I get it. Racism and its sister discrimination and its play cousin stereotyping are wrong. They are mean and vicious. They have no place in America. And yet they’re everywhere you turn. With its overtness. Its subtlety. Its borderliness. You know when you have to check with other people, like, "I think that was kinda racist..." And then break down the scenario.

It’s the white man who voted for Obama, but will still deny your ass a loan just because. It’s the white people who have Black friends, but will be quick to send out an email through the neighborhood list serv that they saw some suspicious minorities roaming the neighborhood. It’s the white man who assumes you went to Temple because that’s where all the Black people go. Some of us fight it. Lots. Some of us try to deny its existence. But here’s what I Rum Punch have chosen to do: accept it. Give it a big ol' hug. Say come on in racism, put your feet up, are you hungry, did you eat yet, make yourself comfortable, while I go to work and then live my life.

Cause if you let them, these white folks will drive you insane. Like completely and utterly insane. You know why? Cause they will do something seemingly post racial like vote for a Black man to be Mayor or Governor or President. And then do something totally stupid like send an email to the entire Boston police force calling Gates a jungle monkey. And it can damn near raise your blood pressure. Because it’s a continual slap in the face that this isn’t our world. At all. And so here's what I propose: let's just live our lives like it’s golden.

Cause unless we are all about to get on the same page, become a revolutionary block and be on some Aaron Macruder Birth of a Nation type stuff, demand our 40 acres and start our own country – then we should just live. Work yo' job. Raise your family. Take your vacations. Go to church. Laugh with your friends. Attend shows and plays. Keep it 400 degrees from time to time, work your neck, wag your finger and school a white person on how Black folk really is, just for shyts and giggles. And then be about the change.

Change your block. Your neighborhood. Your little corner of the world. Find a cause. Help youngins' get out of gangs. Work to stop teen pregnancy. Teach our people about financial literacy. Pool your resources and open a community center. Or a beauty store just to give the Koreans some competition. Teach a child how to read – cause our babies can’t read! And just think how good you'll feel as you take your last breath, you can say, “all is well in my soul” and know you had a positive impact on someone else’s life.

This does not mean that we should act like racism, discrimination, etc., don’t exist. And this doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try to dismantle it on the larger scale levels like in education, the workplace, health care, politics - by demanding laws and policy that include all members of society. But this does mean maybe we have to reframe our thinking and start asking the question, “what if things on the everyday level don’t change. Then what?”

Look. Do y’all know that W.E.B. DuBois, prominent race man of the 20th century, a founding father of the NAACP, former President of Atlanta University (who still had to take shyt from Spelman College’s white woman President), author of Souls of Black Folk, the epitome of a man who demanded in every which way he possibly could that America treat Black folks as equals in all aspects of life, self exiled himself to Africa?!

This man, towards the end of his life, after all he had done, probably took a good, hard look at America and said, "y’all muhfcukas is crazy. I’m out! I’m going somewhere where I can die in peace." And that’s exactly what he did. So me thinks us regular folk, dealing with day to day madness of this world, who don’t have time to pontificate, research race relations, write essays, stop our lives to hold hands and sing, or be invited to share beers, don’t stand a chance. Like at all. We can’t win. We can’t break even. But we can’t get outta the game. So mayhap we should change how we play.

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

You can't win - Michael Jackson - The wiz
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a bubble busted...

it all started yesterday. By the time I arrived in the office, I skimmed the Washington Post to find out Dr. Henry Louis Gates, distinguished professor, director of W.E.B DuBois Institute of African and African American Research at Harvard University was arrested at his home. Now, there are two sides to every story, so I’m not here to speculate. But, what I will share is Gates reactions to said events and my analysis.

"There are one million black men in jail in this country and last Thursday I was one of them…This is outrageous and that this is how poor black men across the country are treated everyday in the criminal justice system. It's one thing to write about it, but altogether another to experience it."”
what’s your point? is it the fact that you were a faction of this group, problematic to you? Or should be to America? Gates, expound please.

All that you have stated is pure fact on both accounts.

"You don't know who you're messing with."
now that, was the killer
Gates, who the fcuk you think you is?

prestigious, Harvard professor, blah, blah, blah….
didn’t Kanye say, " you’re still a ni**a in a coupe?"

I get vexed when negroes start thinking be’cuz they’ve acquired shit that there a$$ is special. You are not. I repeat, you are not. You are educated, enlightened -- yes. but special– negative son.

Well, go on Gates utilize your media apparatus vis-à-vis Harvard U, the Roots, Washington Post, etc. to articulate your dissatisfaction with the US criminal justice system.

And to find out, it all started be’cuz “a neighbor called to report two black men wearing backpacks were breaking into his house.” tee hee tee hee… ok, it’s not funny, but the situation is hilarious to me. Where’s the neighbor, I so hope they reveal themselves w/ Bostonian accent and all. My hunch tells me, it’s an elderly white woman.
Gates you don’t know your neighbors and such, friendly a$$ negro?

Granted, Gates leases his Cambridge residence from Harvard.

"Gate's home is owned by Harvard so he picked up the phone to call the university's real estate maintenance office. Before he could finish the conversation, a police officer was standing on his porch and asking him to come out of the house. "Instinctively, I knew I was not to step outside," Gates said, describing the officer's tone as threatening. Gates said the policeman, who was in his 30s and several inches taller than him, followed him into his kitchen where Gates retrieved his identification. "I was thinking, this is ridiculous, but I'm going to show him my ID, and this guy is going to get out of my house," Gates said. "This guy had this whole narrative in his head. Black guy breaking and entering."

why the hell did you let ‘em in— I know Olgetree schooled you better than that… then again if the door was ajar and the bolt lock was malfunctioning… I guess he ain’t have a choice.

They got guns after all?

"I weigh 150 lbs and I'm 5' 7''. I'm going to give flack to a big white guy with a gun. I might wolf later, but I won't wolf then." chuckle, chuckle the tenets of negroism can never be forgotten no matter how far we think we’ve come – remember that...

"But Gates did keep asking for the officer's name and said he began to feel humiliated when his question was ignored. He then said: "This is what happens to black men in America."
but why are you distinguished Harvard Professor, academician, blah, blah, blah feeling less than worthy all ‘cuz a white boy won’t answer you? I’m tired of black folks leveraging their feelings of self-worth based on white appreciation. fcking ludicrous

"I had to wait in a jail cell," Gates said. "I have mild claustrophobia. The jail cell was very claustrophobic."
"I had to wait in a jail cell," Gates said. "I have mild claustrophobia. The jail cell was very claustrophobic."
sorry – I just had to state the quote twice. downright pathetic
Oh, but Gates, I feel a lil’ empathy – sympathy negative son, "I am appalled that any American could be treated as capriciously by an individual police officer. He should look into his soul and he should apologize to me," Gates said. "If so, I will be prepared to forgive him. I think that poor people in general and black people in general are vulnerable to the whims of rogue cops, and we all have to fight to protect the weakest among us. No matter how bad it was going to get, I knew that sooner or later I would get to a phone and one of my friends would be there to help."
uppity negro, get over yourself.

Black folks, when will we ever learn. Gates, at least you had somebody to call, someone to be there for you. But for most of our brothas, they ain’t got nobody with the means nor wherewithal.
I guess with all of this, I have no choice but to watch the second installment of Black in America airing on CNN tonight @ 9p.m. and tomorrow night @ 8p.m.

cheers,

Bellini

P.S.
and he had the nerve to recount the story while restin' @ Martha's Vineyard safe -- in Negro heaven

The Obama Effect

So I work with kids. And I go into a lot of DC Public Schools located deep in the hood. These schools are filled with little Black children, living, breathing the stereotype or the reality – depending on whom you ask. Products of single parent homes. Recipients of school breakfast. Lack of subject-noun agreement. Etcetera, etcetera.

