Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises Presents…Panama’s Propositions

“…they favorite 50 Cent song’s 12 Questions…”-Kanye West, “We Don’t Care”, The College Dropout, 2004

I don’t know about your city, but in my city…Washington, DC, that is…it seems to me like the children are getting dumber and more violent, all at the same time. I know, I know, its not nice to call kids dumb. But hell…if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…it ain’t a moose! I think the saying goes something like that…and besides, I’m not making this shit up.

Anyway, I volunteer at one of them “inner-city alternative” schools. Hmmmmm…inner city AND alternative all in the same place? Yes. And what does that mean exactly?? Well you know how much I love definitions…

Inner-city alternative high school. noun. def. school where kids are all minorities and don’t care, teacher’s care but are smaller than the kids that don’t care, white people volunteer but are scared, black people don’t volunteer and are still scared, books are a moot point, absences occur more because of court dates than sickness unless it pertains to a violent crime, at least one kid has a gun on him at all times, they maintain an R.I.P. corner in the school…and ALL of the female hormonal girls will hit on the black male volunteer tutors just because (though I’m sure this goes on at every high school in America where there are actually black male teachers, like him)

Get the picture. Not sure you do…I’ll give you an example of a conversation I had with one of my students on the first day that I ever tutored at this school:

Prof. Panama: What did you get kicked out of school for???

Sherman aka Do Dirty: I shot this girl in the ass. Shit was only a bee-bee gun though…she ain’t have to run around yelling and shit like that, acting like it was a REAL gun…bitches.

Prof. Panama: (visibly concerned at his non-caring attitude about shooting somebody) Dog…WHY THE HELL DID YOU SHOOT HER???

Do Dirty: I had a gun…what else am I supposed to do with it??

At this point…I don’t know what had me more perplexed…the fact that he shot somebody on purpose and didn’t care or the fact that I couldn’t argue his logic with the gun. I mean…what ARE you supposed to with a gun aside from shoot it? That had me completely dumbfouned for a good hour. As a judge…I’d have to let him go…he stumped me.

I think I digressed somewhere though.

Back to the violent and dumber kids. The kids in inner city schools nationwide are doing poorly on standardized tests. Horrible even. So badly…Starbucks wants to take over the schools. And the kids are also shooting up people at alarming rates, at least here in DC (we’ve had a very violent summer around here with a large percentage of the shootings being committed by teens). So you’ll understand why this actual (a teacher in Chicago submitted this to an article I read) test question bothers the living shit out of me:

“Johnny has an AK-47 with a 40-round clip. If he misses six out of 10 shots and shoots 13 times at each drive-by shooting, how many drive-by shootings can he attend before he has to reload?”

Now, if you are anything like me, first and foremost…you’re gonna try to solve this problem. And then be mad when it takes you 30 minutes because they gave you all this extra shit in there to decipher through and then it finally dawns on you that you don’t need most of it leaving you to think to yourself…shit, and I have a degree and can’t figure this mess out…before you realize that, why are they using street violence and murder to relate math to kids????

Newsflash…this type of thing is happening at urban public schools across the country. You know why…because young ambitious and enthusiastic white teachers and some out of touch black teachers have no idea how to connect to their inner city students. They watch a little TV, you know a little bit of country, a little bit of rock and roll…check out BET and STARZ! and see what the kids are looking at…then voila! Little urban kids like guns and Menace II Society (a classic by the way)! Let’s teach them math this way. But really…by using stuff like this in schools, it’s almost like an acceptance of the situation. It’s like saying…this is your reality, let’s understand how to navigate through this reality, you endangered species, you!

The fact that they can’t answer the question, as witnessed at the school I’ve volunteered at for years now, doesn’t surprise me. But THIS does:

Panama: So what’s the answer Do Dirty??

Do Dirty: Man…I don’t know…who cares, besides, ain’t nobody using no damn AK-47′s anymore anyway. They too big and heavy. We need lighter stuff on the streets to conceal ‘em. Dog, DC got gun laws man…you can’t be rolling around with no AK…Desert Eagles and .45′s…that’s what you need, mo!

Hmmmmmmmm…dun son couldn’t answer the question, but knew that it didn’t make much sense either. I thought the AK thing was a little strange. Shit people haven’t used those since the Cold War ended and they ARE too big for the streets nowadays. Not the brightest kid on earth…but he knows his guns. At the University of Maryland-College Park, there was a seminar on helping teachers understand how to relate to the kids in the “streets”. I’m all for that…but using violence to get the point across just seems a bit odd to me.

Let’s use music references or something. Who doesn’t want to be an entertainer??? But no, we want to use violence and create an extra problem for ourselves.

Cuz when that little bastard who gets the answer right decides to apply his knowledge to his violence, figuring out ways to calculate exactly how many shots in yo’ ass he has before he has to pull some ninja shit to take out people in the streets, everybody is gonnnnnnnnnnnnnnna be mad.

There is a good side to this though…I think there’d be less innocent bystanders being shot. (Though I do have a theory on reducing innocent bystanders for a later post.)

The fact that kids nowadays can’t read or count is a big problem. The fact that kids nowadays are more violent is a huge problem. So why in the shit would we combine the two and teach them to count with violence??? Where is Sesame Street when you need it??? Ernie wasn’t packin’! The worst thing is, I almost understand the reasoning behind it. As a young energetic teacher coming from the suburbs or wherever and in attempts to connect with your students, finding common ground is hard enough. But attempting to use what happens on the streets to do it…sounds a bit fishy. Besides, shouldn’t we use things that are as far removed from the streets as possible to keep their minds off of what goes on out there? Like talk about flowers and trees and shit, not what they know about AK’s and AR-15′s/ equipped with night vision shell catchers and inf-beams, uh huh.

