The Emotional Gamut

This has been a tough week. I've ran the emotional gamut, a few times.

On Monday, I received an unbelievable, yet long desired call. An editor from a premier newswriting outfit in town called to offer me a position where I'll do an array of things (write news, sports and some copy editing).

I said yes on the spot. I didn't overwork myself because I'd recently been let down by a another prospective job opportunity, and it crushed me for a few days. So, I didn't want to get too high or low depending on the phone call. I remained reserved, even in telling my best friends. They seemed more excited than me, although I truly am reservedly ecstatic.

I guess I'm glad I didn't get too high because of the letdown that came next.

One of my fraternity brothers was killed in a carjacking in downtown Kansas City on Tuesday night. This brother, 25-year-old Brandon McDowel, and I weren't extremely close. But we crossed paths often enough to know each other and to have many of the same friends.

First, I saw statuses slowly change on Facebook. Then I turned on the news, and it hit me. There he was, a black male college graduate prepared to finish grad school and go to law school in the fall, dead at the hands of self-hate's perplexing plight.

In some people's eyes, he's now no more than a grim statistic like Sean Taylor, Darrent Williams and countless other 20-something black men reduced to earth far too early. But this was different. This hit home, literally. It could have been one of my line brothers who lived maybe two blocks away from where this happened a few years back. It could have been my brother. It could have been me.

So all you're left with are questions. Why him? Why now? Why do these people loathe life so much that they want to take it from others? And then there's only one conclusion to it all.

Make sure you tell everyone you love that you love them. Make sure they hear and feel your words even if, in a moment, they make you seem or feel like a sap. You put things in a unique perspective knowing full well that perspective won't necessarily stick.

On Wednesday, I rang one of my cousins, a fraternity brother as well, who was closer to the Brandon than I. We tried to make sense of it, and couldn't. So we reminded each other of the sentiments in the previous paragraph.

We tried to move past it, tried to talk about other things - my new job, the bar he works at, that he was leaving town in a few hours, the new downtown development and St. Patrick's Day. Anything to pull our thoughts momentarily away from the ignorance.

All of these thoughts, good and bad, and all I wanted to do was call Triple B, and run my gamut through her ear and her world. This was a hard week because of all of the things that happened, but also because I felt like I couldn't share it all with her, the person with whom I have the strongest connection.

I haven't had a bad week concerning Triple B since, well, it's been so long that I can't really remember. The last time I had this urge to make sure she knew I loved her - last year the day everything went down at Va. Tech - I dialed her and told her. But not this time. Doesn't quite seem right, but it's still weirded me out.

Didn't help much that Q-boog rambled on about a similar situation with a guy in her hometown of Milwaukee earlier this week, too. That conversation made me wonder if this situation with Triple B will ever fully end in my head. Yeah, Q-Boog's man problem is that (a decade-plus type) serious.

So just throw that situation on top.

Oh, a friend who is quickly becoming my best friend in KC is leaving for the Peace Corps in a month.

And I got featured in a picture on Stuff Educated Black People Like since I designed the header.

So, I've got a lot going on, a lot to think about (told ya). The funeral is in the morning. I'll be there, deep in thought, still trying to make since of it all. If you can, just say a prayer for me, my people here in Kansas City and those who revel in the ills of self-hate.

If there's one thing I knew immediately when I saw the story on Brandon, it's that self-hate is prevalent in our society and at the root at the majority of our problems. We need to find help for those who suffer from it because it tragically affects us all. Some times, it's a little closer to home unfortunately.

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Turtle Power!

While watching that Wayne Brady show, the one where people sing lines to pop songs for money, I realized something last night.

Wanya Morris from Boyz II Men looks like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. BIIM was on the show a celebrity contestants (their $500,000 song was "I'll Make Love To You. I think I'd go into $500,000 in debt to see them screw up their own song. Wait. No I wouldn't).

But this got me to thinking. Wanya isn't the only black celeb that fits the TMNT look. There's Mike Jones. Coming to this conclusion has me on a quest, a pursuit to find two other black celebs to play TMN Turtles.

I've already figured that Wanya would have to be Michaelangelo because of how loud and annoying he can be. Mike Jones is Raphael because, well because he's a rapper, and he's supposed to be "hard."

I need a Leonardo and a Donatello. Thus, I need a leader-type turtle-looking black celeb and one who is forever in deep thought and inventive. Any suggestions?

Oh, Katt Williams will play Splinter.

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On Women

I love women. As you know, I have more female than male friends. But that still doesn't mean that women don't do things that annoy (the hell outta) me at times. I have lived with three different women (four if you included the exorbitant hours I spent with Triple B back in the day).

Through my experiences, I have a compiled a list of the things that I absolutely loathe about women. For the woman whom I marry, this might be a great guideline for things not to do to piss me off.

This list is not complete. But as I think of something new, I will post it and add it. This list may help you in some small way with your man or in your pursuit of him. Bros., if you have something to gripe about, please comment.

1. Women don't ask questions. They imply things, and want you to do it without having to ask. Problem is, we mean aren't that aloof, and this game gets annoying. Don't say "I want (blah, blah, blah)" and expect me to get "blah, blah, blah" or do "blah, blah, blah," then get upset because I don't. If there is something you want from or of me, ASK please.

2. Toilet paper usage. Women use toilet paper as though there is an endless supply No woman should ever complain to a man about buying toilet paper. My wife, whoever she maybe will be responsible for toilet paper like I am to cutting the grass.

