Something Wicked This Way Comes

As the three witches stood around their cauldron during the opening scene of Macbeth they sensed some of the things that were to befall Macbeth as the next king of Scotland. Sometimes I wish that there was a way that I could know before hand the things (specifically the bad evil ones) that would befall me, without say calling a psychic friend or paying to have my palm read…

“Hello, Ms. Cleo? Tell me my future. What? Why are you asking me what my name is, don’t you know? You’re the psychic!”

I mean, wouldn’t it just be nice to know on Monday morning instead of Friday afternoon that you are going to get fired? Or maybe if you had known that Pookie and ‘em were going to rob you could have made sure you got insurance for that 51” plasma. And how many would be baby mama drama free today if they had known before, that ole girl hadn’t been taken her birth control like she swore she had? Aaaah yes. Life would be a tad easier and breezier if we could know such things. But since we don’t, we get to have interesting stories to tell, and things to complain about.

And so without further ado, I will step on my soapbox to complain about the crappy service I received last night. I feel that had I known before hand that all the wait staff had been replaced with some of the seven dwarfs Grumpy, Dopey and Lazy and a few of their cousins, Stanky and Cranky I would not have dined there. I mean, waiters still work for tips right? It would behoove them the make me happy instead of have me wondering if I had offended them or dreaming about the good ole days when folks still gave a damn.

How many of ya’ll know that Ghettofication is just as rampant as gentrification? While gentrification believes it makes places safer by robbing the poor because the rich can afford the higher taxes and better schools. Ghettofication just makes you wonder what the hell? Ghettofication makes you question if the rules of professionalism decided to just throw up the deuces and rule. Ghettofication makes you wonder if decency was somehow changed to “I don’t give a fcuk” when you decided to patron the establishment.

Not sure if you have been a victim of Ghettofication? Here are some helpful ways to recognize it while dining out on the town…

Ghettofication means You Learn to Wait
My friend and I were seated near the back of the restaurant and had to wait at least 10 minutes to get a “’sup ya’ll” as the wait staff sniggled and giggled in about sex, drugs and rock-n-roll (read: why they love Lil Wayne’s Lollipop).

Ghettofication means You have to Become a Camel
Anyone who dines with me will know that I love soda, I like my glass full and bubbly. Meaning I have to be refilled regularly throughout the meal. Not just at the end when you bring the check.

Ghettofication means no one has to say "I’m Sorry"
So yeah, my friend and I ordered basic American fare (ie Hamburgers and French Fries). Things that came to our table included entrée salads and soup. When informing the waiter extraordinaire that this was not what I ordered. I was stared at, blankly, like I was inconveniencing them.

Ghettofication means that I’m getting something for free once I have it out with your manager! It also means I ain’t leaving no tip! I will not stand for this. I will not reinforce wicked behavior…Ghettofication is present in other places! It inhabits all sorts of people, some types more acutely! Beware!

*stepping off soapbox, smoothing out skirt, pulling back hair*

See You In Seven

Here, Have A Dollar

I invited myself to my friend’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. I just kind of told her to set a place for me at the table and then sealed the deal by making wide and watery eyes. It’s ignorant I know, but that’s just how I roll, especially when the “man” won’t give you the day after Thanksgiving off so one can’t sojourn to see their own family. But anyways, the family is gathered around the table, holding hands, thinking about their greens to sweet potato ratios (or maybe that was just me) and the patriarch starts to give thanks. Something is said about blessings, and joy, and then the homeless man he sees everyday on his way to work asking for change. And I just lost it. No I didn’t start weeping, that would have been too much like right, instead I start laughing, uncontrollably, during a prayer, at someone else’s house…

Will Amaretto even be able to get her big toe through the door next year? Imma try…stay tuned folks.

But in my defense, I laughed because he used the word of the day “Homeless”. No, I don’t think homelessness is a laughing matter, but his prayer made me think of my own homeless crew I see on my way to work every morning. Sometimes it's comforting to have certain routines. It makes life a little bit more manageable before it makes it boring. So yeah, I enjoy some aspects of my daily grind, like starting my day with a Mickey D’s sweet tea. 32 ounces for one dollar! Hollar! It is that serious ya’ll-to me it’s like nectar from Heaven (cue angelic chorus). So much so, that one morning the paramedics were tending to a man who had slipped and fallen in front of the door-he was bleeding and everything-and I was telling EMTs to excuuuuse me as they tried to maneuver the gurney. But my trek to get my tea also includes being asked on my way into Mickey D’s and out if I have any spare change. Change to spare. Could I help a brother out? You know just hearing requests similar to Bellini’s tale.