And don’t they/we have 50 Cent for this anyway?????

Maybe that only bothered me…but I’d really hate for a lot of these kids to be stuck seeing and hearing the same thing in school and on the streets and at home. They already ain’t learning standard stuff as evidenced by tests, why teach them how to be better criminals??? And I know this doesn’t happen everywhere. But it does happen in some places. Enough so that I read about this in the Washington Post, a paper that people read nationwide. And if I’m not mistaken…most of these kids don’t want to have to worry about drive-by’s and stuff so making them understand the math behind clips and guns is counterproductive. It’s like saying, this is your life, understand it. I don’t want that as my life…why am I gonna impress that upon them???

Of course…at least the teacher didn’t rent Dolemite and come up with this question…

“Johnny Whitegirl from San Francisco has 4 hoes and only 2 hands. Whenever one of his hoes gets out of pocket or comes up short with his money, he slaps her 3 times across the face and punches her twice in the stomach. If two of his hoes end up $25 short at the end of the night AND have the nerve to talk back, how many body blows will Johnny Whitegirl throw?”

And in case you’re wondering…the answer is 8.

“…don’t know nan nigga…”-Little Brother, “The Yo Yo“, The Listening, 2003

In a deviation from regular blogging procedure…the good folks at Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises have dubbed August 27, 2004…

National Raphael De La Ghetto Day.

What does this mean??? I’ll tell you what this means. This means that the good poets we have on staff have picked the best poet out of the group (we have a staff of something like 40 folks) to bless the masses with his abilities to provide that truly soul searching hot shit…that butter baby…that down south Master P bout it bout it shit…ya dig…smooth on the TLC tip…

What it also means is that the inner poet inside all of us cannot be stifled. The poetry Gods have decided that true poetry…you know, that kind that makes your liver quiver and your soul shiver must be shared with the world today. If you got that talent…let it ride…

Panama Jackson, for today and today only, has passed the baton to Jackson G. Tickle’s prized poet…

Harman E. Soul, “Deep Down Dirty Dozens”

girl i seen your love run down like kool-aid
as I laid in the shade and stayed by the parade
of clowns
thats when Dru Down came around and scoffed at the sound
of the blood hound
walked up to me and gave me a pound
and said…your bitch is trippin…
tell your queen to quit her slippin for i get to dippin my clip in
and tell her to quit strippin and start sippin on some sizzurp
so i smell the clouds whiff and sift through amazing gifts of shifts
of nature and i began to sift the paper and taper
my haircut
i know that if it wasn’t for you and me and we then but
whut??? the album nigga
baby blue meanders aimlessly and shamelessly and wants that
love that makes me see
turqoise and heavy D and the boyz make noise and maintain poise
as a source of heavenly beauty
i saw your girl and she had me standing at duty
cuz she was truly a deep piece of work and i hurt inside when i begin to ride
my bicycle
cuz its cyclical and metaphysical and sweet lou dunbar
i got a fast car
she takes me so far that if i had a tricycle i’d only be halfway there
once the cow jumped the moon’s orbit
and i absor-bed all your glow and i know that your soul glo’s
and hope floats and takes up all that you are and have…
i inhale your soul and spirit and feel it and hear it and clear it out my closet
the bones i got in there aint never coming out
shoot i made every one of them girls scream and shout
im fighting temptations so i hit eddie kendricks in the jaw
i’ll bet nan one of yall motherfuckers aint even saw
and i stand in awe
of the love you save may be your own
cuz i love you girl
i hope you know

Harman E. Soul is a beatwriter and street poet. He can be found inside your soul, eating Frosted Flakes.

Let the poetry be.

*SIDENOTE: If you don’t get this…maybe you ain’t deep.*

“…u gotta love it…”-Nas, “U Gotta Love It”, The Lost Tapes, 2002

Education. Where would we be without it? Me, I have no clue. Sometimes I think I’d be just walking along U.S. highways and byways with a banjo singing songs for money. Ironically, that’s ALSO what I’d do if I didn’t have any student loans left to pay back. I told that to my father…he cried. Started uttering something about “wasted potential” as he hugged my mother and declared never to speak to me again and told her I wasn’t his kid.

I wonder what that was about.

Anyway, despite myself, I have managed to spend considerable amounts of time in bastions of higher learning. And through my travels, I have learned a great amount and come to question a great amount…specifically about our beloved HBCU’s. For the uninitiated, and HBCU stands for “Historically Black Colleges and/or University.” That’s what it stands for…but what does it mean???

HBCU(acronym). noun. def.-college generally located in southern region of United States (though can be found in Southwest, Northeast, and Carribean if you think about…they all black down thurr) without: air conditioned dorms, up to date computer systems, computer labs, computers, large pockets of white people, large pockets of black teachers, proper security, helpful administration, quick service, good service, graduating students, students, etc.

