Smarty Pants: Are You Sure You’re a Business Analyst?

Gorgeous: Smarty Pants asked me if I thought she should wear a mask to protect herself from the swine flu. Her friends were telling her it was her health and she had to take responsibility for it.

(2 hours later)

This chick just came over and said she doesn’t know how to use Visio*. How you gonna do wireframes in Visio if you don’t know how to use Visio? Who doesn’t know how to use Visio????? (besides her)

Me: Oh that’s bad…even I know how to use Visio. Who’s supposed to be doing the wireframes*, you or her?

Gorgeous: Both of us. She has her sections and I have mine. We had the option of doing them in HTML or Visio. We both opted for Visio. I don’t know why she chose Visio, but I chose it because it’s quicker for me to do in here than re-learn using Dreamweaver or coding it from scratch because I can’t figure out how to use the program. She said, well, how are we going to use Visio to do this because it doesn’t have Web templates and you can’t do things like dropdowns. I said why not, and did one right quick on the fly for her. Then she said she would have to go to the Help menu.

Good grief. You remember that scene in The Lion King when Scar said he was surrounded by idiots? Le Sigh….

Me: Mmmm. And it gets worse. Damn man.

Gorgeous: I’m gonna make it through. I dealt with the know-it-all and I can deal with a numnut as well.

Back By Popular (Demand)

Ain’t nobody demanding me, but I’m back.

I’ve been extremely busy and I apologize to my 4 fans.  For some reason, I am at a lose for time and material lately so I don’t have much to put here.  Besides that, I want this site to have a true theme that is only somewhat related to me as an individual.

But here’s what to come!  I’m feeling it!

• why I’m giving up on baseball as a true fan
• Smarty Pants
• the Holiday Party

Stay tuned!

Vernon Davis: Fantasy Football Achiles Heel or (Vernon Davis: Demon or Diva(o)?*)

* Is a male diva a divo?  I dunno.

The year was 2006 in New York City at the annual NFL Draft.  Commissioner Paul Tagliabue stepped to the podium and announced “With the 6th pick in the 2006  NFL Draft, The San Francisco 49′ers pick….Vernon Davis, Tight End from the University of Maryland.”

I was siced.  As a Maryland resident, I want to always give props to atheletes from the schools who move on to the pros.  At Maryland, VD was a beast; 78 receptions, 1,312 yards, and 9 touchdowns.  That is sickening for a Tight End (TE) AND that was only in 2 years.

It got better.  At the NFL Combine (I can write a WHOLE other piece on that one) , he ran the 40-yard dash in 4.38 secs, did the 225 bench press with  33 reps, and the vertical jump at 42″.  His physical specs?  6-3, 250 of dredlocked fury.  RI-DICULOUS.

I like many others felt he was going to be one of the new breed of TE’s that can line up in the slot (between the furthest receiver and the offensive line) and catch a pass 40 yards down field and still fulfill his blocking duties.  I looked forward to seeing him play, on the field and on my fantasy football team roster.  When draft day came, I scoped up VD with my 7th overall pick.  I did draft another TE in a later round, but we’ll get back to that.

So I was set.  I got my proverbial popcorn and waited simultaneously and with anticipation as I was geared with the 1st game of the season with my laptop directed to yahoo’s fantasy sports page and the tv on ESPN.

My team did well;  I believe I won that week and VD came thru with 5 receptions, and a TD (even though he DID lose me a point for the fumble).  YES!  I was about to dom-min-nate my fantasy league.  The next game I won, but something was different.  I scrolled down my stats sheet, nice….nice….Hmm! Very nice…good…..what?  Goose egg?

VD- no receptions, no TD’s.  In the 2nd damn game, a rampant case of Butterfingers. ALREADY.

Next week, same thing.  But he was pulled early due to a hairline facture in his fibia.  He ended up missing 6 games.  6.

This was supposed to be my sleeper weapon for fantasy. I figured I’d draft the potential phenom and win the TE category every week.

Not even close.  VD was out 6 weeks with the injury.  I decided to put him back in the lineup over a TRUE sleeper stud, Heath Miller.  What happened?