3. The trash. I don't mind taking it out. But if that shit stinks, and it stinks because of you, do not, and I repeat, do not leave that funk there for more than 15 minutes just for me to take it out. I will be pissed. Repeat. I will be pissed. If you fill the trash can up an hour after I have just emptied it, best believe you will also need to take it out.

4. Lifetime/Golden Girls. Do not expect me to watch either of these with you, the network or this show. I refuse. I would rather play in traffic sans clothing and see how long it is before I'm arrested than watch a Lifetime movie. Golden Girls was a good show. Operative word: was.

5. Attacking below the belt. In arguments, do not bring up things you shouldn't or use tactics that are hurtful and irrational in concerns with what we are arguing about. Most men do not think like this. We're rational creatures who, while we may do some irrational things, know when we're wrong even when we won't admit it. We don't need you to take cheap shots at us.

6. Weave. Nails and pedicures are fine. Weave? It will not grow on me. I mean never. Question? Have you ever engaged in a sexual act with a woman with a weave and tried to grasp her head or pull her hair only to feel as though there are abnormal growths on her head? Yeah, been there, done that. Never again (I hope). I understand some black women want their hair to grow, and wearing a weave can help that process. But just rocking one just cause? Dude, be you. Nothing against you if that's what you choose to do. Just a personal belief of my own.

7. Plastic surgery. I hold this one dear, especially for a black woman (and man) who wants to reconstruct her face by altering her nose. It's the same nose that the was knocked off of the Sphinx outside of the Pyramid of Giza, and we've devalued it in search of something universal. Be unique. I could go on for days about this one (and I have before). I'm even working on a piece about this issue. I might post it within the next week or so.

Don't worry, like I said, this list will grow with time. Women, I still love you.

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Revisiting the Resolutions

I've gotta get away from politics again. Sorry. I'll get back at the self-made black problem answers tomorrow. Today, though, let's go somewhere else.

Let's look back at my New Year's Resolutions. I figure that since I blogged about them, the best way to keep them up is check on them at the end of each month. So, that's what I'm gonna do.

1. Find a new job. I'm currently waiting on a second interview for a good-paying gig that I know I'll enjoy. When (If) I get it, you'll be the first to know, aside from the Moms. Oh, I also got the applications that I've been working on for over a month done finally. Yes, I job application one actually must put some thought into, walk away from and then come back. Imagine that. I hope I get an interview for the position.



2. Be a better friend to my good friends. I've talked to most of them. Reconnect with about four that I hadn't talked to in a few months. Went out to dinner with a few.

3. Get to 199. still got about 20 lbs to go. I've gotta start working out consistently.

4. Write three poems a week. I'm gonna scale this back to two. This one is hard because I have to have inspiration to go there, and be in front of computer (my memory sucks).

5. Finish, perfect, then actively shop my screenplay. So this is a work in progress. But I came up with the PERFECT re-scripted ending. It's floating in my mind, I just have to put it on that wax. Also, I need to refine a few scenes and then edit the entire thing. Then I can start shopping it.

6. Completely remove the word Nigga from my vocab, and get off the sailboat. Umm, I've censored myself about 90 percent of the time, which is good for me. I'm weening myself off as though these negative words were squares. Slowly but surely.

7. Read a book a month. I'm about to finish Souled Out. It's an interesting read. Not as good as I would have liked though. Not solution-oriented for the problems it presents. But it's definitely thought provoking.

8. Less TV. It's off now. But I wonder what's gonna happen when the good television starts back up? (Girlfriends and The Game, specifically).

That's one month, and I guess I'm doing okay. The top three are the most important right now, and I'm making some progress.

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Interlude: A Wait for Change

Ed's Note: A quick break from the previously scheduled series for this special announcement.

Obamanation 2008 Hits Kansas City

Each turn led us in the opposite direction of the Barack Obama rally site, and toward some other winding turn. Some of these halls, I didn’t even know they existed. We probably walked half a mile underneath downtown Kansas City while moving at a centimeter-a-minute pace.

Photo borrowed from a great photog named Jamie Cox, who apparently got a little closer to Barack than I did.

But on this night, we resolved to walk through those halls underneath Municipal Auditorium inch by inch in an organized manner and through security to hear the man who has the audacity to hope in person.


I can’t tell you how many people (somewhere in the thousands) I followed in line just to get to see Barack Obama. I can’t tell you how many people made it in after me. What I do know is that it was worth the two-hour-plus wait.

See, this country has been waiting - patiently and impatiently - for about 40 years, waiting to hear a voice that moved our American people the way John F. Kennedy did. Waiting to hear a voice that dared us to dream the way Martin Luther King, Jr. did. Waiting to hear a voice that carried us through doubtful times the way RFK was forced to do.

I heard that voice on Tuesday night in Kansas City. I saw a people – mixed with white, brown and black faces, young, younger and old bones, women and men – who earnestly believed the words coming from that voice. The voice, of course, belonged to Barack Obama.

He grazed over all of the important issues – from healthcare to ill-equipped inner-city schools systems to social security to the war in Iraq. He borrowed a phrase from Dr. King, saying he was running because of what Dr. King called “the fierce urgency of now,” concerning these issues. He discussed what he plans to do to right the wrongs of the last seven years and the ignorance that is Washington.