[***DISCLAIMER: 1) Some of these are generalizations...I know. 2) I graduated from an HBCU and would not trade in my experience for the world. I am merely pointing out some of the shit that ALL who have attended HBCU's have observed and shit that folks that didn't...think. 3) On the off chance that what I have said THUS FAR or IN THE FUTURE offends you...well...pucker up...you get the point.***]

I loved my experience in college. But honestly…there were some hassles I could really have done without. Let’s talk about a few shall we:

1) The revoking and eventual re-instating of my scholarship, not once, not twice, but three times, during my “matriculation” through my HBCU of choice. Every HBCU should have a shirt that says:

Books: $350.
Room and Board: $(Whatever the cost there is).
Tuition: $20,000.
Cost of remembering to always keep a copy of any piece of paper you have recieved since you THOUGHT about going to this school: PRICELESS, cuz if you don’t, it might cost you your education beee-yotch.

I STILL have 30 copies of the sheet that I had to get signed in order to graduate. Just in case!

2) Visitation rules. Good googly moogly. Do you know I have a record at my school because of this??? At 4am, myself and my roommate had something like 6 extra people in our dorm room, of which I think 4 were female. Our bogus RA called the police on us, who then traipsed us to the police station…and we even had to give a damn statement. Seriously…I could have SO done without this non-sense. I mean how is a completely responsible 18-year old supposed to get his swerve on within certain hours…I’ll tell you how…by being forced to become a better criminal, that’s how.

I’ll stop there. Let’s just say that there are a few things that I really could have done without. However, I still managed to enjoy myself beyond belief AND graduate in 4 years, which at my school is akin to winning the lottery. It just doesn’t happen so often. In fact, the day I graduated, as I looked upon the numerous students waiting to receive their academic accolades, I realized I didn’t know half the people sitting around me…then it dawned on me…nobody that came in with me was actually graduating with me…EXCEPT most of the people that came in with me for a summer program for “exceptional” students. Damn shame…they knew who we were before we did.

Now…

I’ve also had the fortunate experience of attending a predominantly white school. Granted it was for grad school, but I still was able to witness the differences. I’ll go through some of these quick because there is one major difference I want to point out and understand.

Here is what you can do at a white school: drink on campus, fornicate at any time of day on campus, burn your campus down, get your refund the same day you request it, get your refund, use a school paid for computer, use a state of the art computer lab, watch cable on campus, do everything through computer to include: register, request your refund, complain, hack into a bank, download music, receive great internet access, etc.

You get the point. In fact, I remember at my school, some of the students (ironically, every black grad student in my department was from an HBCU, and didn’t have nearly the complaints as the other students) complained about the chairs being wobbly in our brand new state of the art computer lab. AND DO YOU KNOW THEY FIXED THEM! My first thought was…damn, this lab comes with its own chairs?!?!?!??!?!?!!!!? You don’t complain about that. The things they complained about would never have crossed my mind. Time issues…one extra day for refunds. Try a semester bucko…in fact, I think my undergrad still owes me money from my freshman year. You think I’m getting that??? If you do, I have a polar bear with an allergy to the color white I’d like to sell you.

The biggest difference I observed however, and simultaneously the one that drew the most ire (you like these college words I keep spouting, huh?) was the administrations. At HBCU’s, there seems to be a HUGE problem wtih the administrations. From quality service, to speed of service, to access to service. I mean, shit, if you need something done, it is IMPERATIVE that you call a parent, which makes you look irresponsible to your parents. Everything just moves at a snail’s pace. I remember (and there is no exaggeration here) my sophomore year, I literally stood in line for 8 hours to register.

Eight hours!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There are people still in line NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Of course I forged some great friendships this way, but still, why in the hell was the school so inept in registering students and subsequently handling student affairs???? And I KNOW this happens at other schools. At another school close by, they overbooked their student housing causing a demonstration and lockdown on the students. Good got damn! And this happened at some of the more prestigious schools so I can only IMAGINE what goes down at some of the smaller and less financially stable schools. I mean even the gotdamn website dedicated to HBCU’s (www.hbcunetwork.com) is slow, IF its even working at all. Shit, I’m still trying to get onto that site and I started YESTERDAY.

What is it about HBCU’s that fosters this kind of shit????? At my grad school…EVERYTHING was done on the computer. I registered in something under 5 minutes. EVERY SEMESTER. You could even order your books online. Prepare for graduation…online. I don’t remember EVER going to the registration office for any reason other than getting my student ID. It was like I was in heaven or something or at least Magic City in its heyday…when the strippers would…err…never mind.

And it isn’t all a money thing. Some of these HBCU’s cost as much if not more than these big state schools and have as much money. And yet the quality of the service is at best…PURE D SHIT. Besides, money doesn’t drive the quality of service SO much. And this is something I’ve wondered forever…why are our beloved HBCU’s run like this? Why is it okay?? And they wonder why alumni giving sucks so much…shit, they probably just lost all the checks. OR, more realistically, people had some shitty experiences there.

Really, I loved my school and advertise for them all the time…all the BS they put me through made me a better person and caused me to grow up. Without a doubt, it was the best 4 years of my life and I recommend the HBCU experience to anybody, especially specific schools to which I hold a little bit of bias towards. The relationships I built will last forever. But there definitely are some things that need addressing. Pronto…

Like…why come our security gates ain’t got no security???

You gotta love it.

“…F**k s**t a** b***h c**t, shooby-do-bee-bop…“-Eminem, “Who Knew”, The Marshall Mathers LP, 2000

That’s what I was reduced to…curse words.

Shit.

Have you ever heard something so bad it just made you curse? Like of all the words you’ve entered into your vocabulary over the years, it reduced you to the few words you were never supposed utter in front of your parents. Like when you hear an album or even just a song so bad that it is beyond awful…shit is downright…f**ks**ta**b***hc**t!!!!!!!