And I go into these schools and the first thing I notice are: life size Obama cutouts in the front hallway, or Obama posters hanging on the wall or in classrooms, or Obama calendars, or teachers wearing Obama t-shirts. One day I asked a little girl what she learned in school and she said, “We learned about Obama.” For the whole day, I wanted to ask. But I left it alone and just smiled.

Last weekend I took the girls camping and one group named themselves the second ladies. Why the second ladies? Because they love our first lady soo much and they wanna be just like her and to do this, they know they need an education. Well alright! Go head y'all! I love it!

Being a witness to all of this is truly awesome. Since I don’t have kids, I didn’t fully comprehend what Obama winning could and would truly mean. That is until I saw a message from NAACP President Ben Jealous and he said that now the only thing his two year old child will know is a Black President. That will be her norm. Her reality. Powerful stuff. I recently heard on the radio that marriages are up in the Black community and they’re citing the Obamas as the reason. Wow. Totally awesome.

I suppose that since I grew up in a two parent, middle class family, surrounded by other Black professionals, married couples, folk who pushed us to be educated – the Obamas were my norm. What we’re supposed to be. And I now realize for too many of us – they are an anomaly. A Hayley’s comet. Something talked about, but rarely seen. But now here they are, on our television screens, on our radios, going to shows and schools, in living color, a tangible example of how you can climb the ladder of success with hard work and determination.

All this the ‘Obamas are our beacons’ had me feeling good about the future of our race. What we could become. And then my car got stolen. By some people who live in the same neighborhood where I serve and work with "lower income" girls, to help them build courage, confidence and character. And I screamed out, “I hate Black people!!” And then I thought back to that old Chris Rock stand up and revised my statement and screamed, “No, I hate nyggas!”

And then reality settled in. The Obamas are just two people with a lot of stuff on their plate – and while they may serve as examples, beacons of light to millions of little black children – they can’t do it all. I mean that’s quite a burden. And while I’m glad that they are inspiring a generation and hopefully we’ll see the results in the upcoming decades – I know we still have a lot of work to do. On us. I mean clearly the Obama angel was not sitting on the shoulders of the folk who stole my car.

Inspiration, I suppose can be hit or miss. Or misinterpreted. Or be horribly abused. I mean never should I hear a song about Obamas and rims in the same sentence. And so this makes me think back to W.E.B. Dubois’ theory of the Talented Tenth. Now, I know this makes some folk groan and cringe because they see it as a bourgeoisie type thing. But I see the power of what can happen when you show people that there is another way. That education has power. That working and hard work is noble. That marriage is beautiful. That the way they’re living doesn’t have to be the way it is. It’s what happens when I take 80 girls from the hood camping. And the girls' leaders are college students at local universities (some who come from these same neighborhoods) and can let them know that there are endless possibilities beyond their neighborhood block.

And so I think that we can each do our part. We can be second, third, fourth and fifth ladies in our communities. We can be Commander in Chiefs in our hood. We can model values of great parenting, getting an education, being a committed spouse. Not in a condescending, this is what’s good for you, type of way. But in a let's support each other, encourage, and build a better community, which leads to a better society, type of way.

Because all these kids aren't going to meet the Obamas, but they might meet a Johnson family with two layer parents and two adorable, intelligent girls; or a Wilson couple who's been married for 50 years; or a Dr. Tyson who attended an HBCU; or a Mrs. Stephens who owns her own buisness. And there's power in that. This too might change their lives. Might impact their future. Might inspire them to take another path. And so whilst I’m done crying over my missing car, I’ll return back to the hood, back to my kids who love being in my organization because of all it has to offer, back to my schools where another smiling Obama poster or a cut out will welcome me at the front door. And I’ll smile back. And get to work.

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

A Different Black List

Tomorrow marks the end of Black History Month and it has been asked, if in this post racial, Obama world, there is even a need for Black History Month. I mean we finally got us a Black President, therefore us coloreds are no longer marginalized.

If you’re a frequent reader of the 5 Spot, then you can probably guess where I stand on this issue. I’m all for Black History Month. Like totally all for it. And while I know that we should teach our kids, shit all kids, Black History, 365, I like the notion that for a moment, (even if it’s forced or required or seems like a chore), that the country has to stop and recognize and honor and reflect on the contributions of black people not just to this country, but to the world.

But maybe we need a different kind of Black History Month. I have gotten hooked on HBO’s The Black List. And at the beginning of the series, they said they wanted to take something seemingly negative - being black listed and turn it into something positive. And they have indeed done so.

Volume One aired last year and Volume Two aired last night. The Black List is a compilation of interviews featuring famous, well known, and under the radar but still doin the damned thing, “Black folk” sharing their stories. Featured are: actresses, writers, activists, nurses, preachers. People you’ve heard of. And people you probably never knew, but who are impacting the community in a positive way. Some of those interviewed include: Toni Morrison, Susan Lori Parks, Chris Rock, T.D. Jakes, Bill T. Jones, Richard Parsons, Maya Rudolph, the list is endless.

In some interviews the issue of race is prominently discussed. In other interviews the person provides his/her personal story of struggle or triumph - how they made it over. In other interviews the person discusses an aspect of their job or career and what they have done for th communit. Every story is different. Unique. Its own.

But collectively, you get a sense of what it might mean to be Black in America. And that it’s different for everybody. And yet there are recurring themes. The importance church played in so many people (especially the older folks) lives and that maybe that’s a crucial thing that’s missing in this generation. The importance of perseverance and endurance when trying to reach a goal. How tight the Black community used to be and what that meant to people growing up in that era - the notion that you could do anything, be anybody. How to stay true to yourself and live the best life for you.

I love watching these stories, because it makes me think that everyone has a story. And that Black History Month can be more than Rosa Parks and Dr. King, it can be stories about: an older Black man, native Washingtonian who started walking tours of famous U Street, or a mama down the block who was also a Freedom Rider, or a grandmomma who went against convention and defined her own destiny, or an uncle who was at the March on Washington, or the first cousin in the family to graduate from college setting a standard and hopefully sparking a trend.

And so as Black History Month comes to a close, I leave you with some clips of the program! Catch it on HBO On Demand if you can and enjoy!

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

That is Wack!

So as Amaretto mentioned earlier this week, we ladies saw He’s Just Not That Into You. And whilst we were all adding our own commentary to punch up the movie and entertain the masses, I noticed something: there were nooo black folk. Now allegedly, the movie was based in Baltimore. Yes, that Baltimore. You telling me they couldn’t get one black couple to round out this romantic flick? We couldn’t get a Raven Symone or a Tia/Tamera Mowry to portray a young, cute single black woman who is also looking for love?

Oh I’m sorry, thinking back on the flick, I realize I am mistaken. There were black people. There was Frangela, a comedy (and I’m using that term very loosely) duo who served as some “comedic relief” in between the movie's storyline. They threw out some tired, tired lines and served as the obligatory funny, fat, black women. And there was some random, “hip” black guy who talked jive and schooled whitey. Yeah it was pretty wack.

Now normally I’m not a fan of the token black character. I mean we’ve all seen them in television and film. There’s the black person who just happens to live next door and comes over to provide some sass, slang and chuckles- there's no need to provide a link as too many shows fall under this category. There’s the black postal worker who just happens to become bffs with the white woman she delivers mail to and just happens to be able to sing and play the piano thus making her the perfect addition to the white woman’s garage band. And then there’s this type of black character:



Ahhh we've all seen that type of character. That's a classic! And so when I think back on tv and film black/white relationships, the only one I find remotely believable is, Doug & Deacon’s friendship on King of Queens. Check a clip when Doug & Deacon were on strike and bored out of their minds!