"We are at a defining moment in our history," Obama said. "Our nation is at war. Our planet is in peril and the dream that so many generations fought for feels like it's slowly slipping away.

"We cannot wait to fix our schools. We cannot wait to fix a broke health care system. We cannot wait to bring an end to global warming. We cannot wait to bring this war in Iraq to a close."

And while that mean plenty, hearing him say these things in person seemed to matter little. Obama’s greatest strength lies in his ability to make you believe. You could see the sincerity in his eyes. You could hear the truth in his words. You could feel his ability to make light of important matters while still speaking candidly.

He joked about being distant cousins with Dick Cheney, and how he was thankful that, even though they're kin, Cheney’s name wouldn’t be on the ballot on Super Tuesday. Same with George Bush. Obama heard the random shouts of impatient listeners, and responded on cue. He recited the Pledge of Allegiance in response to people who claim that he doesn’t even know it.

And, of course, he spoke about change, the focal point of his campaign. He spoke so much about change that I kidded with a fellow supporter that Obama should make Michael Jackson’s “Man in the Mirror” song his campaign anthem.

But it made sense (Think: “I’m starting with the man in the mirror…” and "...make that change"). Obama declared that change is not about him, that it’s not about a top-down mentality. Rather, he said each person must decide he or she has the audacity to hope, and take those hopes to the next level. Then work toward achieving the dreams and goals of this nation.

“Change in America never happens from the top down,” Obama said. “It happens from the bottom up. It happens because ordinary people decide to do extraordinary things. It happens because we’re a decent and generous people willing to work hard and sacrifice for future generations.”

It’s the kind of hope the majority of us who trudged along in line at a snail’s pace for a few hours had just to hear him speak. It’s the kind of hope this nation needs to have embedded in its leader. Most important, it’s the kind of hope we need for tomorrow.

I don’t hate or even dislike Hillary Clinton. I don’t even loathe or seriously dislike John McCain. If you choose either of them, it’s your right and more power to you. I won't think ill of you. But I can tell you this much, on Tuesday night in Kansas City, I heard the voice of a man who gives us the best chance for positive change in America, and his name is Barack Obama.

And I can’t even complain about the super long wait and slow winding walk, because it was worth it every minute.

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A1: The Black Family

To be honest, I can't quite say I know exactly how to absolve Black America of its greatest problems. On a grand scale, that's damn near impossible.

No one man has the ability to move our people, and rarely, if ever, has he. In the 50s and 60s there was Martin Luther King. But there was also Malcolm X and Muhammad Ali, who subscribed to different beliefs about how to correct the ills of society. They had unique followings.

Now we have new "leaders," and I put that in parenthesis for a reason. Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson are about the closest thing to leaders that we've had in some time. They both have their flaws - the main one being their desire to align themselves with causes that permit them to line their pockets.

Some (including Toni Morrison) once heralded Bill Clinton a champion for the black man. Clinton finds himself fighting for his wife against Barack Obama for the Democratic presidential nomination. And Obama, and yes, I hope he wins the race. But say he does win, will Obama have enough power, as president of these United States, to bring about positive change concerning the issues I listed in my last post?

I doubt it.


Yet in still, here are the ideas I have for each of the problems I briefly discussed yesterday. If you don't know I believe one of our biggest issues is that we just lament our issues, and don't come up with ideas for solutions. Here's No. 1.

1. The Black Family. How do we, as a people, turn right the negative ills that have befallen the black family? I think the first step is to stop putting ourselves in positions where a family is broken before it's formed. Stop having children out of wedlock.

The marital bond was put in place for good reason. And the numbers show that the children who are born in stable, two-parent homes are more apt to succeed in school and life versus children born out of wedlock. This by no means says you can't raise a successful child as a single parent. It just says that the odds are against you.

On another front, our males must, and I mean must, be men instead of grown children. Be there for your seeds. They need you. Work with your child's mother for the child's best interests. Monitor what your children get involved in at a young age. On Friday I met a seven-year-old (white) kid who has a Facebook account. This should not happen. Be better parents and adults.

On another level, a lot of our families have been built on the traditions established by grandparents. They defined stability for most of us. Family gatherings, holidays and even birthdays centered around the grandparents. As some of them have passed, families' structures have fallen apart because there's no one there to continue the traditions we grew up with. Someone needs to step up, and continue to instill these necessary values in our children and give them that invaluable bonding time so they see the importance of family, so they know their family.

This isn't something that can be done on a universal level. It's a man by man, family by family situation that must be met head on by each family. No one man can say, "black families be better" or enact a law that forces people to do right in this situation. We have to desire to do right by our kinfolk, then do it.

Okay, I'm going to do this day by day. Tomorrow will be solution No. 2: The Black Soul.

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Back to Black

So, we're back here again. Contemplating the issues in Black America. Wondering how we right what's wrong. But this time there's a twist. In the conversation I had with Wildcat-Squared last night, I told her while name her three biggest problems in Black America, she had to name problems of blacks created by blacks that can be fixed by blacks, i.e. no other races are allowed in the discussion.

I've been on this kick about not blame other races and the establishment for things we can control/fix. I'm subscribing to this new thought: "People who overemphasize the victim mentality don't dream. They live nightmares."

It's a line I came up with while considering a lot of things: King's I Have A Dream speech, A Raisin in the Sun and A Dream Deferred to be specific.