I decided to stick to my guns.  No problem, a slow start never hurt nobody as long as he can get back on the horse.  I started him the next 2 weeks which garnered me a whopping 2 receptions for 31 yards.  2.  In fantasy speak, that’s 2.3 points over a 2 week period. Pathetic (like this piece, but I’m leading up to something, bare with me).  That was it.  My man-crush for VD was over and I benched his ass.  Of course, the next 2 weeks he caught a TD a week; and that my friends, is called Murphy’s Law.

Anyway, I wrote all of that mostly to vent because I was #1 going into the playoffs and because of VD and the Cardinals bye week I didnt even make the playoffs.  The other reason is to set up the why; why is it that this phenom who had carte blanche to be a playmaker couldn’t perform?  Besides the injuries (he missed 2 weeks in the 2007 season), was he intimidated?  Over confident?

The answer may surprise you.  Outside of an incident that occurred on the field yeilding him an ejection from the game by Coach Mike Singletary last year, Mr Davis has a LOT of divo tendencies.

Case in point, his vanity.  There was a rumor floating around the league that before a game in San Fran, as everyone else was trotting out towards the tunnel, VDwas staring at a mirror gazing and admiring his shirtless body.  It took one of the coaches screaming at him to get his ass on the field.  Dude loves his body; he has no shame in showing it off in Ron Artest’s “Get Low” video, Under Armour commercials or the many, many, MANY photo shoots like this one for Status magazine.

Then there is the image-damaging article in Honey magazine.  In it he talks about interior design, fashion, and **gulp** murses.  I SHIT YOU NOT.

That’s the icing on the cake there.  Kinda hard concentrating on your plays when you’re worried about getting your uniform dirty or getting the right arm sleeve to match that risky scarlet color  **3 snaps in a circle**

Why does San Francisco always get these oddball personalities?  First there was Terrell Owens (again, another post in of itself) along with the quarterback Jeff Garcia who headed up a dog grooming fund-raiser, and now this.  I mean, is there a common….wait.  Nevermind.

Another case in point, his temper.  VD has a tendency to get edgy on the practice and game field.  We already talked about the VD vs Singletary incident, and this year he’s already off to a smashing start by beefing with another teammate which lead to the entire team having to perform a running drill.  Frank Gore (The Man as I call him) was pissed.   “I wasn’t mad about having to run gassers,” Gore said.  “I just feel it’s his fourth year now, and I told him it shouldn’t be him now.  Everybody makes mistakes but it shouldn’t be him.  OK, a rookie?  I accept that.”  And of course, Mr. Davis is no rookie.  Wow, full blast, huh?

So what is VD gonna do this year?  Kick some ass or kick it to Kanye? Schedule a day to review plays with the QB and QB coach or intern for GQ?  Photo shoots or shotgun formation?  The man is an enigma and quite unpredicable.  My guess is he’ll start the season out strong with about 3 TDs in the first 2 weeks, but then bust his ass in the locker room because he decided instead of cleats to wear a pair of scarlet Ferragamo driving shoes with gold trim to match his uniform and be out for 3-4 weeks with a strained high ass muscle pull.

Michael and Me

I wanted to save this post for when all of the fanfare, rumor mill, and shear pandemonium ceased about the unfortunate death of Michael Jackson.  We all know kinda what happened so I won’t get into all that.

But what’s oddly atypical for me is how I personally feel about the loss.  I, evidently, was a bigger King of Pop (KOP) fan than I thought.  There are so many things about Michael’s music that uniquely etched memories in my heart.

1st memory: Cartoon Saturday

We all loved Saturday morning cartoons.  I was no different.  I didn’t have video games or cable that had the 24 hour cartoons, so whatever came on, that was it.

I don’t remember if the “Jackson 5″ cartoon came on really early or relatively late for cartoons, but I damn sure remember getting tired of it rather quickly.  The cartoon was too novel. Even a 4 year old could tell it sucked; laugh tracks (same one for the whole cartoon?), the voices of the other characters were 1 or 2 different people, and most of the scenes were the same just some different background.  It was one of the few cartoons that I wasn’t upset if I missed it.