Deacon is not merely comedic relief to Doug. He is not the know it all black person. Often times, he is the more level headed one, while Doug is acting a fool. I love how on the show, the two of them challenge each other, call each other out on their bullshit, discuss their marriage, job, regular life shit, in a normal way. And they acknowledge their obvious differences (read racial) through honest, healthy and funny dialogue. I love how they actually gave Deacon a storyline – him dealing with the separation from and the eventual reunion with his wife. And they make Deacon, Kelly and the kids, just a normal, everyday, family. That is also black. And knows they’re black. And I’d like to see more of that.

In a real and believable way of course. Because when the NAACP was protesting Friends and Seinfeld for not having any black people- like Neffe the great, I was like "are you serious?" I mean did they look like the type of white people who would have black friends? Like really. And so I wonder, if the idea of puting a black couple in He's Just Not That Into You even crossed the writers minds. I mean do they have black friends? Do they know how we get down? That we too have relationship problems? I mean if anybody knows, it's a black woman who knows what it's like to be single and "looking for a man!" Did they not know any of this? Or did they and just not give a fcuk? Did they not care about everyone’s favorite buzz word ‘diversity’ and its cousin multiculturalism? Did they not think black people needed to be represented? Or were they simply mirroring what they know?

Mayhap it’s because in real life, even in this ‘we are all one Nation, all united, post-racial, above race, Obama world', in reality, we still live our lives separate and apart from one another. Sundays at church are still very much segregated in America. Schools. Towns. Neighborhoods. Offices -Black folk partying on the 5th floor in the mail room. Everyone else in their cubicles, with a sprinkle of us in majority population. I mean you had people in Montana, debating with themselves about voting for Obama because they didn’t know any black people. Shit. I went to a bar's trivia night in a recently gentrified neighborhood in D.C. and it was just me and my homegirl. Two black chicks who helped our team by answering all the ‘black people’ questions. Oh shit. We were tokens! That is wack!

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

Oh yeah for those who get down like that, to quote the great prophet Andre 3000 aka Cupid Valentino, "HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! Everyday is the 14th..."

are you serious?

Some of us are miserable assholes, pitiful, pathetic… I mean we’re just not happy. Worst of all, we continue to stupidly think somebody owes us something…B**** please! So, now we have Amnau Eele of the Black Artists Association feeling slighted because the First Lady has not worn attire by a black designer. She launched her fusillade of attacks within 24 hours of the Inauguration. Are you serious? So, we couldn’t even be happy for a week – I see? Nope, too much like right. So, when our President and First Lady got their boogie on that radiant night, you were just fuming with disgust?

I thought black folks got the memo during the Democratic primary that President Obama ran to be President of the United States of America. I thought blacks folks understood that by virtue of having the 44th president be a black man, change is finally coming. Black folks we are finally getting’ access. I thought I would save my spiel for Black History Month, but it seems the situation warrants I speak right now.

There are and will be all kinds of black folks who will finally gain access. For starters, we have Reggie Love – Personal Assistant to the President, Desiree Rogers—White House Social Secretary, Valerie Jarrett—White House Advisor, Dr. Susan Rice—United Nations Ambassador, and dozens of black aides that we just don’t know about yet. And with future presidential and state campaigns, their expertise and counsel will be called upon. And let’s not dismiss the fact that there is a whole generation of black kids who will only know and grow up with a black president (yeah, I’m banking on him having 2 terms already—I gotta keep it real wit’cha). Two friends all had babies this month, boys at that --and I reminded the parents that their sons have been born in unchartered waters. You have black parents eager to have their kids participate in the annual Easter Egg Hunt at the White House, curiosity is peaked to a zenith. And it’s not just black folks, it’s everybody.

I’m sure there will be additional incidents of folks feeling slighted, but just remember your ass is not special and don’t nobody owe you shit, surely not Mr. President or the First Lady.

cheers,

Bellini

Good, Better, Best...Never Let it Rest

Hey y’all! Happy New Year and all that jazz! I hope everyone had a safe and great New Year’s Eve and Day. I know that I got my pork, black eyed peas and greens, so I hope 2009 treats me right! So last night after dinner, Bellini, Amaretto and I sat around and chatted. We talked about everything from Obama to the viability of HBCUs to Biggie vs. Tupac to recasting Waiting to Exhale (well at least Whitney Houston’s role). And somewhere in there we talked about today’s Black parents and whether or not they are properly equipping their children for the world.

I mentioned how one day my former boss (a Black woman) said to me, “Sometimes I don’t like for my kids to listen to Tom Joyner’s show, cause they get to talking that race stuff and I don’t want to them to hear all that.” Say what? Your kids do know they’re black right? And they do know what that means for better or for worse? Here were two girls, ages 10 and 13, attending a majority white girl private school, and saying things like, “those girls are soo smart.” Like they weren’t. Already feeling inadequate. Confidence shook. Coveting what the rich, white girls have and do. And you don’t want them to hear about race stuff? Um ok.

Here’s a Rum Punch story from the vault. Senior year of high school I took AP English. The teacher was in a word, crazy. No, two words, pure craziness. When we took practice exams I did really well on reading and interpreting passages. However, when we would have to write essays on our assigned literature, she stayed giving me low scores. And her patented phrase was, “I grade on the AP scale. So this is what you would get on the AP exam.” Ok this heffa was givin me 2s and 3s which translated into real life Cs in English on my report card. Now if you don’t know, a 4 is what you usually need to receive college credit. Best score is a 5.

Needless to say my confidence was shook. I pressed on. I worked harder. Met with the teacher. Tried to dig deeper and find extra symbolism in every aspect of every book we had to read. My mother even helped me with essays. And this woman didn’t change the score/grade she gave me. As the test date grew nearer, I said to my mom, “I don’t see why I should take that test. If she grades on the AP scale, I probably won’t pass.” Well Mama Rum Punch wasn’t having that. “Oh you’re taking that test.” And I did. And I scored a wait for it, wait for it, 5. And once the test results came in, my mother stormed off to the school, found my teacher and said, “In your face btich.” Or something like that. But knowing my mother it was probably just that.

That whole experience was truly a turning point in my life. Even though I had been told by so many people, my parents, extended family, friends of the family, and church folk that I was the best. It truly didn't crystalize until that moment when I was faced with the options of pressing on or running away. And so it hurt my heart to hear my boss's children say they were less than and not have their mother, stop in her tracks and dispute that fact. Let them know their history. Who they are and what they're made of. And make sure they let no one tell them differently. I'm thankful that I was pushed past what I thought was my potential. And if even today I were to fix my lips to doubt myself, Mama Rum Punch would give me the look. That girl you musta fell and bumped your head and lost your mind look. And the moment would pass. And I'd be ready to take on the world once again. Because that's what I was raised to do.

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

vacuous vocabulary

First my dad, then Rum Punch. Both sent me links to an op/ed piece in the Washington Post – He’s Not Black. So, I read it. Yet prior to reading it, I read I’m Not Post-Racial– another op-ed featured in the Post too. Read them both – and hear me out.

Kudos for Krissah Williams Thompson for being a member of the media and distancing herself from the trend du jour. I know many of my friends and myself included cringe when hearing or reading the words post-racial, a term that seems to have plagued the very existence of Barack’s senatorial and presidential campaign. What does it mean? What are you trying to imply? White folks we understand you want your kumbaya moment, however if we’re to come together it won’t be exclusively on your terms.