Here are the problems I came up with. In the next post, I'll give my solutions to each of the problems. Here goes:

1. The Black Family. I can take this a million directions. The rise of teen pregnancy, the crack epidemic, children born out of wedlock, the lack of positive examples, high divorce rates. Take your pick. All have had their effect on Black America. But now more than ever we're seeing the results of about 30 years of worsening conditions. Kids don't respect their elders because they don't know them. We used to be raised in communities where the neighbor could whoop that ass if you stepped out of line, and none of that exists now. The Huxtables are a myth, and the black family damn near no longer exists.

2. The Black Soul. I'm just finishing Souled Out? by Shaun Powell of the Newsday. It's an interesting read about how blacks in sports have lost what's most important - their souls. Now I'm going to take it a step further. Black society has souled out almost as a whole. Everything is about cars, cash and jewelry. From our black celebrities to the common man, everyone is looking to flash a little too much, and find the next dollar to flash a little more. All the while, few are tending to their souls. Few value the importance of making the right decisions over the $ight decisions. We have to get back to what's important at all levels - from the common man to the Russell Simmons of the world.

3. Black on Black Hate. Sean Taylor. Antione Walker. Darrent Williams. Jamaal Tinsley. Need I say more? Why do we not appreciate the gains of another black man, and applaud them? Why must we try to bring him down. It used to be that people would talk bad about the black man with the college degree. Now, not only do they talk bad about him, they rob him. They seek out the rich black athletes and rob them. This may be the most complex of the issues because it deals with the other two I've listed.

So those are the self-created problems I think are slowing progress within Black America. Wildcat-Squared only differed with one problem. She added the idea of how blacks tend to mishandle money. It's an important issue. I think it weaves itself in with my second problem sorta. But then again, money is a major part of that one. Anyway, those are the issues. I'll come at you tomorrow with my solutions.

Then I probably going to come with three problems created/manufactured by the establishment.

Out.

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Vic Damone and the Old White Man

Before I jump into a story, I have a thought.

I know that most of the free world is wondering "Why Heath Ledger? Why not Britney?"

I have the simple answer. Did you see the over done coverage of Ledger on television yesterday? Now imagine if Britney overdosed. Barack, Hillary and McCain wouldn't be seen on the tube for weeks.
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I got up to go back to the HyVee salad bar for seconds. That salad bar is my favorite lunch spot. Just $5 for all you might possibly want in a salad and fruit, and then some.

Anyway, that's neither here nor there. So I get up to head back to the bar for some fruit, and this elderly white man speaks to me before I can take a step. He had to be at least 80 or so.

"Hello," he says.

I respond by asking him how he's doing. I told him I'd be right back, that I was just going to get some water. And that's what I did, skip the fruit. I was curious as to where our talk might go.

So I came right back, and what followed was one of the more intriguing conversations I've ever engaged in as an adult.

You see, I had my computer out so I could finish a few things up. He questioned why I had the computer, and said "I couldn't work any of that stuff no matter how hard I tried."

"If you gave me the time time I could teach you," I said.

My cell phone start chirping. It was a text message about a business meeting I had scheduled.

"And those things, what ever happened to just talking to people, like we're doing here," he question? "I guess our generation are just supposed to be different."

"That they are. "

"In my day, it was all about face to face communication. You talked to people, like we're doing."

"I still subscribed to that."

"But most people don't. What went wrong?"

Of course I had an answer.

"I think people go to college and understand that they're in a progressive environment, and they could talk to anyone. I know that's how I felt. I probably met 100 people my first two days at school. But when you leave that environment and head to back to the real world, you realize it's not as inviting. People close up. They're guarded."

"I can see that," he said. "But I just don't see how people just don't talk to each other. It's not hard."

It's certainly not.

Ed's Note: Part two of the conversation comes tomorrow.

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The Truth About ...

... Love.

To respond to a statement I heard long ago, the idea of love is perfect. The definition of love we're are given makes perfect sense.

But we humans, we’re far from it. We screw the definition up. We’re not perfected in love because we fear. We fear making mistakes (which makes us make them). We fear each other. We fear harm. We fear death. Trepidation fails us in our quest to realize the only true answer to a perfected love.

In love you cannot fear and you cannot regret. You give without reciprocation. You stay still in moments of despair and in rough waters.

The definition is flawless, if you choose to understand/translate it (see 1 Corinthians, Chapter 13 and 1 John, Chapter 4 - really all of 1 John). Choosing to live the definition is the problem.

We live in a world full of temptation and sin, and we succumb with regularity. Per our choices, we choose to love in the wrong way. We love money (the root of all evil), the wrong people, jobs, cars, clothes, hair. There are countless others.

We choose these circumstances, thus choosing to love the wrong things. The key here: love is a choice. It's something we do, not necessarily something we feel. Love is an action, thus how we reference someone's love for us, through what they do for us. Not what they say, feel or think. What they do. What we do.

Do we make the wrong decisions? Yes. Do we spiral in the wrong direction at times because of those decisions? For sure. But the opportunity to make the right choice, to step into the light is always there.

This is something I'm just realizing for myself on a certain level.

See, love will test you, but it will not pull you apart by your heartstrings. Our wrong decisions do that, especially when we know right from wrong. It's like playing Russian Roulette with a loaded gun, you always lose.

At least that's what I've learned. That's at least my truth.

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Sometimes, Envy Can Be Sweet

Heathclaire asked me to meet her at the mall on Wednesday so we could have a simple dinner at Panera after she got her nails done.