And everyday, as politely as possible, as I sip on my straw, I say no. I mean these are some persistent and consistent, and I’m also going to say, annoying folks. It’s slightly funny to me, ergo why I was laughing at Thanksgiving, because it’s like the homeless didn’t get the memo that no one carries cash anymore.

I know it’s messed up on my part to say someone needs to school the homeless, but hey, 1993 it is not so-Cash Rules Everything Around Me-is no longer a true statement. Ya’ll have seen those Visa commercials where the people are moving and spending by swiping their cards and joyous music plays in the background…but the moment someone pulls out cash or a check the wheels on the machine stop moving. I mean I won’t tell you the shame I personally felt pulling out a check at the grocery store after my checkcard was stolen. The looks I got were enough to make a girl cry and voluntarily explain why I had the audacity to pick up my checkbook…aside from the fact that check writing allows you to get, even when you don’t have the money in your account just yet... But still, when did checks and cash stop being negotiable instruments?

I will say that sometimes I feel bad about not being able to spare change. I mean it’s not like I don’t have it. I’ve got some money, even after the bank takes my leftover change and puts it into a savings account so they can pay for wars and make investments while giving me .002 percent interest. I want to help people out. But it would just be too ignorant to tell a homeless person that I could hook them up, but only if they took Visa.

Happy April Fools Day!

See You in Seven

Happy Act A Damn Fool Day!

"Its close to midnight and something evils lurking in the dark
Under the moonlight you see a sight that almost stops your heart
You try to scream but terror takes the sound before you make it
You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes, You're paralyzed"

- Thriller, Michael Jackson


It’s that time of the year again. Time to act a damn fool. Let me call it by its government name: Halloween. I don’t need a calendar to know when October 31st is approaching ‘cause the signs are clear. Houses decorated with jack-o-lanterns, witches, ghosts, and cobwebs. The specialty isle in the grocery store is all decked out in orange and black. Every sitcom, drama, and other television series are airing commercials for their Halloween special. Every club in America is throwing a party, offering such prizes as $500 to the best Ice-T & Coco costume. And if I hear one more damn thunder clap on the TV or radio…

Who in the hell said thunder had a damn thing to do with Halloween anyway? The History Channel states Halloween's origins date back 2,000 years ago to the ancient Celtics celebrating their New Year, November 1st. This day marked the end of summer & the harvest and the beginning of the dark, cold winter, a time of year that was often associated with human death. Celts believed that on the night before the New Year (October 31), the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead became blurred. On that night they celebrated Samhain, when it was believed that the ghosts of the dead returned to earth. To commemorate the event, Druids built huge sacred bonfires, where the people gathered to burn crops and animals as sacrifices to the Celtic deities. During the celebration, people wore costumes, typically consisting of animal heads and skins, and attempted to tell each other's fortunes.

European immigrants brought many Halloween customs with them to America. In the late 1800s, Americans made an effort to mold Halloween into a holiday more about community and neighborly get-togethers, than about ghosts, pranks, and witchcraft. Now, at the top of the 21st century, this day has evolved into a celebration of assholery and buffoonery.

I’m sure most of you don’t give a damn about the origins of Halloween but I think it’s important to know your history. At least know why it’s “OK” for you to put on a dog costume and bark at all the ladies who walk by (no really, this happened to me Saturday night). I also witnessed a white man dressed as Superman stop in the middle of the street and yell “now watch me Superman dat hoe”. Where is an eighteen wheeler being driven by a drunk driver when you need one?

How do you explain what the hell Halloween is to the kids? I’m trying to put together something coherent but it’s real hard. Here’s an idea:

Halloween is one of several “special days” created by our nation to incur a massive profit in a significantly short period of time thus fueling our economy and maintaining the value of the dollar. In other words sweetie, it keeps our country rich.

How was that? Oh you think I’m tripping? Going a tad too far? According to the National Retail Foundation’s 2007 Halloween Consumer Intentions and Actions Survey, consumers are expected to spend $5.07 billion this Halloween, up from $4.96 billion last year and only $3.29 billion two years ago. Other cool facts from the survey include:

• The average consumer celebrating Halloween will spend $64.82 on Halloween, compared to $59.06 last year.



• Halloween has become the third biggest occasion for adult parties after New Year's Eve and the Super Bowl



• Halloween continues as one of the biggest decorating holidays of the year, second only to Christmas. 66.7% of consumers plan to purchase Halloween decor and 47.8 % plan to decorate their home or yard. Consumers will spend approximately $1.39 billion on decorations, an average of $26.59 for those planning purchases.