Marie Arana, it’s nice that you’re able to identify with President Elect Obama as you see yourself as a mut. However, the immigrant experience is not the same as the black American experience. So, granted you perceive the President-Elect’s presidency a certain way, many do not share your perception. Many immigrants who come to the United States view this nation as the beacon of light on top of the hill, they recite and echo Horatio Alger’s principles. And yet for many citizens of the land – black Americans -- they endured and fought for basic rights, only denied because they were black. And these same black Americans are mixed too – don’t be fooled and think miscegenation didn’t occur over the 400 years during slavery because it did. Now what the mainstream has exercised the fancy of not discussing is that many blacks have white blood runnin’ through their veins – although for the most part not by choice (that’s neither here nor there, it’s history). And in addition to Caucasian ancestry, many blacks have native, indigenous blood runnin’ through them too. And although, many blacks are are aware of this miscegenation in their family tree, this country forbade them from acknowledging who they were. So, now the one thing that sets blacks apart— albeit skin color-- will not nor should be expected to be dismissed or diminished of its inherent value since the President-Elect is being openly acknowledged by the mainstream media as black. Many of us already know several US presidents who had negroid blood runnin’ through their veins (but again, it’s neither or here nor there, it's history).

So, Marie you accurately state, "Progress has outpaced vocabulary."interesting observation. Although, lets not forget progress has a subjective quality. So, yes the President-Elect’s historic presidential candidacy is progress, yet I’m sure you and I can have a lively debate about whether we’ve moved a foot or mile. Many black folks would challenge you on the progress made in American society. Let’s see many of us ain’t feelin’ the criminal justice system, labor statistics, media/Hollywood diversity. The other day when I was in the grocery story at the checkout counter 20 magazines were within my reach only 3 had black women on the cover and if you control for black ownership of magazines than none of the magazines featured a black women on the cover. Progress? Be careful what you say Marie. In the world of high-fashion, there’s a black-out of models. Progress?

Marie, clearly you missed the interview with the Greta van Sustern and the President-Elect as a presidential contender when he reminds Ms. van Sustern that race is still relevant in the United States, because upon departure he was fully aware nary one cabbie would stop for him New York City. Progress? Marie, race is still a salient factor of the American experience. And as that realization torments you rest assured, it torments us too. If you thought Americans could reconcile 4 centuries as a cliff note in the history books due to this historic election – your naivete has got the best of you.

Black folks we’ve got to be a bit more audible and visible when the mainstream tries to hurl these packaged soundbites. White folks we understand your hastiness to run away from the dark passages from American history, but check with us first – so we can keep it real wit’ cha!

cheers,

Bellini

Ebony and Ivory

So one day I was watching The View and it was after a series of break ups by white Hollywood couples: Bruce and Demi, Tom and Nicole, etc. So Chris Rock was a guest on the show and Joy Beyhar asks, “weren’t you just devastated by the break up of [insert white Hollywood couple here]. And Chris is all, “no, not really.” And the white women were all, WHAT? And one of them asks, “well did anyone’s Hollywood break up shock you?” And he goes, “yes, Phylicia and Ahmad Rashad.” [Insert guffaw upon guffaw by Rum Punch] I laughed soo damn hard at this. Mainly because Joy, Meredith and Elizabeth all had wtf looks on their faces. Priceless.

When Roots drummer Questlove was detained by the DEA after an international flight, he wrote this on his blog: it was just so fucking degrading man. that is all i can describe it as. i'm sitting there like how am i gonna convince these guys that this dude with 30 dollar old navy jeans (white boy shit) and a 3000 dollar louis bag (n***a shit) and 5 figures in cash (white boy shit) and a coach seat (n***a shit) and a story of stadiums sold out across the world (n***a shit) but can't name a hit song of his (white boy shit) (and what the hell is you doing in buffalo of all places (white boy question) followed by my "shrug" (n***a response). add on top of that my cd collection: the sly and the family stone box set and ladies of the canyon (joni mitchell) what kind of mofo is this?

I think Questlove accurately described some “differences” between the races. And Chris Rock proved that sometimes blacks and whites care about different things. Yes, in this post Obama election world, where allegedly race doesn't matter, as hard as we try to deny/ignore/forget it, white people and black people are different. It ain’t a bad thing. It’s just reality. Yes, I know that we are all human and shit, but often times we approach the world differently. What matters in the black world may not matter in white society. And vice versa. What black folk celebrate (like Kwanzaa –ha!, and HBCU homecoming queens and boulés and leaders in our community) aren't being celebrated, let alone acknowledged by white people. They don’t even register on their radar.

And this is why JET and EBONY are so important. Yeah I said it and I meant it. Now I know that these magazines often catch a lot of flack, especially that damn Beauty of the Week and the Top 20 hits that are always the same. But man they stay on top of black events. Of course it gets to you a week late and the internet may have already provided you with the information. But often times there are little known events that have happened in the black community, like the passing of Roscoe Lee Brown, or the 90-year-old washerwoman who saved a million dollars and donated it to an HBCU, or that this day in history the first black woman was elected to the Georgia Supreme Court that no one else is covering or thinking about. And let’s not forget the marriage section in JET! Where else do you see multiple black couples getting married and an old black couple celebrating 50+ years of marriage, thus proving that black love STILL exists? Only in JET man, only in JET!

I know that some people call these publications bougie, some call them outdated, some say they are no longer needed. But I say we do need them. And since Linda Johnson Rice has really taken over Johnson Publications, EBONY has a new look and has really stepped its layout and article game up. And both these magazines are still committed to telling our stories. Yes, our stories. The things that matter and happen in our community. Our health, financial, social issues. Our accomplishments that need to be heralded. The things that get overlooked by the mainstream media.

I encourage everyone to check out John H. Johnson's book Succeeding Against the Odds and read about the vision he had of celebrating what black people were doing when he created these publications. Things ain't changed that much. And then I encourage everyone to buy one JET or one EBONY and read it without any hateration, holleration. And maybe then step it up to a subscription and keep it on your coffee table like your grandmomma used to. Yes, we are moving towards a mulicultural society (full of telemundo and Spanish only publications-see where I'm going with this), but we also need and deserve publications where we are the headline, the feature, the main story and not a footnote or a "special." Where we are celebrated and educated. Where our voices matter and are heard. If we don't, who will? And then what?

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

Sorry I Can't Come to the Computer Right Now

Hello world! No official blog entry today. Awwww....fret not I shall return. In the meantime, I am leaving you with an old school flashback video! Yes, it's a coked out Chaka Khan and Co., better known as Rufus! How about when I was a child I thought Rufus was a person. I'd be lookin at my parents album covers talking about where's Rufus? Ahhh good times. And so enjoy and dance at your desk! That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Crossing the Picket Fence

Remember when momma said you couldn’t go beyond a certain point in the neighborhood? It sucked didn’t it? Nothing ever happened between your house and that forbidden point. And it always seemed that just pass where you were allowed to go was the very spot that free ice cream fell off the truck or money was being given out to everybody…except you! But what we couldn’t see then was that momma was just trying to protect us from the neighborhood’s perils. Momma knew that old man Johnson, loved to show his…well, Johnson to little ones just for kicks. Momma always knew best. But being older and finally being able to do, see and go wherever we want is like a rite of passage into adulthood. Yet here lately I have met and heard stories about grown folks who haven’t thought or even dared to go anywhere beyond their own neighborhoods… and they are cool with that.

Amazing.

Looking at history it’s clear to me that a certain type of person was more than eager to get out and brave this world, while other races were content to play in their own continents. And in my life and living I’ve observed that it’s a certain type of race that is always ready to jump out a plane or eat a roasted grasshopper just for experience sake. This certain race of folks can sometimes out minority a minority with all the fun facts they know. If another one of my coworkers comes over using slang or quoting Lil Wayne, Imma scream! But you know history has nothing to do with nothing in the way of making excuses, well logical ones that is. Hello? Black folks. I know I’m not holding my breath for my forty acres. It’s a new day. But when I meet people who have never been out of the DC metro area I can’t help but wonder is there something in the DNA? The water? What the hell is wrong with them?