"Fair enough," I thought of the harmless trip and meal. But as I pulled into the mall parking lot, I realized what I got myself into. The mall was packed as though it were the day after Thanksgiving or the day before Christmas.

No, I didn't forget Wednesday was Halloween. I just forgot that parents and their costumed children raid the mall for all the candy corporations wish to doll out.

At first, it annoyed me. It took me 10 minutes to find a parking spot. When I got in the mall, all of the people and little people caused me to get lost in a place I walk around once a week. Weird, I know.

Then I started thinking about the kids. I thought about how if they took three trips around the mall they should probably get enough candy to last a year. Then I thought about how they'd probably eat all of the candy in 72 hours because they know little to no restraint.

Then I thought about the their innocence, and started overthinking. I got hooked on the idea of why children are important.

There are so many children out there who can be labeled as "unplanned" or "mistakes." I'm one. But seeing this kids made me realizes what their parents are supposed to get out of making life through a so called unplanned mistake.

The innocence and the purity of the children I saw Wednesday night represented all that's right with the world, and what we should strive for even as we press on toward being omniscient.

The children give us reason to hope and believe the mistakes we make as adults won't be made by their generation (though oddly enough, they make them, too).

But it (almost) made me want children right now. Not that I have someone I want children with (which is vitally important). I could see how having kids would motivate me to have to do right at all times because the innocence and purity of another person depended on me. Most of the bad habits would fall by the wayside.

And then I thought to myself, "Self, you need to be doing this for you anyway."

As Heathclaire and I made our way into Panera finally, I ran into a high school classmate of mine. I couldn't remember his name offhand. But we exchanged pleasantries and names (again).

Then he asked me what I was doing, and I gave him the obvious answer.

"Surviving."

I returned the question, and he gave me the obvious answer.

"Man, just chasing these kids around. Do you have any?"

"Nah, man. I'm waiting until I've got the picket fence and the right woman before drop my seed," I replied.

Jason, who is married with a 7-year-old and another on the way, smiled, dapped me up and said "Dude, that's the way to do it. Wait as long as you can."

I knew what he meant, but at the same time, I kinda envied him.

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Buildings

This world is fucked up like Tyson is
We’ve tattooed its face
Disgraced what its maker’s created
Burnt it down like Rison’s
Home can’t be found
Because my heart is a part
From the depth of my sound
Resounding in corners
Where coroners
Are cornering
The cause of the effects
In our streets,
buildings keep rising
Condo owners are advertising
Our streets, they poltergeising
And I’m surmising
That they’re building these buildings
On the backs of our cause, B
Cause we let’em
Heartbeats momentarily pause, Regretting
them mishaps from yesteryear
Sure, Yesterday’s near,
But when your soul’s in the proper place
Tomorrow’s in the clear
Everclear of what Reagan and Bush did
Don’t worry, they’ll be crackin like a snitch
Before Jehovah and his kid
The first will be last,
And they’ll have to follow our lead
We’ll watch their monuments fall
On this we can’t agree.
To disagree that the egregious aggressions
Of those men could be colorblind blessings
Lessons for us to learn from
Oppression for us to yearn from
Professions for us to churn from
See I’m professing
That we stop regressing
And start suppressing
These pressing issues
And begin to issue anew agenda
Stop making babies like Brenda
Quit fighting over spoiled milk
This is the referenda
Because our body could be good
Together,
We could up-end,
What they ended up screwing
I know the message been brewing
But eschewing this issue any longer
Will prevent our sons from accruing
What’s been in store
For scores upon scores
Yeah, we deserve and want more
But we’ve gotta work together
To make it better
so scores in store
won’t have to implore
the same broken record that’s been ignored
for so long
Before we say so long
Let’s make this promise lifelong
to teach each other
to reach each other
to feed each other
to build each other
before they tear us down, too.

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Peaks and Valleys: Falling From Grace

While talking about the Mike Vick saga again, a friend and I started to consider if there were any other bigger black collapses. We came up with an intriguing list of the 15 greatest falls from black grace. To make the list, you either lost a lot of money, did something mad stupid, ended up in jail or something along similar lines.

But the key is the people listed had to be on top of their game at some point. We’re starting at the bottom and going to the top, or should that be the other way around? Who knows?

There are a few Joneses and Barrys, a couple of Marions and Roberts, the Godfather of Soul, the self-proclaimed King of R&B and far too many Mikes. But first we'll start with the dishonorable mentions.

Dishonorable Mention: Darryl Strawberry, Dwight Gooden, Suge Knight, Isaiah Washington, Terry McMillan, Lil Kim and Wesley Snipes.

No. 15: Star Jones – She lied to us. She said she lost the weight through hard work, even though we knew she lost it through her wallet and surgery. For lying about something so major for no reason, she gets a spot on this list above the druggies, bullies, homophobes and psychos.

No. 14: James Brown – The Godfather of Soul had a few falls from grace, a few spats with drugs and the law. But most recently his body lay in house for an extended period of time as his family members struggled about what to do with it because he didn’t redo his will.

No. 13: Marion Jones - Once considered the fast woman in the world, we learned why she was just that in federal indictments alleging she used performance-enhancing drugs. Her then-husband CJ Hunter was suspended from the track for using drugs, and she probably was right there with him. She then went on to date and birth a child with sprinter Tim Montgomery, who also succumbed to steroid use and scandal. Oh, yeah, Marion also lost all of her money and had to sell three properties including her mom’s crib to raise cash.