• Because it is not a gift-giving or an apparel holiday, Halloween ranks lower than other annual holidays in terms of spending. Halloween remains the sixth-largest spending holiday after: Winter Holidays, Valentine's Day, Easter, Mother's Day, and Father's Day.

Keep that in mind the next time you put on your pirate patch, witch hat, or vampire cape. Think about that while you feed your children junk and a lie disguised as a chocolate kiss. When someone says to you "Happy Halloween", before you answer back ask yourself what the hell does than mean. Instead of spending $64.82 on some bullshit, deposit it into an account that will accrue interest, make a tax-free donation to a charitable organization, use it to buy someone lunch or another random act of kindness. But please don't buy into ignorance all for the sake of having a free pass to act a damn fool for the day. That is one storm I do not sanction.


Of course scary things happen every day, not just October 31st. And you know the freaks come out at night ;-)





Tumultuously Yours,

Dark & Stormy

A Different World... This ain't Hillman baby

"Ain't no tellin where I may be
May see me in DC at Howard Homes
Comin, with my man Capone, Dummin f**kin somethin..."
- Kick In the Door, Notorius B.I.G.


As a native of the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area and a current resident, I have had many opportunities to attend the infamous Howard University (HU) homecoming. Homecoming events include step shows, a parade, pep rally, the football game [of course], concerts… the usual spread that you would find at an HBCU. But unlike other HBCUs, Howard’s homecoming somehow became known nationwide as “the ultimate homecoming weekend” that literally shuts down parts of D.C. and sends residents running indoors like the air strikes of the 50’s. Biggie, Ludacris, The Game, and even Adina Howard have all mentioned HU’s homecoming in their song lyrics.

As a teenager I enjoyed walking the perimeters of the “Yard”, fantasizing about the fun and freedom of dorm life and the college experience. We may not have been old enough to attend anyone’s party but there was enough going on outside to fulfill our thirst for excitement. Freshman year of college- my friends and I came home the weekend of HU’s homecoming on the sneak tip and didn’t tell our parents. What fun we had! You couldn’t tell us nothin’. I still remember huggin the porcelain that Saturday night… oh what a mess! As a young adult, I have attended alumni parties here and there but the excitement has definitely slowly waned with the years.
This past weekend, HU homecoming was once again in full effect. The city was abuzz, as usual. There were at least twenty celebrity hosted parties happening each night. The Howard Bisons beat the North Carolina A&T Aggies, 35-20. My homegirl (we'll call her Tracy) who lives in Jersey came down and brought her niece and three of her niece’s friends. The niece and friends (we’ll call them the Brat Pack) were all seventeen or eighteen years old. Tracy wanted the Brat Pack to experience the college homecoming scene in hopes of evoking a yearning for higher education within their hearts. They had a chance to attend a couple of the homecoming events, the football game, and chilled on the Yard.

Unfortunately, it was our Saturday night stroll down the one and only Georgia Avenue that will forever be etched in the Brat Pack’s memories. Picture this: four blocks of black folks (mostly youngins) everywhere. I’m talking all over the sidewalks, standing in the streets, posted in the parking lots… Most of these folks are from the urrrea and don’t attend HU or any other university. A hood car show with every type of Caprice, Caddy, Lincoln, etc. you can name, freshly waxed, rolling at 3 seconds per hour so that you can admire their 24 inch rims while you feel the music reverberate throughout your chest. As we walked down the sidewalk, brothas to the left and the right hollerin “ay babay”, “what’s up shorty”, and “can I walk witchu?”

The Brat Pack was eating it up for the first 20 minutes. They’re young, beautiful, green as hell and the vultures could smell the fresh meat. The young ladies were teeheeheeing and cheesing and snapping pictures. My homegirl and I were a few feet behind them looking like somebody’s designated chaperone. Every once and again, we’d have to get a fool straight for comin out the mouth with something inappropriate. Within minutes, I had threatened to clock a sucka with the empty glass bottle in my hand. Tracy had to let some S.O.B. know that her husband is an officer with a license to carry a weapon, and that she was not afraid to shoot on his behalf. It was effin crazy! The Brat Pack started looking less impressed and more outraged. As we began our retreat to the car, two young girls no more than 16 years old started fighting. And when I say fighting, these chicks were scrappin. A mob rushed around them. The police came running from across the street. Effin crazy! These youngins ain’t even got no high school diploma and wanna come crashin a college homecoming with some ignorant shit! Not a damn shameful bone in their bodies… it’s really sad. An epidemic.

What was even sadder was the Brat Pack’s negative comments and feeling of defeat as we rode in the car that night. I hope they remember the pride they felt approaching the campus Friday morning rather than the despair felt as we left Saturday night. Maybe we should have attended University of Maryland’s homecoming instead…

My people.