And you dont have Turret’s??

That is what I was reduced to the other day. You see, I have a cousin who dabbles in the “low-priced almost authentic” trade. Basically, this cat sells bootlegs. You want it he has it. Shoot, if you don’t even know you want it…he has it. What I’m saying is…I blame my cousin for my last profane laden tirade. You see, this dude sold me a CD that is beyond belief, one of the worst albums I’ve heard in a long time…to include later No Limit albums by the likes of Master P, Lil Romeo, and Silkk the Shocker. This dude sold me none other than…

Mase, “Welcome Back.”

It made me curse.

FUCK.

For the record, I like Mase. Well I liked his ass until I listened to this piss poor excuse for an album. In the history of bad hip-hop albums this is going to have to crack the top 5. Somewhere, between Lil Kim’s “Notorious K.I.M.” and Goodie Mob’s “World Party” and ironically, Mase’s “Double Up.” And I don’t give a shit if you love Mase, Double Up was without a doubt pure shit. But it didn’t make me curse.

Welcome Back makes me curse.

As to be fair, maybe we should break down the construction of an album and figure out what’s wrong with Mase’s. This should be easy.

1) Decent Beats. They don’t all have to be the quintessential musical masterpiece a la Snoop Doggy Dogg “Doggy Dogg World” or Pete Rock and CL Smooth’s “T.R.O.Y.” They just have to be listenable enough for you not to throw the album out the window a la Lil Kim’s “Notorious K.I.M.”

(Sidenote: I love music. I collect CD’s like some people collect air. To make an album so bad I actually threw it out the window…well, I should be allowed to shoot Lil Kim’s ass for that. Fortunately it looks like somebody shot Lil Kim with a Botox Bazooka and set that joint for Destroy. I mean have you SEEN the most recent pictures. Look like she said, I want to be like Mike…Jackson that is!)

2) Quality Lyrics. You have to be able to rap somewhat. You don’t even have to be good. I mean take Cash Money for instance. Baby isn’t exactly gonna be winning any rewards for verse of the year. Shit, I’m not even convinced he’s ever written a thing down in his life. And they sell millions. Good shit though…I mean, Back that Thang Up is a Classic…fo shizzle…

(Another sidenote: In what other profession can you become rich by rhyming -izzle with every other thing you say. It’s the only profession that rewards you more for personality than actual abilities, and oh yeah, modeling, which pays you for being born. You have to love this country.)

3) Alright Delivery. Lyrics ain’t shit if you have no delivery, with the possible exception of Guru from Gangstarr. At least vary that shit. Please don’t leave me feeling like I’d rather watch paint dry while fucking a puma than listen to your CD. Thanks.

These are the ingredients and they should all add up to one thing: Listenability. If I’m unable to listen to your CD…it is not music…its a son of a mother bitch. And nobody likes those!

Just to get this out of the way early, there are 12 tracks on the album…of which I like two, “Gotta Survive,” and “Money Comes and Goes,” (which sounds like vintage Mase), and there is one track that I find listenable, “Do You Remember?” featuring Cardan. And no, its not important to EVER know who Cardan is…trust me on this one. These songs all have the ingredients necessary to be quality songs.

Now to the other 9 tracks which are just honest to goodness…SHIT. Now I’ll give Mase credit for attempting to make an album that is postively on the up and up throughout. That is no easy task in today’s bang bang shoot ‘em up environment. I applaud his effort…but only his effort. I mean this album is straight up laffable.

For instance, the first verse of the song “The Love You Need feat. Rashad,” literally had me laughing. I’ve NEVER heard a verse so horrible in my life. He even has a line that says, “gave you my Hancock/it wasn’t legible”. Now in the context of the song, THIS MAKES NO SENSE. Since this isn’t old Mase talking about applying the “sausage” he is actually talking about his signature…but the girl in the song can’t read it…and what does this mean or have to do with anything???? I’m not even sure Mase knows. The rest of this verse is just horrible…HORRIBLE I SAY!!!!!!!!!! And this is emblematic of the rest of the song and album…completely elementary lyrics.

They should use this song as a shining of example of what NOT to do when trying to put a song together.

Which begs the question…was Mase ever a good rapper, in terms of lyrics?? I don’t ever remember actually LISTENING to what he had to say. This album forces you to do so though. Why??? Because it violates one of the cardinal rules of making an album…HIS BEATS SUCK MAJOR ASS! I’m starting to think that Mase had a ghostwriter when he was with Bad Boy b/c its hard to be as bad as he is on this album unless its just ingrained in you. Which means that Puffy’s ghostwriter had a ghostwriter. Strange, huh??

Truthfully, I don’t even want to talk specifically about the other songs…its just too hard to discuss them because they are that bad to me….and yes that includes “Welcome Back.” I don’t care if Mase is back, that song is just not good. In fact its…un-good. It is the anti-good. I don’t mind postivity in songs at all. In fact I’m all for it…but see, this album suffers from much the same problem that I feel gospel rap suffers from…horrible quality, horrible lyrics, and horrible production. Just because they are praising God doesn’t mean its good music.

(Another Nother Sidenote: I wonder if “Keep It On” is really going to inspire any women to keep their clothes on to have a good time. Like will it usher in a new era in videos where women are fully dressed??? Won’t this put BET out of business??? And where will all these women now go to find jobs??? OH MY GOODNESS…WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO UNCUT????????????????)