2nd memory: Cruising

I can’t remember what car my uncle had back in the day, but at some point, he had a ‘77 Plymouth Duster.  Somewhere in that time period, the Jackson 5 was in their transition period from Motown and was slowly getting out of the bubble gum songs.  As a 5 year old, I liked bubble gum songs.  Around that same time, the Sylvers were out with “Dancing at the High School Dance”.  I LOVED that song.  It was like “the Jackson 5, who?”  My mom and her brother disagreed.  According to them, the Jackson 5 was still the shit.  I remember this argument was the children vs the parents going across the Patapsco River Bridge in Baltimore.  I guess I remember that because the bridge has this huge rise to be such a short bridge.  All while listening to and singing “High School Dance” in the Duster.

3rd memory: “Can You Feel It” video

It was 1981, and video technology was skyrocketing in popularity.  MTV was in its infancy, and NBC thought it could go toe to toe with the creative network cable network using its late night show “Friday Night Videos”.  One Friday night, my cousins and I, with the help of blunt toothpick to hold our eyelids open,  decided to stay up and watch the world premiere of  ”Can You Feel It” by the Jacksons (coincidently, I’m listening to it now…hmm, imagine that).  And of course, the video is the last of an hour’s worth of videos and 2 hours worth of commercials.  The toothpicks were bending, but they never broke.  One cool thing about the video is the freaky outro; then again, the video itself was freaky even back then.  But one thing I remember for sure after watching it, was all of us looking at each other, mouths gaping, and none of us needed the toothpicks to stay awake.  The excitement of the all encompassing song seemed to do the trick.

4th memory: The Billie Jean video

I have no idea who was behind all of it, but the marketing giant behind Michael Jackson’s new “Thriller” was steamrolling the country as well as the world.  Again, I was forced to stay up with my cousins to watch the new world premiere of “Billie Jean”.  What was different this time was that Friday Night Videos was making its own funeral arrangements as MTV was slowly but surely kicking Friday Night Videos’ ass.

So we, with heavy eyelids, sat and attentively watched as Michael synchronously illuminated the pavement with his steps, spins, and kicks.  TIIIIGHT.  There were some weird things about the video that in essence would be symbolic to Michael’s future, but overall it was a great video for its time.  What do I mean?  The transformations.  Michael transforming into a leopard and something else but I can’t recall.  This was a regular practice in MJ’s life as he went from a medium complexioned teenager with regular lips and full nose to a waif, notebook paper white, tattooed lipped, no-cartilage-in-the-nose-having  scarecrow with a bankroll.

5th memory: Motown 25

My mom was out of town for a conference (yeah right) and I had to stay with my psuedo aunt and uncle.  They were older than my mom, and they were adamant about seeing Motown 25.  I for one, was not siced.  The Four Tops?  The Temptations?  Come on man!  Who cares?

What made it even worse was the fact that after every performance during the commercials, they just HAD to talk about the good ol’ ancient days of doo wopping on the corner and all that.  Again, who cares??

Then, during the 3rd or 4th segment, the Jacksons got on stage.  Surprisingly (to me at least),  they start singing ALL of the songs; Michael still the lead vocals.  ”A job well done, fellas” I thought.  But I couldn’t help but want Michael to do one of his songs with him.  I was hoping it wasn’t gonna be “Beat It” because how can he and his brothers do it together.  Mike grabs a microphone off of a stand and says “You know, I love all of those songs, gave us a lot of memories.  But now, ” he continued as  all of the  sudden the rest of the Jacksons walk off of the stage. “…I can’t help but love the new ones.”
And the famous baseline started (Steely Dan is STILL pissed) and the women in the audience started to scream.  I hate that, but I couldn’t help but smile because I knew what was coming. Sike!  No I didn’t!  Mike must have gone down to the Duke Ellington School for the Arts in Brooklyn or something to tap one of the coolest pretty boy moves at that time.  I don’t care what anyone says, I’ve seen better, I’ve seen worse.  But I never expected to see it on a stage so big.  MJ took the streets primetime.  The reaction the next day at school was total amazement and adoration.  From the stodgy vice principal to the bad boy of the student body. EVERYONE, was talking about the moonwalk.  Afterwards, I’ve always wondered how that whole thing played out in other areas of the country where they may have thought that that was Mike’s very own creation.