No. 12: Ron Isley – Mr. Biggz evaded paying his taxes since before he made “Between the Sheets.” He also took his dead brother’s money. Ron also recorded and performed a song written by R. Kelly named “Contagious.” The lyrics are disgusting if you really listen to them. Your contagious/touch me baby/give me what you’ve got. Really?

No. 11: MC Hammer – Helped run the Oakland Athletics as a child, but didn’t learn about money management from owner Charlie Finley. Hammer blew up, put everybody on the payroll and went bankrupt.

No. 10: Marion Barry – “The bitch set me up.” Former District of Columbia Mayor was caught with crack cocaine and a woman in a hotel room in 1990 while still in office. He stepped down as Mayor but was re-elected in 1995. We are a forgiving nation. There’s hope Mike Vick.

No. 9: Barry Bonds – “Accused” of using performance-enhancing drugs to improve his play on the baseball field even though he was already a lock for the Hall of Fame. This happened under Baseball Owners and Bud Selig watch, and they didn’t disapprove. Broke sports most hallowed record, the home run record, this summer.

No. 8: Master P – In 1999, he was worth more than $350 million. In 2004, he filed for bankruptcy. Three-hundred and fifty-million plus. Seriously? But he’s bankrolling off of Lil Romeo still.

No. 7: Condoleezza Rice – She’s smart as can be and an accomplished pianist, but she is also George W. Bush’s No. 1 go-getta. Need I say more?

No. 6: Whitney Houston/Bobby Brown – Their fates are tied together. He started falling before he reached his peak (and he did peak with the Don’t Be Cruel album), and when they got married, he brought her down with him. She called him the King of R&B. Then the television show. Drugs marriage, and coonery are a lethal mix.

No. 5: Michael Jackson – Even if he didn’t do anything to that little boy, Mike is mad crazy. Funny thing about him is that if he announced and booked a 30-city US tour, it would sell out in a week, and grown women would still pass out.

No. 4: Robert Kelly – What we said about Mike is almost true with Kells. Most of have seen what “the person alleged to be Robert Kelly” did in those tapes to that girl who looked a little to young to be “ready to go all the way.” But we still bump his music like we did back in 1992 when Twelve Play first dropped.

No. 3: Mike Vick – Stands to lose over $100 million in salary and endorsements because of his dogfighting scandal. Will likely be spend a year in jail, and be suspended for the next two NFL seasons.

No. 2: Mike Tyson – Got his ass whooped by Buster Douglas. Was convicted of rape. He lost hundreds of millions of dollars because of it. Let’s not forget that he bit a chunk of Evander Holyfield’s ear off, told Lennox Lewis he wanted to eat his children and then tattooed half of his face.

No. 1: OJ Simpson – Do I really need to go here?

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Do we all look that much alike?

Thursday night is always a fool, a tomfool to be specific. See, a couple of my old co-workers from a friendly neighborhood paper have started this tradition where every Thursday night we go to one of my favorite bars in Kansas City, Tomfooleries.

It's my favorite bar because I met Mark McGwire there a year after he broke the home run record (also a few years before everyone started to believe he was on roids). I was an innocent 19-year-old, and I thought that bar was the coolest place in the city. I vowed to return there often sans my mother when I came of age.

Anyway, last night turned out to be a little pre-birthday (It's on Saturday) bash of sorts. In all about 10 people I'm really close to or cool with came out to partake in our weekly tradition.

One of my friends told the waiter that it was my birthday, and at the Fool, they do things differently. They don't come and sing to you and bring you a nice dessert.

No. Your waitperson brings you a Twinkie with a sparkler in it.

So as I turned and saw the sparkler, I knew what it was. After all, I'd experienced this from the "it's somebody else's b-day" perspective a few times.

I knew the Twinkie was headed for me. But no. Somehow the waiter decided the only other black guy, we'll call him Perez, at the table was the "birthday guy," even though my friend clearly stated that it was me (not to mention when she told the waiter about my birthday Perez wasn't even at the bar yet).

I immediately put my head on one of my friends shoulders and started bugging up. The waiter finally realized his mistake and hastily moved the Twinkie, the sparkle halfway fizzled out in front of me.

As I laughed the ignorance off, all I could think to myself was "damn, they really do think we all look alike."

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Breaking News ...

The first draft of Tryangles, my ode to that thing we call black love in screenplay format, is complete. More than 15,000 words of confusion, infidelity and love.

It's been several months since this idea first started brewing in my head, and it's been about a month since I started writing. But it's done, (Ha finuto, if you're speaking Italian. That's the only phrase I actually remember.) and I really feel good about it.

That's all I can say right now. I'm definitely not posting anything else about it (as to not actually give away any of the plot). But I'm after I go through it two or three more times and have a few people I trust look at it, I'm going to try to get some agents on game because I believe that it's what black cinema needs, a black movie that shows us in a light away from the negative images constantly cast into society.

I've got plenty of work to do now. But I think the hard part is over. My thoughts are actually flushed out on paper, and it feels amazing!

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The Big Forehead

Tyra Banks once served as a standard, the most beautiful woman in the world on an average day.

I never understood it. On her best days, in her best shoots, her head often took the shape of one of the aliens that nearly took over the world in the film Independence Day, a look that never appealed to me.