It also seems that “I Luv Tyla”, the tribute to his wife hasn’t made the final cut. THANK GOODNESS. Talk about the absolute most ridiculously fruity song of the year…to hear Mase sing about being in love with his wife was unbearable…especially given that the NEXT SONG was about him taking a girl away from a boyfriend who wasn’t any good for her with “The Love You Need” of which I think should be nominated for a Grammy for Best Comedy Recording for 2004.

***EDIT: This song actually IS on the CD. It has been renamed “I Wanna Go” though it hasn’t managed to remake itself into a better song.***

This album has horrible lyrics for the most part, except in the songs that I stated I liked. His flow is the same on all the songs…which is mundane and monotonous at best. And, I can’t understand for the life of me why his production is this bad. This is Mase…WHO WOULDN’T WANT TO GET ON HIS RETURN TO RAP ALBUM??? I would. The man jumped on a Kanye West song (“Jesus Walks” remix…who didn’t see that one coming?), and I think he was garbage on that too, but why couldn’t Kanye slip him a track or 12. I don’t think he asked anybody. What’s stranger…I can’t believe Puffy signed off on this album without chuckling under his breath. As shrewd and effective a business man as Puffy is…he must be hoping this album will sell strictly off of name recognition.

To drive it home…I honestly think Da Band’s album is better than this. (And yes this means that I actually listened to that album. But fret not, the Lord and I had a talk about this and I’m forgiven.)

You may say, in today’s day and age of being taken advantage of by the big music companies…getting three tracks is good. And to that I say…that would be the case if the rest of the songs weren’t SO bad. Filler tracks and Mase tracks are two different things. These Mase tracks honestly have hurt my feelings. Since the album is going to sell millions…you’ll be able to judge for yourself…but when you find yourself in the middle of “My Harlem Lullabye” saying…”what is this shit???”, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Please listen to this album in the comforts of your own home away from impressionable children who may hear your profanity laden tirades.

Because I know what happened to me…this album made me curse.

Damn.

“…thinking about the fears I’ve had for so long…”-Simply Red, “Holding Back the Years“, 1990

I wonder if anybody else has this problem.

I’m driving down the street listening to Youngbloodz “Damn”, a musical masterpiece in my mind, at extraordinarily loud levels. After all, this song is just perfect for riding down the block and knocking pictures off a wall. I’m cruising along, then I notice the street light turns from green to yellow to red. So I start to slow down and then do the unthinkable…

…I turn the volume down.

I often find myself looking around at the cars around me not wanting to force my music upon them, almost as if I’m ashamed at what I’m listening to. I look for impressionable young kids in the cars, elderly people who might have a heart attack or conniption if they hear Lil Jon scream “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH” too loud. I even look for anybody who seems like they just might not be interested in my particular brand of vodka. I usually only don’t bother to change the volume when the cars surrounding me look like college students or people that might jack me given the right opportunity. And this bothers me and makes me wonder…

When the shit did I actually start to care? I literally give a shit nowadays. Youngbloodz don’t give a fuck…but you know what…I do. And this brings about my biggest fear.

I’m getting old.

People say when you get older you tend to get more conservative. Well I used to scoff at those people and say, “Fuck that…I am Malcolm X.” Ain’t nobody gonna make me change my patterns. If I want to listen to music as loud as I want to at 4am, then by golly…it shall be heard. Ya know, typical rebellious stuff. And it turns out, nobody made me change up anything…it was all me. It’s all internal. Shoot, I’m even respectful of people now when they get in my car to not play anything they might find particularly offensive.

WTF?????? This from a dude who’s favorite album is still and will always be NWA’s “EFIL4ZAGGIN.”

I remember when I was in high school getting kicked out of neighborhoods for driving through and playing my music extremely loud. When I was told to turn it down and leave…I would turn it up and drive off. And the thing is…its mostly because of the music I’m listening too. Mary Mary doesn’t really lend itself to being played at the highest decibel level you have, nor does Frank Sinatra. Linkin Park does…but you’ll fuck around and go deaf listening to that too loud. The only music that tends to lend itself to overtly loud consumption is…(drum roll please) hip hop.

And it isn’t only in the music realm either. You just can’t go out with your friends anymore when they all look like they only shop at Banana Republic and the Gap and you look like you shop at AnyGhetto Outfitters, USA. Happy hour used to be that time when I’d get back to back episodes of A Different World while drinking Kool-Aid…now its a fucking after work stop where I have to be dressed appropriately.

And this scares me too. It’s like I’m getting to old to dress how I want to dress and now I have to start dressing how people who are my age are supposed to dress. For the record, I’m only 25…the problem comes in when your peers are all these people with secondary degrees and are attempting to make their way in professional society. Professionals tend to “act” a little bit differently. Especially black professionals. It’s almost as if a lot “forget where they come from.” (*gasp*) Not that I don’t understand, there does tend to be a different set of rules…I just haven’t let them change me yet…too much. I mean this will never happen to me, cuz hell, I just won’t go:

Party for Junior Level Executive Employees for AnyCorporation:
(Setting: group of individuals at bar and some people on dance floor, Back That Thang Up by Juvenile comes on)

Becky: Oh my gosh…that’s my song!!! Come on Tanisharella…let’s dance!!!

Tanisharella: (obviously fighting every urge in her body to drop it like its hot) No no…I really don’t care for this song that much…you go on ahead…

Scott: Come on Tanisharella…this is the newest song out…its fun!!!

Tanisharella: Okay…just for a second.

