You Don't Know Me

Has someone from your past ever reappeared in your life, talking that yakkity yak, that jibber jabber, asking you to do this one little favor, or expecting something so outta this world from you, that it has you giving them the once over from head to toe, taking inventory of their seriousness, cocking your head to the side, and being like, “Excuse? You want me to do what? Muhfcuka you don’t know me.”

But they have to kinda know you to step to you like this right? Riiight. But maybe what they know is an old version of you. Like an eight-track, or a Betamax, or a PC. Heh. I remember seeing comedienne Sommore perform and she said, “one time I saw an old friend on the street and went up to her and was like ‘what the fcuk is up bytch? How you doing? Expletive, expletive, expletive.” Friend’s response: “um I’m saved now.” Sommore was like, “say whaat? When that happen? You gotta let a bytch know.”*

Change. Growth. Maturity. So obvious to the one going through it. So imperceptible to the rest of the world. I mean wouldn’t it be nice if you could walk around wearing a sign that said: BELIEVE ME I DONE CHANGED CAUSE IF THIS WAS XXX YEARS AGO I WOULDA CUSSED YOU OUT, BEAT THAT ASS, BEEN YOUR ONE NIGHT STAND, GOTTEN FCUKED UP AND STILL MADE IT TO WORK THE NEXT MORNING, LOANED YOU MONEY YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE ASKED ME FOR IN THE FIRST PLACE, LET YOU CRASH ON MY COUCH AND IN MY HEART FOR MONTHS AT A TIME, SUPPORTED YOUR RAP "CAREER", PLAYED THE FOOL.

In reality only people who are your constants can recognize your growth and praise you for it without calling you out on your past. You know not mention that was you who once slept with every other nig you met in a bar. Or who cussed like a sailor. Or who held grudges. Or who was at that no good’s beckon call. Or "took" her man. Or had that baby at 16. And then that abortion at 19. Or enjoyed one too many happy hours. Or who shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

But people who come in and out of your life don’t really know you at all. Just know the you from that time. And so that you is like frozen in their memory banks and you just can’t chip away at that block of ice. Can't make them see what you know for sure. That you done changed.

You are forced instead to see what they still see. The old you. And isn’t that what sucks the most – that when confronted by them – you have to confront the fact that you were once a different person? A bytch. A chick who wasn’t necessarily a whore, but may have had ho like tendencies. Selfish. Naïve. Mean. Foolish. A sucker. Young. A person who made what now seem like obvious mistakes. But you've gotten to the place where you know not to make them again.

And so wouldn’t it be nice, if when someone reappeared in your life, you could just hand them the poem below. Leave them with their mouth open, lips still moving and for x,y, z and then some, while you walk away. And don't look back. With plans to only meet them again when you both become extraordinary.

People from My Past

People jump from my past

to tell me when they knew me when

And I tell them

I knew them also

I tell them I have moved

so unnoticeably

to other worlds - - as they have done

I tell them once the friendship dies

we cannot accept the ordinary from each other

We must become extraordinary to meet again.

-- Tracy Connely

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

*Can I just say this is my one of my biggest "fears" that one day I'll be pushing my kids in a stroller, walking with my huzband, coming from worshipping the Lord, and I'll run into an old skripper from my waitressing at the Gentleman's Club days and she'll be on some, "don't I know you?" LOL!

Black, White and Read All Over

Can you imagine a world without mail service? Or a world where new movies come right to your home computer/laptop/phone and going to the movies is lamer than it is now? Or a world where there are no newspapers or magazines? Like at all.

I must confess that at one time, I Rum Punch wanted to be a journalist. A real, for real journalist. I was on the high school newspaper and erythang. Went to college with sights set on being a journalist. Until… I had a summer internship with a newspaper in Philly.

Yeah. I hated it. Like hated it. It was nothing like high school. Lol. And so sometime during the summer of 2002, (wow that was a long time ago) I realized that journalism in its truest form was not for me. I was too lazy to chase a story. And I really had no interest in writing what they wanted me to write about it – because I didn't consider it real news. And people deserve real news! Never mind that all journalists have to start from the bottom, do crap stories, and work their way up to their own column and/or in depth feature articles.

But in all this I never lost my respect for the craft that is journalism. Good reporters do just that. They report on the best parts of us. The worst parts of us. The strange parts of us. They examine us. Break us down into short, punchy sentences. Paint our complexities with their words. They transport us to worlds we may have never visited with our own fare. They invite us to learn something new – even though it might be sad and tragic and depressing.