I couldn’t understand it. How could someone with a lopsided, melon-shaped head be the most attractive woman in the world? A big cranium surely should be the downfall of a woman’s looks. Not the beckoning call of her beauty. I mean, these are the same girls we call “bighead” in the fifth grade. How did they become God’s gift to man?

Then I started to think. Almost every woman I’d give a score higher than an 8 had one thing in common: the patented Tyra forehead.

Some were symmetrical, and others well, they were imperfect like Tyra’s. But for some unfounded reason, I still found them to be the ones who I endeared myself to most often.

So I decided to make a list of the plausible reasons men are innately attracted to the big forehead like the female peacock is to the male with the most beautiful array of feathers.

No. 1: Most of the girls I know with big heads are smart. Maybe there’s some sort of correlation to smarts and the actual size of the head.

No. 2: It’s nearly impossible to screw up the forehead kiss.

No. 3: If you somehow screw up the forehead kiss, you can blame it on the fact that you had entirely too much head to find the perfect spot to place the peck.

No. 4: If someone calls your woman big headed (full of herself), you can actually take that as a compliment.

No. 5: Because Tyra Banks has one. Anything Tyra has, we men seem to be attracted to it.

No. 6: If you get one of these women to fall in love with you, you’ve got a leg up on the rest of us because these aliens are about to take over the world.

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Real Man of Genius

Chris Rock is genius. Okay, maybe a comedic genius. See, the way he frames serious issues in a satirical way is a gift, an art. Rock forces you to think about these matters in a manner no one would otherwise see.

In one of his best rants, he chastises the presidency for creating societal fodder in various incidents to keep our “minds off the war.” He jokes that Bush sent the girl to Kobe’s room in Colorado; that Bush was responsible for Lacy Peterson’s death; and that Bush sent that little boy to the Neverland Ranch.

Oddly, it’s almost an accurate portrayal of our American society, and I wonder how this affects the attention we devote toward the issues that should garner the majority of our attention.

Here’s a sample.

Paris goes to jail. Lindsay Lohan racks up her 37^th DUI. Don Imus uses the term “nappy headed ho.” Isaiah Washington says the word “faggot” in reference to a co-worker. Eddie Murphy attempts to be the biggest star needing to take a seat on Maury Povich’s couch.

There are a million quasi-important things we can – and do – indulge in daily. Rarely, do we ever focus on the most important issues. Rarely, do the idiocy and buffoonery we pay so much attention actually take their proper place.

Along State Line Road, a street which separates Kansas and Missouri, sits a house with a slew of American flags in its yard. I haven’t stopped to count seeing that might cause a wreck.

Thankfully, there’s a number in the yard representing the flags’ meaning. This number changes with the growing death toll of American soldiers in our Middle East conflicts.

That number is above 3,000. If you haven’t noticed, that total is greater than the number who passed on 9/11/2001 in New York City and Washington D.C. And for what? Because we “received faulty information about weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.“

Back here on the home front, we’re more consumed with making sure Paris Hilton remains in lockdown for her full sentence and what she has to say afterward on Larry King Live.

A few weeks ago, Michael Vick was indicted on federal dog-fighting charges, and things started to fall in a unique, but weird perspective. I realized our federal government and our American society have made it a high priority to pursue people who fight dogs rather than aid issues of far greater importance (and I’m not saying this shouldn’t have some importance at all). But it has snowballed into our next great not-so-veiled racial debate. White and black are somehow pointing fingers at each other at protests outside of Atlanta Falcons training camp over Michael Vick and dogs, a topic deserving of its own discussion.

You could drown in the coverage of Vick and his alleged mishaps. And it’s not going away anytime soon.

This got me thinking: Maybe Chris Rock was right. Maybe the feds really do create things people will deem important to keep what should be at the heart of the public perspective at bay. Then I thought again: “That’s impossible. The federal government wouldn’t do that.”

Then I remembered, this is the same federal government that is in its fifth year of pursuing Barry Bonds, the famed baseball player who just broke this country’s most hallowed sports record. Really, how long, and how much tax-payer money, does it take to figure out whether or not someone told a white lie? That should be the beginning of a bad joke, not societal fodder.

But it is, and it’s what we talk about. And because we banter about such frivolous things that are put before us by a dollar-driven media and the government, the number I occasionally drive by on State Line Road continues growing. And Chris Rock’s words seem more ingenious.

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Are Dogs More Important Than People?

I went out with two vastly different sets of friends on succeeding days last week. Last Thursday, I ended up out with some newspaper colleagues and on Friday I went to happy hour with some of my fraternity brothers and other friends.

One topic came up during both outings, Michael Vick and dogfighting. One of my newspaper colleagues, a white male, nearly came to tears when speaking about the incidents described in the indictment. Likening dogs to children, he couldn't believe someone could be so blatantly cruel to a helpless animal. Conversely, the other party, a mostly black contingency, concurred with a unifying theme: "they're just dogs."

During the last week or so, I've been listening intently to the different arguments on both sides of this issue on a national level, and most of those people pontificating on this subject don't believe that this has anything to do with race. But after thinking it through, I believe race is at this saga's center.

Before I continue, I have to say that in no way do I condone anything related to the slayings/killings of animals for shear enjoyment. Aside for self defense, killing is wrong. If Mike Vick or any of his co-defendants were involved in the activities depicted in the indictment they deserve to be punished accordingly.