(Tanisharella proceeds to the dance floor and drops it like its mild for 3.5 seconds.)

When Tanisharella was 18, she didn’t care who saw her drop it like it was hot. Hell, she probably dropped it like it was armageddon…but now she’s 25 and cares about what people see and think. And this is a problem facing a lot of us young urban “professionals” nowadays. The gap between what we used to do and what we are now supposed to do. We tend to think folks that act a donkey on the dancefloor now need to grow up…and further, my peers tend to not even go to those kind of places anymore where people would drop it like its hot. And it gets even crazier to think about age 30. Can I dress the way I do now…AT ALL???

I’m not a rapper. Or a ball player. I’m not a drug dealer. This means people won’t look at me and not care what I have on, or how loud I play my music. Not sure if its a testament to the lack of intelligent credibility we give these people, but we expect them to do things like that…ya know wear bandanas with tuxedos and listen to only 50 Cent…on the way to church. And yet if I do it, people are really going to be looking at me crazy.

Thing is…maybe I’m making this up. Potentially, nobody gives a shit. So why do I care so damn much?? Why is it that now I really pay attention to how loud I’m playing my music and who might be able to hear it…or go out of my way to make sure I’m dressed appropriately for any occasion???

Luckily Jay-Z said, “I don’t wear jersey’s I’m 30 plus/give me a fresh pair of jeans, nigga button-ups…“, cuz at least then young males started rocking more (and I hate this term) “grown” apparel, like I’m supposed to. I’m just interested in knowing why the hell I care so much now. Why do I worry about being offensive to other people and respecting other people’s space? What changed for me on the inside…is it because I stopped watching BET (low blow)?? I mean I still listen to the same music, curse as much, and wear the same clothes. I just changed up the way I do those things.

I listen to the same music in the car, just not as loudly when other people are around, try not to curse around people who don’t curse, and try to dress a little more age appropriate. And you know what…its fucking irritating! And I still want to know why I developed this God forsaken social conscience??? Is it only because I’m getting older or am I just holding on to my youth???

Shoot, I even find teenagers nowadays to be outright annoying and ignant. I often think to myself…”why won’t these little bastards act like they got some sense??” And I know I didn’t care when I was at that age…but now…

Why??

And why didn’t Jadakiss mention this shit in his song…oh, I forgot, he’s a rapper.

He doesn’t have to.

…that you are a completely ignorant asshole, can it be held against you?

You see, I’m fed up. I’m honestly disgusted by a certain individual in the rap world. I would say hip-hop world but I refuse to call what this rapper does hip-hop. I can admit I’ve liked some of his songs, but its not the musical side that I’m fed up with…it is his ventures outside of the rap world that have drawn my ire. For this, I’d like to burn in effigy:

Nelly.

I know some people like Nelly…but really, this man might really be one of the most igrorant people on the face of this planet. And as evidence, I’d like to present three subjects:

1) Pimp Juice…the drink, not the song;
2) Tip Drills, the video and ensuing Spelman College fiasco; and
3) The P.I.M.P. Scholarship, yes…read that again.

Got damnit…can somebody please stop the madness. And oh yeah, this one Cornell Haynes AKA Nelly, is also a part owner of the Charlotte Bobcats. But I don’t even want to talk about that because well…one ignorant bastard deserves another.

Bob Johnson of BET Holdings, Corp. meet Nelly.

But let us start with Pimp Juice, because I’d like to save the final nail in the coffin for last, which is his scholarship program.

For those that don’t know, let us define pimp.

Pimp. (noun). def. One who finds customers for a prostitute; a procurer.

Now I don’t know about your neighborhood, but the pimps in my neighborhood were nothing to aspire to. Sure they had all the women and all the money you could ever want…but they were forced to wear some of the most godawful outfits known to man. I mean, I know Atlanta is home and we like colors there…but shit, walking down the street looking like a Sprite can, or checker board, or surfboard for that matter just doesn’t appeal to me. But really…pimps are not necessarily looked favorably upon in the black community.

Or any community for that matter. Pimps get hoes. Pimps take advantage of hoes. Granted these women have to show up for work and don’t necessarily have to be hoes, but maybe there is something in these women that keeps them in that state. And what does a pimp do…

…exploits her and makes money off of her insecurities and gives her 5 bucks to eat at McDonald’s. Burger King if she’s lucky.

I recognize that now in our state of urban-ness, the use of the word pimp isn’t nearly as derogatory as it used to be. Or is it?? Everybody is running around calling themself a pimp…men and women to little children alike. The songs on the radio nearly all make mention to being a pimp in some sort. Even Snoop has taken himself to a former pimp, the Bishop Don Magic Juan. And what are these songs and people talking about when they tell us they are pimps?

They are bragging on either, from a man’s point of view, having all the women, or from a woman’s point of view, having all the men who do shit for you. The basic principle here is basically having the other gender at your disposal for whatever is your heart’s desire. Doesn’t exactly support the whole marriage ideal does it? But that’s okay, as long as you are pimping…don’t hate the player, hate the game. And now, the game has an official sponsor, PimpJuice.

What I want to know is…why would we take something that has been deemed so negative in our communities and give it a sponsor? We use the word nigga…it ain’t like we got Nigga-ritos up in the store. Granted pimp, as a word, isn’t as bad as the word nigga…however, actual pimps are worse. I mean have you ever met a pimp that you were like, that’s my dog.