6th memory:  The “Thriller” video

Here is where the DreddedOne’s sketchy past comes out. I had some serious punk-ass tendencies.  I refused (and still do) refuse to watch horror.  To me, life is horrifying enough.   I missed the world premiere of the video, but I heard about it from a bunch of folks.  The zombies and all that, no.  Not the kid.  I avoided watching the video for at least a month until my friend Steven coerced me into watching it.  He promised to warn me of all the gruesome parts before they happened.  Taking him at his word, we watched the video in his grandparents’ basement.  He turned off all of the lights, closed the curtains, and said as seriously as a 12 year old could “you need this.  This is the only way to watch this video.”  And so it was.  Steven popped in the tape, and we watched the entire video; a couple of times.  He held up to his word; he did warn me about all of the freaky parts in the video.  Except for in the end when Michael turns his head back to the camera in the end with the wolfen eyes.  ”I forgot about that part,” Steven laughed.

7th Memory:  All Them Damn Grammys !!

13 Grammys in one night.  This one is self-explanatory.

8th Memory: You Sick, sick, fuck.

After the “Thriller” album cooled off, Michael’s next album, “Bad” was for the undying fan.  I think he thought he could catch magic in the bottle again because to me, most of the songs made me scratch my head “Bad”, “Black or White”.  All quite lame; to me at least. My fandom quelled.  Now, between those albums, there was some weird shit brewing.  It started with taking Webster’s Emmanuel Lewis to the Grammy’s and carrying the 12 year old around like a baby. **shudder**  Then there it was him and Michaly Colkin.  Then there was the Elephant Man’s bones.  Then Bubbles; a fucken monkey in your backyard!  Then the multiple nose jobs.  Then the hyperbolic chamber.  I began to think “THIS mutha fucka is crazy.”  He became a nuisance if anything.  Then, in 2003.  The child molestation charges popped up.  I was incredulous.  ”He’s an idiot, but he ain’t gross.”  I’m still not sure about that whole thing, but if the reports are right about the little boy knowing exactly where one of Mike’s birth marks is near his dizzak, then Michael Jackson is…was a sick sick fuck.  Child molestation is just one of the most despicable acts by an adult.  Period.  Let’s hope it was a nasty set up (which is what its looking to be.)

9th Memory: The Shock of  Mortality

I was on the way home on a hot June day.  It was one of the rare days that I implemented my drive/ride Metro combo.  I had a meeting that night (not unusual for those who know me) and I was going to meet the Boss.  On the subway, my girlfriend texts me “people are pissed at me that I said that MJ was dead”.  “People are saying that he’s not dead, he’s in a coma.”  I sighed, turned on my news source on the radio, and found out that at 3:43 PM EST, the Medical Examiner’s office released a statement confirming Michael Jackson’s death.

Then it hit me.  Michael Jackson morphed into one of the weirdest beings on the face of the earth.  And yet, through all of that, was one of the most memorable performers of all time.  From the family days of performing James Brown covers to the odd black outfits singing “Dirty Diana” on stage in front of thousands in Europe.  He will be missed in more ways than one.  He’ll be missed for the music that expanded across multiple generations, for his unequivocal outrageousness (albeit involuntary), the one glove, and least we not forget the humanitarianism.

Michael, you painted a picture of the world through your eyes and shared it with all.  Yes, it was an eccentric, Van Gogh-esque portrait; but we all continuously observed it and took it in, all the while with our heads cocked and tapping our feet.

Thanks, Michael.  Peaceful journey.

When Schools Collide

“Old School, new school, no school rule….

but other than that everything is cool.”

That’s an old lyric from Doug E. Fresh’s “Keep Risin’ to the Top”. I can’t remember who he was referring to as old school and who was new school, but it comes into play in my next story. Have a sit down, kitties….

I was determined to have a grown folks weekend. Although Memorial Day weekend is supposed to be the celebration of those who gave their lives fighting for our country, I decided to preempt the holiday with tons of festivities and sitting on my ass all day Monday.

I’m sure the veterans understood.

But I digress. I partied grown and sexy style; off the chain house party where I don’t even remember when I got home. Saturday I went to my cousin’s college graduation party. That was good, but there was a lot of tension in the air because an impending divorce between his mom and dad. It happens.

But then there came Saturday night.

So I got an invite from a VezLibre friend (we don’t do no free advertising here….figure out what Vez Libre means) to a party down the street from my house. Cool. I tell 2 other friends about it. They too, say cool. I get there fashionably late and arrive to a relatively sparse crowd. No biggie, it’s early and worst case scenario, its $10; I could always bounce.