That said, we live in a world where greyhound dogs are raced on a track, and betting is legally allowed. The greyhounds that don't run up to the standards of their owners are often put down or killed. There are piles of put-down racing dogs behind veterinary offices outnumbering those found buried on Mike Vick's property.

We also live in a world where people hunt and kill deer for the sheer enjoyment of the "sport," and hang the deer heads on their walls as trophies. These things are legal.

Why? I'm certain that most keen black people in America will tell you because it's something that rich white men deem appropriate and socially acceptable.

But barbaric dog fighting is bottom barrel and inexcusable (and it should be along with killing greyhounds because they don't run fast and hunting animals for enjoyment). PETA, the Humane Society and the government officials who speak out against the idea of people doing such egregious things to animals need to be making a simultaneous push right now against all of these sanctioned entities of animal cruelty just as vigorously as they are pursuing Mike Vick.

But they won't. You know why? Because these things make rich white men richer.

One of my black friends brought up an interesting point toward the end of the conversation.

"I think Vick is definitely in the wrong," he said. "But you know what it looks like this witch hunt says about America? It looks like white people care more about dogs than they do about black people. I mean, there are so many other things that the federal government should be concerned about. Not making Michael Vick the poster boy for dog fighting."

A few interesting statistics I saw in a story the other day: 40 percent of those incarcerated are black males. Four percent of those in college are black males. Now, who is to blame for these facts?

It makes you understand why there seems to be a racial divide on this issue.

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Your heart is true ...

I've become a bad blogger. I used to give you two to three posts a week. Then life kind of happened. It was already going on, but I just kinda got mad busy. But anyways, as always, I'm going to try to be better about this.

Here are a few thoughts running through my mind:

I loved Transformers and Ratatouille, though the later bothered me some when it first started. Ratatouille is the movie about the cooking rat, but it started off as though it were about a family of rats who were black slaves in the 1800s with references to rats "not being able to read" and the rats taking a trip on an "underground" waterway. I wonder if anyone else noticed this. Beyond that it was a good film.
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I had two very drunken encounters this week, one was justifiable. On Independence Day, I forgot to eat before I started drinking, and that led to black spots in my evening and a two-day hangover. Ugh.

I swore off alcohol for at least a month. But I didn't last 72 hours.

On Saturday, seven of the nine of my line brothers (or pledge class) were in Kansas City. A few of us got together, and it was an ignorant, but great time. I felt like I didn't have much of a choice but to enjoy the time with the fellas. At least I ate, and didn't have any semblance of a hangover when I woke up the next morning.

The one bad thing I did do was have a Red Bull and Vodka. I think I only got two hours of sleep before I woke up and couldn't fall back into my slumber.

No matter, though. I'm still taking a prolonged break from alcohol. Approximately, a month.
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One of my good friends ended an AIM conversation with me last night by typing "thank you for being a friend."

She was in a bad moment, and I didn't want to laugh, but I couldn't help it because the theme song to the Golden Girls started running through my mind.

Hopefully you get the title because of this last bit. If you didn't, good for you. That means you had your head in a book and probably didn't watch too much television as a child as I did.

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Amass a grave

A mass grave for 33
Dug by a man whose soul couldn’t be saved
By a conclave of priests
Besieged about by 27,000 angels.
From a distance we try finding
A new angle and reasoning from these news providers
Who often do little but divide us,
But on this issue they can’t.
You see, death preceded ignorance
Equals mass murder and that’s
Something we shouldn’t accept
So we tune in to our tubes like vegetation receiving nourishment from the ground,
And all we see is chaos surround a more chaotic mess
And still no reason.
No rationale for why a man would want to take so many lives and then his own,
A genuine situation where hindsight is really 20/400.
So we type in a few more dotcoms,
And still no understanding as to why except a Psalm,
That says: lean not.
So, instead we pray
And hope that our prayers our felt
Hundreds of miles away
Where the hysteria first began
And will reside for countless days.
No, we can’t touch you
But we grieve with you just the same.
We, too, turn our heads toward the sky.
Repeatedly asking why?
“Why, did this have to go this way?”
Why can’t we just amass a grave
for all of the hatred in this world
and bury it with the ignorance from which it is dispensed?
Of when that day will come,
I'm surely not convinced.

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Random Things Going on in My Mind

1. Someone has stayed on my case constantly, and convinced me to finish this book that I started writing two years ago. I just don't know when I'm going to find the time to do it.

2. I feel like my life is swamped working ft and freelancing.

3. I have two very, very good and different ideas for movie scripts. I have 15 pages written for one .... and the other, well, nothing yet. But it's a brilliant idea, and no I will not post it.

4. I'm listening to my favorite soundtrack, What Women Want, to get me through the day.

5. I ran into my ghost line brother yesterday, which was quite eerie considering that my line's anniversary was Sunday.

6. I hate Musiq Soulchild's new album, LuvanMusiq, and feel as though he hasn't made a good album since his second one. I also wish he'd learn how to spell.

7. My tournament brackets are doing okay at the moment.

8. I saw an advanced screening of Chris Rock's new movie I Think I Love My Wife last night. I'd give it a B-, but an A for comedy. the best line in the movie: "You'll lose a lot of money chasing after women, but you won't lose a woman chasing after money."

9. This has been the longest work day ever. It's probably because I've averaged 5.5 hours of not-so-good sleep a night this week. I believe it's mounted on my shoulders.

10. I need a drink. Make that two.

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