Wait, don’t answer that. I forgot about the cult films, American Pimp, Pimps Up Hoes Down, Hookers at the Point, and every other pimp film that has come out that we all love so much. So maybe i’m just alone in being slightly perplexed about naming a got damn drink PimpJuice. Because more than anything…its just ignant. Everybody wants to be a pimp not even realizing how subconciously, we already de-value women and tend to treat them like shit anyway…so fuck it…I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s only a word…right? Like I said, don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Guess I didn’t drive that point home. So let’s try with point #2. Tip Drills. Honestly, this video didn’t offend me. Like I said before, I was more amazed than offended. And I honestly thought that the women at Spelman College were putting up too much of a fuss that was probably rooted in more hypocrisy than anything. I mean they didn’t want Nelly to do the bone marrow drive at Spelman b/c of this video…yet I’m sure they are up in the club dancing their asses off to R. Kelly’s “Step in the Name of Love”. But then again, exploitation doesn’t offend me. Unless white people are doing the mocking.

But if you do look at this video closely, along with any other video on BET (at any hour), there is a lot of woman bashing going on. All the women are treated like sexual objects, and nothing more. And we accept it. We continue watching these videos and women continue to show up to be in the videos. Now I can’t honestly blame Nelly for all of this…I mean really…those women DID make the choice to be there. But that video was ignorance at its finest. I mean the song itself, is about ugly women with nice bodies (or big asses) that make great fuck-buddies. THEY MADE A SONG ABOUT THIS. (please read that again…for me…please???)

Now I know the Ying-Yang Twins make stupid ass songs…ALL THE TIME…but we expect that from them. At least Nelly MADE somewhat entertaining music. That little sing-song shit really does need to go though…but fuck…the one time the nigga does decide to rap again…he makes “Tip Drills.” And the video to boot. I mean, really, this video represents everything that women should be against in entertainment…and I’ll bet his albums are going to continue to sell millions and millions of copies. For somebody of his stature in the entertainment world…its just damn IGNANT! But then again, people will pay for it…and do…so I guess…

Don’t hate the player, hate the game.

And finally…the shit that really sent me into Bolivion (y’all remember Mike Tyson’s favorite vacation spot…there’s even a site dedicated to it. The President is a guy named Max.) This nigga had the NERVE to create a scholarship program and call it the P.I.M.P. scholarship. Well we already had the discussion on the word pimp, so that is useless at this point.

Let’s focus on the actual scholarship. It’s more about leadership qualities than academic merit. Now I don’t know if that struck anybody but me as odd…but to be a P.I.M.P….does your leadership include…i don’t know…pimping??? I think a pimp would have to be a natural leader…not necessarily a nurtured one. The gift of gab is a blessing from on high. And anybody or any pimp lucky enough to be blessed with the scholarship had better prove his worth. I’d institute quotas…4 hoes a month. I mean is it the scholarship that keeps on giving??? It starts you out with seed money and creates you into a pimp…so you can sustain your bank account through its program. I know I’m being ignorant here…but shit…the whole concept of naming a scholarship, P.I.M.P. is ignant.

Shit, why stop there…why not have the P.U.S.S.Y. scholarship…Progressing Unadultered Success Seeking Youth…or the B.I.T.C.H. Scholarship…ya know…Bringing Intelligent and Talented Children Hope Scholarships…or even H.O. Scholarships…Helping Out Scholars…that way you can have this spectacle:

Awards Banquet Honoring Scholarship Recipients at B.S.U.

Host: Thank you everybody for coming out to our 11th Annual Scholarship Banquet. We’d like to thank our Board of Trustees and our esteemed President Bill Cosby for coming out tonight. We’d like to recognize our scholars this evening. Students, please stand when we call your program…BITCHS, HOS, PIMPS, PUSSYS. All of our esteemed guests…please give a round of applause for our inner city youth who’ve overcome stereotypes and stigma to be here today. Thank you!

Get the point? The worst shit is, I’ll bet some ignorant bastard will admire one of these P.I.M.P. recipients and walk around talking about, yo dog, you are a real P.I.M.P., if he or she isn’t doing it themselves. Speaking of which…at the scholarship award ceremony, do you come out to 50 Cent???? Or do you play Pimp Juice??? And give them Pimp Juice, which is now, according to the website…a more healthy drink than Red Bull, which gives you wings. Shit…you fuck around with PimpJuice and you might mess around and get some crabs…

I’ll take wings.

But then again…he’ll probably get some sort of recognition for providing youth a venue to gain more scholarship money, which begs the question…do you pick a fight over a name or look at the bigger picture? Funny to me how only in the black community do we have to make this distinction. Only do we take our negative shit and well, push it on the population at large. I’m sure that Latinos don’t have the 8 People in a Pinto Scholarship Fund, or Native American’s don’t have the Smoke Da Peace Pipe Scholarship Fund…or at least it isn’t that obvious that the name gives it away. And I mean our current culture is what Nelly is representing…so I guess once again…I can’t hate the player, but hate the game.

Nelly can’t possibly think this shit is ignorant. Why? Because he continously bombards us with more pimpery and shit that would normally (in a world where parts of hip hop themselves don’t allow for the complete fuckin’ travashamockery of the culture to be reduced into pimps, hoes, and bitches) not even have to be discussed. But we have to…because we have allowed these things to come to pass. Shit, why lie…we love it. We were running around screaming PimpJuice when the song came out. Shit the uproar over the Tip Drills video probably opened up some people’s eyes to BET: Uncut…of which an article was written about in the Washington Post some months back. In our attempts to dispell the ignorance, we often open the floodgates for more people to partake. We do this shit to ourselves. And we continue to enjoy it…

I have to wonder at times…are these people even ignorant, or are we the ignorant ones for continuously accepting the same old shit time and time again. So can I hold Nelly’s ignorance against him? I think not…

Maybe the women at Spelman were onto something with their issue with Nelly…but you know what…

I can’t hate the player…I hate the game.