I decide to further relax myself with an Elixir of Inebriation. First mistake, I decided to get something that I had at Friday’s house party. I thought it was a typical drink but…..nope! Second mistake, I Sonjan’t pay attention to the intricate details of the woman who got a drink before me. She got an Ameretto Sour. Cost? $10 for about the equivalent of 3 shot glasses in the Wild Wild West.

$10??? Not even top shelf. I thought “Ain’t no WAY mine is gonna cost $10. All I want is Absolutely.”

And you know how much mine costed? That’s right….absolutely $10. I was blown. AND it tasted like hooker piss. Which really ain’t that bad….BUT THAT’S BESIDE THE POINT! $10. First Friend came in; let’s call her Nikki. Now, I’m not a drinking type kat, so I wanted to see if her reaction was worse than mine. Mmmm.

“Oh my fucking God, are you serious? $10 for a punk ass gin and tonic? That shit wasn’t even top shelf! And look at this little sippy glass, D.O.!  I coulda got a French Martini for that. Let’s roll, but let’s call Sonja first.”

So we called Sonja….wait. Let me fix that. I called Sonja because Nikki would call her and just babble. “Girl, these drinks are ridiculous. We can’t get our swerve on in here. Me and D.O. are thinking about going some place else. Where do we meet you? There? Here? Inner Harbor? Pulaski Highway…..?”

That shit went on for like 5 minutes until I said “hey. Let me talk to her and we’ll just meet her outside, ok? She already on her way.”
You see, that’s another blogpost in of itself. How men communicate and how women communicate. Do you see how that was almost a useless conference call? How 5 or 6 options were put out there by Nikki and I put out 1 that was the most feasible, cohesive and efficient one?

Anyway, Sonja gets there. Tight whip by the way. Must be nice not to have no damn kids (hehehehe). I suggest we all go to the joint down the street, they suggest I drive. I agree and we pile up in the Blueberry. We arrive very shortly since its right down the street and head towards the doors.  Even though it was less of a mile drive, I think I told Nikki ’shut the fuck up’ at least 3 times.  Too much co-signed to predetermined facts; or something to that effect.  

After that was situated, all heads turn to the band, I was busy running my mouth so I don’t remember what they were playing. What I do remember it was an 80’s hit in which their rendition was acceptable with the help of the Great Elixirs; preferably not hooker piss…BUT THAT’S A DIFFERENT STORY!! (stop asking me ’bout that!). Because of the debacle at the previous party, I went safe and got a Ling-Ling beer. Just as I finished my 2^nd sip, Sonja lets out a cutesy girl cackle “awww soooky sooky. Look at your girl!” On the floor was a woman in probably her late 40’s who was gettin’ it. Not sure what she was gettin’, but she was dancing nonetheless. Nearby in observance was a brother in a pale blue suit and white shoes.

White.

Shoes.

Sitting across from him was the Scotty reject look-a-like from the Whispers. Nasty nappy handlebar mustache and all. Gross.

Then the white chic jumped up. I thought “Oh shit. This is gonna be good. Fortunately, I was wrong. She had decent rhythm and even Sonja a little stank move on the floor with Blue Suit.

Then, SHE jumped up.

She being….let’s call her Wonda for the disturbingly similar expression she had on her face to one “I’m reat ta go” Wonda ala Jamie Foxx. Even the outfit was Wonda-ish: tank top that was 1 size to big (we’ll come back to that), a beaded tank over top of that, white pants (my party was really disturbed by the pantie line thing), and a pair…wait for or it….wait for IT…..

Polka dot heels. Not stilettos. Regular heels. I was so blown.

Wonda jumps up there with Blue Suit and Stank Move and proceeds to do her thing. Blue Suits does the typical 1 ½ step (apparently his 2 step days were over) while wiping his brow. Stank Move, does her signature move all of the sudden; wraps one leg around Blue Suits waist, and grinds on him. I was impressed. When she dropped her leg, Blue Suit turns around and freaks on Wonda, who, really wants to show out by bending over and touching the floor (you will later be even MORE impressed by this move). What made this even funnier was Blue Suit holding Wonda down with one hand by the back of the neck. The ladies found this wildly entertaining. Nikki giggled while Sonja imitated moves from her chair. I, on the other hand, quickly took the beer to the head and called for another….