My case in point. Yesterday, the female component of my office mailroom crew (DC metro born and bred) came into my cubicle all excited about her birthday in November. This year she’ll be 49 and is treating herself to a trip… So here I am thinking chica is about to do it big and go to the Bahamas or Mexico and I excitedly awaited to know the destination of her travels! And so I just wasn’t ready when she told me she was going to Ohio. Ohio? Really? Nor was I ready when she told me this will be her first time on a plane. Say what now? Or when she asked me if she could buy her plane ticket now and use it in November. Or how she explained why she was confused when her brother told her she would have to put stuff in a Ziploc bags. Nor was I ready when she whispered “Amaretto, I don’t even have any luggage.” To which I replied, well what do you use when you have to move? “Safeway and garbage bags Amaretto. I ain’t never been anywhere before.” But of course, garbage bags.

Wow.

If it weren’t so sad I would have laughed ya’ll. Yet I was compelled to think about going and buying her some luggage. You hear about people in New York who have never ventured to any of the other boroughs even though the subway can take them there. I’ve even heard of people who live in Maryland who have never gone to Virginia. But I’m a person who feels one of her purposes in life is to travel the world, once I get my pennies together, or luck up and have some kind and loving soul finance it. It amazes me how some people have never seen or experienced the world outside of their own backyards!

I wonder…is it fear that keeps them behind fences? Do they think life has to be lived solely in the familiar neigborhoods of their youth? Do their curiosity and imaginations now lie beyond points they are allowed to cross? And is that why they don’t go there?

See You In Seven

Black Is, Black Ain't

This post has been a long time coming. And then the special report aired. You know the one. And now Earl Graves is beefin' with Soledad O'Brien. And so I figured I’d get in on the action. Now I never intended to watch the program because I already know what it’s like to be Black in America (although I now know that I need someone to follow me around and chronicle my life story in spoken word so that it can sound deep, profound and rhythmic), but while I was out of town with the five, and we were flipping through channels we stopped at CNN and watched a few segments. Twas just what I expected so I dismissed it completely. And then I heard the comments on the morning radio shows. Some Black folk loved it. Some Black people hated it, but knew they weren’t the target audience. And some Black people just hated it altogether. I hadn’t given it much thought until my friend said, “I didn’t like it because they only showed Black people who wanted to be white or poor Black people, no one in the middle. What about us?” Ahhh what about us?

I grew up in a suburb of Washington, DC when it was truly Chocolate City. I grew up middle class with two professional parents who are first generation college graduates. I was surrounded by Black two parent families, Black lawyers, doctors, teachers, social workers, business owners, corporate America climbers, HBCU graduates, AKAs, Deltas, Alphas, Jack & Jillers, Martha’s Vineyard vacationers, movers and shakers, the whole "talented tenth" as it were. I attended a Black church and was in an all Black Girl Scout troop. Being around "successful" Black people who had advanced degrees, owned homes, and still ate chitlins and collard greens was my world and reality. And while I was in class with mostly white people, my mama always kept us grounded. Always a revolutionary, Mama Rum Punch kept it real. She taught us that Black was beautiful and something to be proud of. She taught us our history, and when I was in third grade during a field trip to the Capitol I argued with the white tour guide about how Lincoln did not really free the slaves. She and the teacher tried to hush me so that I wouldn’t ruin the myth for the rest of the class. But the seed had been planted. And I became outspoken Black girl in class, futilely trying to kick the truth to the young white youth. I then went on to an HBCU where I was surrounded by a diverse group of Black people who didn't fit into one identity. And then I entered the real world and learned how to straddle two worlds.

A couple of years ago I was at a bar in DC. As I was ordering a drink this Black chick asked me where I was from. "Maryland," I said. "You don’t sound like it," she said. "I try not to conform to stereotypes," I said. She was a little taken aback and then… "I love her," she squealed to her white friend. I knew instantly she was one of those black girls who had spent a lifetime surrounded around white people and probably had her "blackness" challenged by Black people. I had been there before when I was younger when people told me I sounded white. I wasn’t sure what that meant. And then I learned. And then I tried to change. And then I said fuck it. And I have been me ever since.

I don't feel the need to try to prove my Blackness, not prove my Blackness, be someone else’s definition of Black, or put all my energy into trying to change people's perception of Black. As a writer I write about the Black life that I know. I don't sugar coat, embellish or exaggerate. And when I present my work to my writer's groups, it's well received by people of all races. But I am noticing that there are some Black artistes who are on some: I don’t want to be the stereotypical Black person I just want to be me, but I want you to know that I know that I’m Black, I’m just not one of those Black people, I’m my own kind of Black person, but I’m still Black. Ok? Watch this and maybe you’ll see what I mean.

The whole thing confounds me. On one of the Black in America segments, one Black man had moved his family to the suburbs and was suffering from the 'white man’s ice is colder’ syndrome. What the hell is this all about, I wondered. What exactly is he trying to accomplish? Doesn't he know he's always going to be Black, no matter how hard he tries to be a different kind of Black person? What exactly is he trying to prove? And who is he trying to prove it to? Looking back at my life experiences, I realize that for me being Black was never this, or that, it just was. And even now, to me, it just is. We can try to bottle it or define it, but there will always be a difference of opinion or an anomaly that proves otherwise. To me being Black is the “worst” of us and the “best” of us and everything in between. The middle.

The middle which is often forgotten, an untold story, because it's just regular, normal, and everyday. It's filled with people who pay their bills on time, own houses and live in apartments, go to work, attend church/mosques/temples, get degrees, raise and marry off their children, get sick, make babies out of wedlock, celebrate golden anniversaries, travel the world, have cookouts, play bid whist, work in corporate America, the community & the government, get profiled by the police, have family members who made it to the suburbs and those still in the hood or the country, keep JET and Ebony on the coffee table, get perms or locs or keep it natural, live in cities and small towns, share inside jokes that the majority will never understand, make individual strides, fuck up, and have personal setbacks. Just trying to live the best life they can all the while being Black in America. Whatever that means.

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

Great Expectations

I usually don’t dip my toes into the political water as I try to leave that up to the professionals like Bellini. LOL! But during this political season, several things have given me pause, especially when it relates to Obama. But in an effort to be brief I will just focus on two of them. And what I’m about to write isn’t really about the O man himself (since I’ve been there done that), but more about the public and its perceptions of him, his policies, his commitment to the people, his ability to feed the masses with five loaves, two fishes, a smile and jazz hands. So here is what has baffled me the most:

1. Some Black Folk
If I hear another Black person talk about how they thought this country had come so far, or they never thought this country could be so racist, or those days are supposed to be over, or it’s not fair how Bracky O is getting treated, I am seriously, for real, for real going to scream. I have heard it from Black folk of all ages. And it leaves me with a where did this Black person come from feeling. I mean I know the man has gotten farther than many of us ever imagined, but let’s not forget this is the good ol’ US of A. Somewhere in all of our excitement at the idea of history being made, we done lost our minds.

I don’t know how things went down in y’alls households, but here’s what my mama would say to me and my brother when we were coming up: I don’t put nothing past white folks. Now what does this mean? Does this mean that we didn’t have white friends? No, of course not. Does this mean that we were taught that there are no “good” white people in the world? No, of course not. Does this mean that we were taught that all white people are the devil? Well... No, I’m kidding, dear white readers (all 3 of y’all), we were not taught that white people are the devil. But like I recently heard Diamond aka Neesee aka LisaRaye on an All Of Us episode say, we were taught, “to watch our front, back, and sometimes they come from the left.”