And so it hurts my heart, when I get my daily emails from http://www.mediabistro.com/ (a great place to get news from a variety of sources) and learn that newspapers like the New York Times are broke – leaving me wondering if the smaller publications even stand a chance. Magazines are shutting their offices each day. I mean Reader’s Digest just filed for freakin’ bankruptcy! Journalists are getting laid off and the seasoned, much needed veterans are taking buyouts. Certain newspaper sections like the Washington Post’s Book World are being completely eliminated. It’s all about online, online, online.

And I get it. I mean I blog. But for me there is nothing like taking advantage of a leisurely Sunday, opening the newspaper, and turning it page by page. Reading section by section and then looking up from an article and saying to the nearest person, “you won’t believe this.” I loves filling my monthly hip hop quota and reading VIBE at the hairdresser. I enjoy getting a new magazine in the mail and reading it on the train to work.

And while I understand that blogging, tweeting, et al, are the wave of future and online news is where it’s at, there is something to be said about actually researching a story. Having trusted sources. Fact checking. And then you don’t have embarrassing headlines that name Robert F. Kennedy a former President, which I saw one day on the online version of the Washington Post and I gasped, shook my head and figured the copy editor had taken an early buyout.

When you take your time, when you investigate, when you get your facts straight, you provide the public with a better content, thus making them more educated in the process. And this – even though he did a poor job – is what I think David Simon was trying to do with Season 5 of the Wire. Quick explanation to folks who aren’t Wire fanatics, each season basically examined a certain segment of the population – 1st season was the drug dealers, 2nd season was the dock workers, 3rd season was police & politicians, 4th season was the school system and 5th season was the media.

Simon, a former journalist with the Baltimore Sun was quite critical of the demise of the newspaper industry in The Wires' 5th season and this criticism involved a slightly crazy storyline. But I think the underlying point was that true blue journalism is becoming a dying art, what with the old school news anchors literally dying (my personal fave Peter Jennings passed away awhile ago). And so we are not only losing "trustworthy" faces,* but we are also losing an era that favored facts over sensationalism. A good story over feeding the masses what they wanted to hear. Layered complexities that make you think and ask your own questions. Quality over quantity.

And so while I would hate for print to officially move online - although that seems like the more cost effective option, should we ever get to that point, I want the integrity of journalism to remain. Its core principles to drive the stories that are written. And while I would miss turning the pages, I'd be content in knowing I was still getting content.

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

*There is this hilarious Murphy Brown episode where the anchor is criticizing the Brian Williams, a fresh, young faced anchor at the time. And he says, "I don't know about you, but I need my news from an old white man." Heh heh.

hope on dope

about a month ago, i pondered the effect/affect that Barack Obama would have on the average ambitious young Black man as it relates to his relationship picks. i hoped that YBM would start looking for their own personal michelle's and stop defaulting to the brain dead eye candy. now it seems that the Obama has effect has spread to local politics in some interesting ways. how so?

well, during the election season, it was not uncommon for local, state and national politicians, both democrats and republicans, to co-opt the changey mchoperson message that made Obama so popular. and some of that was to be expected, right? during any presidential election year, the candidates down the ticket will often ride the coattails of the nominated commander-in-chief-to-be, in the hopes that all levels of government will reflect the values and ideals of the man on top.

but the thing i've found most interesting is that the Obama juice continues to flow, even now after the election season has been put to bed and the next major round of races aren't set until 2010. for example, last night i attended a meet and greet for a friend of mine who is contemplating a run for mayor of new orleans. it was a small gathering of 30 to 40 people, primarily between the ages of 20 and 40, with almost every ethnicity represented. while i think my friend is passionate about what he does in his field, i didn't necessarily think of him as the mayor of nola before last night especially given the nature of politics in this city. but at the event, it was as if Obama himself came down from on high and anointed my friend to run this race...seriously.

the woman who opened for him began her spiel by invoking Obama in all his glory, the idea that while Obama has reached the ultimate height, we, the masses, can not sit ideally by and let him do all the work. no! we must take to the streets and start the revolution. or not. more like we each should become involved in the political process in our own corners of the world. the urgency of now demands it!

and as i stood there caught up in the rapture of her words i had to pinch myself. this hope shit is contagious. addictive even. almost cultish. and my friend had not even uttered a word yet. afterwards, i watched as a woman came up to him and told him how inspired she was to have heard his words. and how excited she was that he was running for mayor. and i thought to myself, wow. really!?! ok! i've known him for a little minute so it's weird to see him make this transition from do-gooder to politician do-gooder (oxymoron maybe?) Obama certainly made us all believe it could be done. with his hope and si se puede...

the full ramifications remain to be seen but its clear that Obama has inspired a generation of folks who previously toiled for justice outside of government to contemplate infiltrating the machine and working for change from within. i guess they've got it...a more potent grade of hope than i've ever seen before.

what say you?