I give the band a fair rating until they played Maxwell’s “Don’t Ever Wonder” with the solo instrument being the trumpet. Le ouch. They totally murdered that song. Wonda, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy that and every other song they played. Here’s where we come to the real controversy about how she was dressed.

Sonja: She is just gettin’ it , ain’t she.

Me: (not looking) Mmm

Sonja: (laughs) This is just too…oh, OH, OHHHH!! Oh my God, look. Her breast is about to fall out of her top.

Nikki: Damn, SON! Look, D.O., look!

Me: Mmm MMMM!! (suddenly the neck of my beer becomes truly fascinating)

Sonja: up, up, up, UP! You see? (smacking hands on her lap laughing) There it goes. (leans closer with fingers in the Italian pinch) the breast…the breast MUST be kept secure. I mean…how does she not know that her breast is coming out?

I glanced over my shoulder to take a look. I regretted it. A lot. I won’t be scarred for life but I damn lost any capacity to be horny. I hit the Ling-Ling hard and call for another one….

As quickly as it seemed to have started, the band played an R Kelly song that I recognized but don’t know the name of and called it a night. All was calmer; laughs, pats on the back, winding up of speaker wire….Wonda sat down at a side table with one of the band members who we couldn’t distinguish whether he was blind, drunk, or clumsy. I guess if he wasn’t blind it would have been a hell of a lot easier to navigate around the stage sans sunglasses at night.

The two of them sat down and calmly talked. And just as calmly, Wonda….

Wait for it.

Wait for it…….

Umm…..Wonda….

Wonda took her wig off AT the mutha fucken table. Mid sentence!! Plop! Right on the table like a scary ass spider.

Hair on the table.

Grandmothers

In lieu of the upcoming Mother’s Day, I sat Sunday morning thinking about my grandmothers. They are both gone now, but the memories of both of them are still bright in my mind. They both were full of love and ummmm….advice. Some of that advice was odd to say the least. Nana: “Don’t use someone else’s wash cloth or you’ll go blind!!” Grandma: “Don’t drink nothing green! NOTHING! Even Kool-Aid! It could be poison.”

Yeah.

Neither of my grandmothers graduated high school, and outside of some of their more uncanny words of advice, they both were quite wise.

What I would like to know is, what is it like to have a grandmother who is book educated? Is it the same worldly and sometimes questionable advice? Is the love any different?

If I don’t find out from you all, I’ll have to Facebook it to get some results. After that, I will, dutifully, report back to you monkeys.

Admiration vs Objectivity

For years, women have fought the oppression on many levels; equal rights to vote, to maintain and own property, and all forms of discrimination. Unfortunately, the same thing occurs in this day and age; a time when women excel at a variety of careers and sociological prominence.
However, the ongoing debate still exists in hip-hop. It is obvious that the vast majority of rappers go too far in their exploitation of women. From performers from back in the day like Sir Mix-A-Lot to Souldja Boy, the bar has reached an all-time low. Consistently, women are continuously objectified in the hip-hop culture. This objectification comes from stage performances, interviews, but the primary source is the music video.

The current status quo in hip-hop is to push the envelope as far as possible. Although there are videos now that actually cannot be shown on cable television, the issue of degradation and misogyny has reached a boiling point. On September 25, 2008, Congress tentatively scheduled a hearing focusing on the very issue (Variety Magazine, September, 2008). According to the purveyor of the hearing, Representative Bobby Rush, “I want to engage not just the music industry but the entertainment industry at large to be part of a solution…I want to talk to executives at these conglomerates who’ve never taken a public position on what they produce. But it’s been surprisingly very difficult to get them to commit to appearing.”

However succinct the reasoning behind Representative Rush’s statements, the clear target is hip-hop. Under the First Amendment, crafters of the hip-hop art form are entitled to create media that is not subject to censorship by the Federal Government. However, the Federal Government via the Federal Communications Commission’s (FCC) Regulation on Obscenity, Indecency, and Profanity can deem the content of certain media as inappropriate. According to FCC definition, indecent material is defined as “…in context, it depicts or describes sexual or excretory organs or activities in terms patently offensive as measured by contemporary community standards for the broadcast medium.”