Of course this doesn’t mean I live my life full of suspicion waiting for some white person to come twist a knife in my back or take my land, but, um, er, I ain’t no fool. Nothing white people do surprises me: good, bad or evil. When they dress up in “ghetto” costumes and black face for Halloween, while so many of us are getting upset I am not shocked. I am mostly amused. But mainly at our reactions. When they use the "N" word, I am not astonished. I’m wondering what took them so long. When they use scare tactics like having a blonde haired white woman tell Harold Ford Jr., to “call her,” on a television commercial at the height of his historic Senate race, that recall old school fears and stereotypes, I am ready for it. I don’t like it. But I’m ready for it. And I’m not ready to let my guard down. Call it paranoia. Call it a refusal to let go of the past. But whatever you call it, I won't be surprised at anything that happens in the Fall.

2. Everybody else
Recently on the Tom Joyner Morning Show a Muslim American from some non profit/non partisan group was being interviewed saying that he took issue with the way Obama is denying that he is not a Muslim. The man said, “He shouldn’t just say that he’s not a Muslim. He should also say, ‘But if I were there would be nothing wrong with that.’ He’s making it seem like it’s not good to be a Muslim.” Now as I’ve expressed, I’m no Obamaholic, but man heavy is the head that’s trying to wear the crown! You want him to do alladat? You realize he’s running for President of the United States, right? Heh, heh. That line works on more than just Black people I see.

So the guy was talking bout Muslims might not support Obama now. And of course Joyner and Co. were on some but what about how McCain thinks/treats/supports Muslims? Ok if I remembered anything from my argumentation class I would know exactly what kind of argument this is, but since I don’t, I’ll just say that this is a silly argument to me because McCain is not running on the Hope/Change/There are no red states or blue states just purple states/We all in this together Express. You pretty much know what you’re going to get from the Republican Party: White men, their wives, and a few “special” minorities who have lost their way. I kid Black conservatives. Obama has been stamped as the inclusive candidate which only leads to trouble because then everyone thinks they’re, well included. Until they find out that they’re not. Because in reality no one can be all things to all people. And when that reality is finally revealed those people want to go get all get mad and act betrayed. Apparently they didn’t get the memo that someone was going to come up with the short end of the stick. And it’s usually minorities: in terms of race, religion, and economics. But maybe they never thought they would be the ones who were going to be forced to pick that short stick. Sucks doesn’t it?

Now some people (cough Bellini cough) might label me a cynic. I prefer to call myself a realist. Maybe it's because in my voting lifetime I’ve never been fully ride or die for a candidate, so I don’t know the thrill of hitching my wagon to someone’s star, and taking that magical carpet ride to victory. But I do know that I recently read that every movement begins in idealism, turns into a business, and ends up as a racket. Chew on that. And as I watch and hear some people become slightly disillusioned with yo' mama's favorite candidate, (I’ve even heard some use that clichéd well he’s the lesser of two evils line-now when did he become that), I like this New York Times writer wonder what everyone was expecting. Cause I'm still waiting for this water I'm drinking to turn to wine!

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

Freedom Is Coming Tomorrow!

I hope you didn't come here looking for a post, cause a sista is in Nawlins enjoying a hurricane (and I'm not talking about Katrina or Rita), doing the Magnolia clap and waiting for Kanyeze and Chris Brown to take the stage! 504 whoodie, wobblely, wobblely, drop it like it's hot! I know that some of us don't "celebrate" this day, since technically we weren't even close to being "free" or "independent" in 1776, and those hard core revolutionaries would argue we still ain't free. And so this song is for all of you Revolutionary Black Gangstas and anyone else in need of some liberation! Give us free! Seriously, have a fun and safe holiday weekend! My mama just told me about an old school PSA slogan: Don't drink a fifth on the fourth! LOL! Don't drink and drive! Click it or ticket! And somebody please make me a plate of ribs, 'tato salad, baked beans and some sweet corn! I'll be by later on to pick it up. That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Real Talk

Disclaimer: If you’re an Obamaholic, you may not want to read any more of this.

So last Sunday, me, my mother, my grandmother and Amaretto journeyed through the rain and a tornado watch, to my mother’s friend’s house to discuss the 2008 political season with a multi generational group of Black women. I went hoping for a healthy, substantive discussion on how Black women were being completely left out of the political equation, but it quickly turned into a ‘WE LOVE OBAMA, THAT MAN CAN DO NO WRONG!!’ fest.

Disclaimer #2: Now for those of you still reading, I should stop right here and tell you that I’m not an Obamaholic. I’m not on the O train. Admittedly, I’m at the O station, but I haven’t bought that ticket yet. And so that is the place from where I write.

So we’re sitting around the living room dining on fried chicken (go Obama!) and pasta salad (go Hilz!) when all hell broke loose. Ok maybe not literally. But basically once Amaretto and I expressed our displeasure/hesitance/question marks about the O man, we were pounced upon, trounced on and damn near held down for an exorcism to be immediately followed by a baptism in some Obama holy water. Not that we didn’t see it coming. Everywhere we go, Amaretto and I are the only ones who have the audacity to raise our eyebrows at all the Obamaholics. On occasion we are met with some like minded people; shout out to that cool chick who said “for real change to happen, there must be blood in the streets and heads must roll!” But I digress…

What pissed me the hell off about this group discussion was that there was a lack of actual discussion and analysis. These women had a myriad of excuses for Obama’s gaffes, mistakes, half truths. Yes, I said half truths. Now, this is not to say that other candidates, i.e., Hillary haven’t lied, we all know that Bosnia sniper story was pure lies and madness. But I focus on the Golden Boy because that was the main focus of the Sunday round the living room discussion. Every misstep he has made was “reasoned,” explained, or justified. To the point that I had to throw up my hands and ask, “When will this madness end?”

And by madness, I mean the lack of questioning of what Obama is gonna do for us, Black folk. Uh oh. Did I take it too far? Now, I’ve heard the argument that Obama is running for THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, not black america. True, indeed. When he speaks he is addressing all the needs of America. As someone said that night, he’s “Keeping us all in mind.” Or is he?

The fact that as a race of people, we have not dared ask “whatcha gonna do for us when the chips are down” bothers me because we are ignoring and exchanging our interests for the momentous occasion of seeing a Black man elected President. I know that it would be an amazing feat, believe me I would love to tell my kids that I voted for the first Black President of the U.S.A., but I fear that too many Black people are hoping and assuming that our needs will be met.

Yes, I believe that Black people have a different set of needs, issues and problems from the rest of America. And since I know that we’ll never receive reparations, someone has got to address our concerns. And while I do believe that some of them need to be addressed and handled within the community, but let’s not play ourselves, if we’re gonna play this game of living in America, then government intervention and action (at all levels) is also necessary. And so I think it’s only fair for us to ask all candidates, “What is you gon’ do for us?” Just like that. Other groups do it. Other groups ensure their needs and demands are heard. Jews. Cubans. Indians. Gays and Lesbians. Shit, Canadians even. They have no shame in using their clout or exchanging their vote for deals and favors.

But right now so many of us are being swayed by a nice smile and flowery rhetoric. And as one woman said at the discussion, “Obama has a nice butt.” Lord have mercy. That Sunday, my thoughts were confirmed, because I feel in my soul that Obama pimped the Black vote like any other Democrat would. He put in the obligatory “work” to get us: attendance at the NAACP & Urban League conferences, recitation of speeches at Black churches, visitation to the local barber shop. He pimped us. And once he won South Carolina and he knew he had won us over, he put us in the corner and told us to be quiet, because he had to win white folks over now.