Clearly by definition what we see in hip-hop videos is deemed indecent. Many of the lyrics of some songs themselves are indecent but are only illuminated in their egregiousness by an objectifying video. The misogynous material usually comes in the guise of an African-American woman bent over with an undulating posterior. We can again, look at the FCC’s definition of “indecent” and undoubtedly associate it with what we usually see in these videos.

Artists will argue that the lyrics of their songs and the content of their videos are just a reflection of the art for and the artist’s experience. They will also argue it is a form of entertainment. All lyrics and video footage are for the sole purposes of entertaining, not offending. In their opinion, what is seen in the videos is admiration for themselves, the artistic product, and the performers from the audience.

However, where do record executives, media executives, and artists draw the line in hip-hop for admiration to objectivity?

Within the FCC definition of “indecency”, indecent material must “be restricted to avoid its broadcast during times of the day when there is a reasonable risk that children may be in the audience.” BET at one time broadcasted questionable music videos at 3:00 am to avoid the indecent material scrutiny. Although this was a legal act on their part, the results of these broadcasts were children and young adults altering their sleep patterns in order to view these provocative videos. BET was later forced to discontinue that particular set of broadcasts due to continuous and substantiated complaints from parents and other concerned interest groups.

It can be concluded that the line drawn between admiration and objectivity is not as discrete as one may initially perceive. Admiration for something or someone consists of clear, appropriate and endearing acts whereas objectivity consists of clear, inappropriate and demeaning acts. Unfortunately, there is little admiration for women in hip hop as they have become vehicles and tools for the recording industry to gain and maintain profits; a frightening similarity to how enslaved women were treated in the years of the slave trade.

Fortunately, there is hope as a new wave of feminism is taking place in hip hop that is being led, no doubt, by non-industry women who fervently believe in hip hop as a sounding board for all of those who have gone unheard. (Based upon its origin that is exactly the case)

Ladies!

The world is now listening…..

New Year’s Eve Eve

It is once again New Year’s Eve Eve.  In another life, I had the tradition of writing about New Year’s Eve Eve and my plans or my scrambling to create plans.  Let us continue the tradition, shall we?

Here are NYE 09’s options:

1.) gate crash a friend’s party she was invited to; wine and cheese kinda of deal, JUST my thing.  I think it’ll be more fun crashing the party than actually participating.

2.) NYE poonanay.  Hmmmm!  Naw!  Not gonna happen….

3.) Extravagant ball for a local fraternity chapter.  Tux- $180. Tux accesories- $70 (min).  ticket (going solo) – $100.  Hotel room- $128.  Total- $408.  PROBABLY not gonna happen.  Ouch!  I didnt even buy anything and that still hurts.

4.) So-called Black Nationalist party.  This same group threw a party in May that was….interesting to say the least. Now that I know what to expect, I’ll be more prepared.  Price-  bring something.  ME LIKE!!!!

5.)  New Years “House Party” at SOVA.  I was asked to google this event, please standby…..

Oooh!  Bad search!  (I yahoo’ed it)  Here’s what I came up with:

Not what we’re looking for, right?  Let’s try that again…..

Ok.  That didnt work too well on google either and I didn’t feel like going thru the regermorol of creating an image etc.  I went to the spot’s website, however, and found NO event!  Woo hoo!!  Looking shaky at best.

6.) Happy NYE Bluegrass Bash.  Yes.  Me.  The Dredded One, at a Bluegrass Bash.  You gotta love ya family, y’all.  That’s all imma say about that….

#6 is the only definite.  I will peek my head in, say high, eat something strange from the table (vineicen probably), say hi to Blacky (yes, I know a man named Blacky), and bounce.

There is an option of hanging out with a couple of other friends who do not have NYE plans; get together and just chill, but I think I can do that with option #4.

As usual, I will post as to what happened and how it went down.  Cheers and shit.

Selfish

Selfishness is considered to be in as poor taste as some of the Seven Deadly Sins.  As a matter of fact, the word “selfish” is just a synonym or at minimum can be correlated to greed.  Unfortunately, we all fall victim to it daily.  You may not even realize it.  Here are some of my daily ones:

• I don’t want to share any of my good cereal (Count Chocula, Lucky Charms, Boo Berry) with the kid.
• I don’t want anyone to sit next to me on the MARC (unless she’s fine as hell and smells good).
• I want my woman to think I’m the finest kat on the planet hands down.
• I don’t want to share her with anyone else.  ANYONE.
• I horde the sugar packets for coffee at work.
• I cut the personal convos with my co-workers to a minimum when my favorite radio shows are on.