Think I’m wrong? Yesterday on the Tom Joyner Morning Show, Tavis Smiley, Black America’s favorite man we love to hate, talked about how the National Newspaper Publishers Association (i.e., Black newspapers) had to have a “come to Jesus meeting” with all three candidates because they are not advertising in our publications. Tavis said, “One doesn't have to spend. [We know who that is] And the other two figure why spend?” And why should they spend money to reach Black audiences? 1. Because they get “free” media by appearing on every Black radio show, where Obama is fawned over and Hillary is invited because of those pesky government rules and regulations. 2. They don’t have to spend money and advertise to us, because they know they have us in their pockets-Obama especially, since we have given Billary the proverbial middle finger.

But on this particular Sunday, all of this was ignored. Hillary was constantly regarded as a she devil. I’m sorry, a lying she devil. Two snaps and a neck roll. And Obama. Well, you would have thought he was about to walk on water, feed the masses with just a two piece and a biscuit and then raise some people from the dead. People were visibly upset that we did not agree with them. At the end of the evening they approached me and Amaretto and said, “We hope we changed your mind.” Hmmm… I never said I didn’t or wouldn’t vote for him. I merely questioned him. Nothing wrong with that. I looked at his whole. I examined everything about him. I mean these women already assumed that McCain doesn’t have our best interests at heart merely because he’s a Republican. Then they ripped Hillary up one side and down the other and called her everything but a child of God. We aren’t gonna treat all candidates equally? Or is this affirmative action politics? Cause when I asked if they would vote for Obama if he were a white man delivering a hope, change, jazz hands message, I was met with silence.

I had to bite my tongue, but I so wanted to say to them: I’m sorry I can’t be one of Obama’s ride or die chicks. Because I think that at the end of the day, when the cameras have been turned off, the screaming crowds have gone home, gymnasium lights have been dimmed, and the façade of campaigning has been removed, Obama is just a man. And more importantly, he is a politician. (Rev. Jeremiah Wright said it this morning-holla!) Through and through. With his own motives. His own dreams. His own hopes (that have nothing to do with us). His own eyes on the prize. And I know that we want him to get that prize. But at what cost?

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

Trite and Truancy

Okay, so before I get all Happy Earth Day, hemp is great and rainforests rock-I must share the greatness that was the play that Rum Punch and I caught on Saturday. If you are in the DC Metro eurra you should check out “Am I Black Enough Yet?” We laughed, cried and cosigned on most of what the actors said. Typical black folks in a sea of white folks but we didn’t give a fcuk and laughed out loud anyway! So I say see it! It’ll be worth the 25 bucks.

And now back to the planet. This post was originally going to be about why Black folks aren’t buying into the whole Green Movement thing…or at least, why I don’t see them hugging trees on tv. I mean for most of us, we’re just happy we are able to finally afford that nice car. So we are going to drive it. Everywhere. Corner store and all, because, hey we deserve to shine. Shoot, some of us are just happy to be able to afford groceries, who cares what type of bag I carry. But since Stormy touched on some of that yesterday (read: I’m too lazy to come up with another clever view on the subject) I'm moving on.

To be honest, I’ve “celebrated” many an Earth Day, but I don’t recycle consistently and I still ask for plastic at the grocery store. And so sometimes this “holiday” feels a little trite because on the other 364 days what am I doing? Or what are other folks doing after this day of awareness? I will say that I do get a little misty eyed when I see a seal covered in oil or a baby duck with a plastic six-pack ring around it’s neck. So I try to do my part and cut those plastic rings before I trash them. But Al and ‘em say I need to do more than that, and that is the truth. Inconvenient as it may be.

When I was in seventh grade my school (read: everyone but the students) was pumped and excited to show their love for the planet by allowing us kids to select how they wanted to spend Earth Day with the Earth. So that year I chose to go clean up a lake (read: the boy I had a crush on was doing it). The environment was complete with smells, garbage, a nasty bagged lunch and salamanders (a minus before I knew how cute salamanders were). I was upset that I spent a day with nature with no cabin or car to separate us. And ire only increased the next day at school when all the kids who went to the zoo talked about the great time they had had. Looking at animals, making out in front of the monkeys, and other general tomfoolery. They didn’t pick up trash or plant a thing.

So in eighth grade, the school was exciting again and the same Earth destinations were offered and that year I was going to the zoo! So there I stood at my locker getting myself ready for a day with the Earth when Rum Punch came up to me and launched her master plan of not going on the field trip and going to the mall*. Rut Roh. “But Rum Punch” I said, as I was dusting off my halo, “that’s wrong, I’ve never skipped school before”. She called me all sorts of names**, and you know how it is when you’re 13, you’ll believe anything. And so away we went. At least we did our part and took the bus to the diner (Earth-1 human selfishness-0). We ate our breakfast there and didn’t get nasty styrofoam containers or plastic bags (Earth-2 human selfishness-0). We didn’t use hairspray from aerosol containers (Earth-3 human selfishness-0). We had a good time at the mall and ensured that we threw our trash in the bins and not on the streets (Earth-4 human selfishness-0). And then we hung out at our friend’s house because her momma wasn’t home and we could watch cable (I’m sure something about saving the planet) for the rest of the day…when we could have been cutting trees down with our chainsaws just because (Earth-5 human selfishiness-0).

But I don’t have to state how important going green is. Even though I think this day can be trite, and I skipped school and went to the mall, and I’ll probably be dead when the next generations are roasty and toasting; I think if everyone did a little bit a big difference could be made. As for me, I volunteered to pass out the tree seedlings to my co-workers, they all had WTF expressions as I handed them their tree, but no one can say I’m not doing my part (Earth-6 human selfishiness-0).

*It wasn’t solely Rum Punch’s idea to skip school that day, she was blamed solely for entertainment purposes
** Also added, well made up for entertainment purposes

See You In Seven

We're All In Together

Yesterday-after I woke up late (last week it would have been early), missed my chariot (bus drivers truly believe they are gods among men), and fought the hellish fires that ignited the office-I realized, yet again that I am just not on top of things in my so-called life.

I went to Philadelphia on Saturday to do some early campaigning for Baracky…okay, let me stop lying. I went to Philly to visit some friends from the good ole University and we got to talking about LIFE. And the problem with: Black folks, and kids, and the government, and religion, and men, and grape Kool-Aid and with us women folk. It was a super meeting of the minds, four Black women sacrificing sleep to save the world and ourselves. Currently we are all in different places in life, but a common theme among us was that no one (cue Alicia) had it all together yet.

We spoke of that future place, you know the one that we once envisioned we'd be living now, when we would be able to claim that we had it together. Shout “Hey Mamma I made it!” For those who don’t know, togetherness-ness includes: advance education, homeownership, career-not to be confused with a job, fabutron spouse, unlimited funds, a super genius child, fabulous shoes, clothes, hair and nails-all while having the time to save the community with our love, intellect and work in soup kitchens. For further reference think Claire Huxtable But in one way or another we were all togetherness deficient...

And the question was raised are we even qualified to help or discuss the problems of other people whilst we ourselves were still a mess?

This made me think of ministers who steal and politicians who pay for the company of ladies. And how I feel about their previous charitable campaigns in the aftermath of scandal. Were they just not qualified, or simply just human? Is not having it together a justifiable reason to sit silently on the sidelines waiting for the day to get into the game? Is perfection a prerequisite to iron the cape and fly in to save the day? Because what if total togetherness-ness is never achieved? Then what happens?

I don’t know.

I do know I do a lot of talking and thinking and reading and tv watching...and not a lot of action. I have that fear that if I were to give my opinion wrapped up in advice that upon inspection, the recipient might see the wad of gum thats holding me together. I mean really, what would I say if someone asked: “Who the F--- are you?” I surely ain’t no Claire Huxtable waking up late and running to a bus. I’m nowhere near a mountain summit, so who am I to look down and tell people what their problems are and how they should be ashamed? But maybe I am to show that it’s okay to use thread, glue or gum to keep it all together…

See You In Seven

I Hear Ya, Stevie!