Here is the funny part….it took me about 10 minutes to exam this list.  In other words, self-examination is a bitch; especially if you’re a proctologist.

So I’m babbling on about selfishness because today, I’m feeling selfish.  My girlfriend aside, I’m feeling like the world needs to revolve around me for just one day.  I’m whining about trying to have a social life and being a single co-parent.  Today is WhatAboutMe’s Holiday Party at work.  For 3 years, I’ve been trying to go to her party, and every year, I lose babysitting services at the last minute.  Out-standing.

Today I have on a pinstriped shirt  and pinstriped pants, and I feel like the stripes are symbolic of me being trapped.  Stupid huh?  Its just proof that we all have moments of desiring to be all about us.  We all have lives that revolve around our different interests and desires.  Then you come to realize that those interests and desires aren’t always about you personally.  Sometimes you just want what you want, WHEN you want it.

I’ll get over it.  I always do.  In the meantime, I’m pouting.

I Woke Up

November 25, 2008

This morning I arouse to a dark, cold space surrounded by my belongings.   Being the night owl that I am, the mornings bare little excitement.  In my mind, musing of all things in my life; odd sweet bitter.  Bitterly odd, oddly sweet.

Instead of the usual routine of listening to NPR in the morning, I slide in a cd and listen to “I Wish” by V.  A warm sensation courses through my chest; this song does something to me that is unique in of itself.  A good song to sing and a source of inspiration.

The train ride is the quietest I can remember in a long time.  Still.  I do doubt, however, that it is the ride as opposed to my perception.  All things including myself; Still.

Work is work; a form of interaction with others for the sake of monetary gains for yourself and your employer.  I sit at my desk with a noble attempt at due dilligence, but the urge for fresh air and open space is too much.  The palely lit rectangular device on my desk is quickly becoming an annoyance.  Exit.

Its a brisk day in the nation’s capital.  Partly sunny and a stiff breeze makes me periodically immitate a leather-clad pigeon seeking refuge from the cold within the confides of itself.  I casually tight the scarf around my neck and place my hands in my pockets.  I increase the steadiness in my gate.

My destination is actually to run an errand, but in the middle of this errand, I suddenly realize my location.  Maybe I realize this because of the small, yet fluid groups of tourists roaming about.  Maybe I realize this because of the song that I hear from my headphones.  Maybe I realize this because of a combination of many things.  But I’m asked…no ordered, to stop moving.  Still.

The Smithsonian Mall.  Approximately a mile and change in length from the Washington Monument to the Capitol.  My eyes touch the far (Monument) end and scan.   Part of the way, I stop.  There is a spot I vaguely recognize.   Yes; some 10 plus years ago, on a mild day in October, I stood in this vicinity during the Million Man March with other men who shared the vows of a new day.  Many men, mostly Black, but many men nonetheless who tired of the conditions of a People.  Who wanted more for themselves and the ones/communities they hold dear.  This march proved…….

Wait.  Perspective.  Impromptu Meditation.

35 years before that, on a cold day in December, who was in that same vicinity?  Who stood where I stood to hear Dr. King give his famous speech?  Who stood there and have the same euphoric feeling of hope and change?  Did they actually feel that way?

I scan the remaining length of the mall.  It ends at the Capitol steps.  There, builders busy themselves with the creation of platforms to physically support an unprecedented event in world history.  In less than 60 days, history in the making.  One man, soon to be the unofficial leader of the free world, will stand before the world and God, to become the 44th President of the United States of America.

Holy shit.

My eyes scan back to where I stood in history, physically and personally.  My “spot”.  Who will stand there?   Who will stand there and have the same euphoric feeling of hope and change?  Will  they actually feel that way?

Again.   Perspective.  Impromptu Meditation.

Yes.  They is “he”.  ”He” will stand there.   ”He” will have the same euphoric feeling of hope and change as did “his” precedessors.  ”He” will absolutely feel that same way.

For “he”, is Me.

I wipe the lone tear that has slowly crawled down my face and begin to walk….