Today, as I was navigating through the Metro system to get to the good old job I heard the lovely musings of some youth…

"You a stupid MothaF-cka! You know that?! You’s a stupid, ugly Motha f-cka!"

"So, you ain’t S—t! B-tch!"

Oh it was a great way to start my day ya’ll. I was so proud of them!

First of all I’m already pissed that there aren’t any more three day weekends until Memorial Day (though I will be taking my Easter Monday). But I just wasn’t trying to hear that sh-t first thing in the morning before I would have to deal with the Motha Fcukas in my office.

Now I will be the first to admit, I am a reformed and still recovering Cussaholic. I spoke real bad in college. There, in the hallowed halls of academia, reading the great literary works of the decades, exposing myself to big words galore-my signature phrase was F-ckin’ A! It worked to describe the taste of food, the behavior of friends and foes, and I just used it to express general exasperation. I wasn’t raised to cuss people out, I can count the number of times I’ve heard my parents cuss and still have fingers to spare. But sometimes its just easier to tell someone F-ck You! Than to say that you'd sincerely consider their point of view.

But really this isn’t a criticism towards people who cuss. Even though I is saved, sanctified and dated a minister (brushes off halo) when folks get on my nerves I ain’t praying for them! Well, not at first anyways, it’s more like wishing them on a one way journey to someplace nice and hot. Stub a toe on some furniture? Excited that your song came on the radio? Hey, sometimes those warrant a choice four letter word of exclamation! Sh------t! (c) Clay Davis, The Wire.

But my issue is with cussing in public. Doing it loudly. Doing it in front of white folks-allowing them to view it as typical Black folk’s behavior...so when articulate Black people show up on the scene they are shocked that we know how to speak well. And I fear that we are doing it because we don’t know the vocabulary. We think we’re keeping it real, fitting in, being cute or strongly getting our point across…

Rum Punch will be the first to tell you that I don't love the following song. I mean, I came to expect more from the man who brought us Superstition and Living for the City. Surely when he wrote this he was thinking of the F-word that came to my mind when I first heard this song...



But then I thought that had he kept it "real" would the words that compose these lyrics be as poignant? Wouldn't folks have been caught up in the fact that Stevie was dropping the F-word? And at his age? He should know better too! I don't know. But there are times when we ought to censor some of the things we say so people can finally hear us speak...

See You In Seven

40 Acres and Some Jewels

I love watching PBS’s Antiques Roadshow. I started watching in undergrad when I lived in the dorm without cable. Saturday mornings were filled with this guy and the antiques roadshow.

So if you’ve never seen the show, here’s a re-cap: people bring what they believe are valuable antiques to be appraised by experts. Sometimes they are pleasantly surprised when they find out they have a treasure. Sometimes they come on the show looking like they are up to their eyeballs in debt and someone said, “hey, let’s take this old lamp to the roadshow that’s comin to town and see how much it’s worth.” Oh they look so sad when they learn the truth: it ain’t worth much.

So basically people acquire their “antiques” two ways. One: They happened to be at someone’s antique store, thrift shop or yard sale and they picked up this curious item at a low, low price. Two: The item has been in the family for generations, something great, great, great ancestor brought with them from the old country or from a foreign trip to the Far East or some other place that seemed exotic in 1722; and the item has been passed on from generation to generation, sometimes with the history or even historical documents accompanying the treasure. Oh the things that people have brought to this show! Jewelry from the original Cartier in France, pottery from the Ming dynasty, art work from renowned painters…

Yeah, so I watch this show and I love this show but it also makes me mad. Why? Cause I never see any Black people on there. That’s right, we don’t have “antiques”. Slavery anyone? We (and obviously I’m making generalizations here) don’t have shit passed from generation to generation since 1762. Except maybe some soul food recipes, grandmama’s thighs and a serious pathology we’re still trying to overcome to this day. All we get passed down to us from our folk is oral history (valuable I know). And now we’re barely getting that. And all we got from our white ancestors was straight hair and lighter skin. And if we do have anything, it’s a kettle that our ancestor cooked on for massa or something massa gave his help after 40 years of service.


Sigh. Yet another reason for reparations. Raises fist in the air and shakes it!

I know that life isn’t fair. I know that we carry a heavy load. I know that I’m stating the obvious by pointing out that slavery left us at a disadvantage (in more serious areas than not having antiques). Besides me hating that slavery robbed us from the possibility of so much and that no one wants to talk about it. Oh just sweep that slavery thing under the rug. Didn’t it happen sooo long ago? Nothing from back then affects y’all today… But like Amaretto & I were talking bout the other day, I hate that the treasures we do have may just be valuable in our community, like an original JET with photos of Emmitt Till's body (shout out to Dark & Stormy's mama) or the tin can of tobacco my mom has that belonged to her favorite uncle who fought in World War I, and provides sentimental value but we wouldn't dare try to take it on the antiques road show. So, we may have things of value, but would they be considered valuable to the mainstream? You know since they decide what's valuable. But that's a post for a whole 'nother day...I also hate that so many of us still don’t have the means to acquire antiques, to have things that are assets and appreciate in value. Sometimes I just look at all that we have and I smile. But then I look at all that we don’t have and I know that we still have such a long way to go.

So, I guess it’s up to me to make sure I get some antiques in the family. I’m thinking I could do this two ways: I could travel to some nice antique shops around the state and could slowly start my collection. Or I could do some research, find my white ancestors, knock on their door, and tell them to let me get one of them vases!

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

subdividing the races

“There’s two different races, in that race,” explained James Rice, a white resident describing black people, as Mr. Fields affably worked voters at Jack’s. “You got some that don’t want to be nothing, and you got some that want to help. You don’t find too many like James Fields.”
--"Race Matters Less in Politics of South," N.Y. Times, February 21, 2008

it's amazing how one little quote in a New York times article can sum up race relations in America. Rum Punch talked about the idea of transcending race a while back and how difficult it is to really do that in this country. you know how white folks automatically put you in that first category Mr. Rice talks about, "don't want to be nothing" till they have an actual conversation with you and realize that you are a functioning human being who has achieved some shit.

but mint julep, tell me something i don't know....

well i can't really. cause Mr. Rice's (or white folks like him's) thoughts, you shoulda knew already. i know i live it and breathe it. it's like my default setting at first glance from a white person. young Black girl = uneducated, teenage mother, etc., etc. or administrative assistant in my office, or sales associate in macy's. but mint julep, you say, stop exaggerating, all whites don't think that when they see you...

uhhhh ok maybe not that exact picture but the default is always on the bad side cause i can see it in their eyes. i'm tall, i'm dark, and i have "those awful dreadlock thingys" in my head. and i love love love it when some nosey ass white person sits next to me on a plane and wants to chat me up, talkin bout where you headed, what you do, etc. and i drop that bomb on them. oh i'm a lawyer. booo-yow bitches!

but if you black in america and you suprised at Mr. Rice's statements, well you shouldn't be. if you Black in America and you're not mal-adjusted, go get mal-adjusted...find some mal-adjustment, it may save your life. (c) Mos Def. I bet Mr. Rice would be suprised at my views on white folks in America...

“There’s two different races, in that race,” explained Mint Julep, a Black resident describing white people, as Ms. White Woman affably tries to work voters in Texas. “You got some that are racist, whether it be concious or unconcious racism, because they happily benefit from or are unaware of their white privilege, and you got some that want to help non-whites, who they view as unable to help themselves, and in so doing they pat themselves on their nice liberal backs and feel superior. I don't really know if I care for either one.”
-- Mint Julep