“while they kick back and just collect the wealth…”-DJ Quik, “Safe ‘N Sound“, 1994

Have you ever seen a commercial for Krispy Kreme Doughnuts? I haven’t.

You ever see a commercial for a crack dealer? I haven’t seen that either.

But everybody knows where the hell a Krispy Kreme is…and we all know where the crack houses are in our neighborhoods. In my old neighborhood in SW Atlanta, I lived two doors down from a crackhouse. Nice people…

Skinny though…I guess they didn’t eat much, what with all the random shootouts on my back porch. Oh yeah…and I’d like to apologize to anybody who ever visited me and was robbed, witnessed a shooting, was accosted by a crackhead, etc.

Oh wait, that was all me.

But like usual…I digress.

But in my travels, it has occured to me that Krispy Kreme and crack really do have a lot in common. But before we can lay claim to the similarities…we must first understand what you need in order to have a successful crack trade. Pay attention, this is important cuz I know everybody at one point or another has wanted a crack trade…no?…just me?…oh…

1) Crack. Speaks for itself. You got to have access to the crack.

2) Flexible Hours. Crack deals have to be able to go down at any time. You can’t just go around telling crackheads no. They’ll take your bike. Or break your window and take your CD’s out your car at 3pm on a fuckin’ Saturday and try to sell you BACK that damn Jay-Z Vol.2 and Outkast Aquemini CD you had just bought yesterday that you really ain’t got a chance to listen to and strangely leave behind the damn Tribe Called Quest The Love Movement CD…which they could have taken and I wouldn’t have cared…oops…ummm…I had heard that this kind of thing could happen to somebody.

3) Anticipation. Everybody wants shit they can’t have…yet. Ask any random music downloader that hasn’t been subpenoad by the Supreme Court or some random dickhead who claims he can’t feed his children b/c of music downloaders. So, you got to create anticipation. They have to want your shit before you even KNOW if it will be available. Kind of like…an R. Kelly album. No matter how many kids he fondles and ass-slaps affectionately…we are still waiting for his next album to drop. Or wait, is that Michael Jackson?

4) Location, Location, Location. You can’t go selling crack anywhere. You need a spot that people can get too…pretty easily, with little nooks and crannies for people to move in and about to devour your product and basically place themselves into an early grave…if they so chose.

5) Love. Love???? Yes, love mufucka. Crack dealers love their patrons. So much so that they make sure that they have some crack for them every time they stop by out of the kindness of their hearts. Kind of like how most folks grandmothers always have some cake or some dinner ready. Same thing. It’s all love. And you know you love your grandmother.

Notice I didn’t mention customers. Why, you ask?? Cuz its crack…supply creates demand, not the other way around. You got crack…you got customers. Pretty good deal if you think of it. Kind of strange there aren’t more crack dealers.

***NEWSFLASH: This just in…2 out of 4 “urban” youths are in the crack market.***

Oh.

But think about it…all of those requirements to be in the crack game are unique to Krispy Kreme as well. McDonald’s doesn’t make burgers unless you order them…Walmart has shit sitting on shelves that will NEVER get sold.

Krispy Kreme makes donuts and knows people will buy them. Which is the first necessity: doughnuts. I’ll be damned if those glazed doughnuts are not the best things I’ve ever had. There is almost nothing better. Have any conversation about Krispy Kreme and it will illicit some smiles and somebody will undoubtedly say, “Yo…them shits is good!!!!!” It never fails. Try it at home, work, grocery store, brothel…the results always stay the same. Shoot, if I could live the rest of my life sitting in the corner with an endless supply of Krispy Kreme doughnuts…I’d be a monkey’s uncle.

Sex, money, Halle Berry…fuck ‘em…give me a glazed doughnut from Krispy Kreme beeeyotch!

Anticipation. Have you all heard the buzz in places that they are THINKING about opening up a Krispy Kreme. There are like 100 something Krispy Kreme’s in America. Mufuckas will damn near heart-attack themselves waiting for a Krispy Kreme franchise to come to a neighborhood within 100 miles of them. I live in Washington, DC. They are opening up a Krispy Kreme in Dupont Circle, which is basically downtown DC.

People are gonna die. I can’t even imagine the number of accidents and pedestrians hit by sugar crazed doughnut eating mufuckas as they try to find a parking space. I’m willing to wager that people will literally catch the public transportation down there to get some damn doughnuts. People fighting on trains. We’re talking bedlam people. And people are waiting and excited about the prospects.

And once they open. Good lord. Lines circle blocks for months on end. For some of God’s gift to the world. Doughnuts. Low-priced…doughnuts.

Anticipation with no advertising. Do you realize how much money they save in marketing ALONE. Them bitches can open up overnight without telling anybody and then WHAM full house next morning. S0unds like crack to me. Let a dealer say he ran out of vials. Fuckin’ crackheads will just wait around. The more hours that pass…the crazier they get and the more they want it…the more they need it. Soon as a mufucka tries a KK doughnuts for the first time…its over. Done deal…nothing else is a real doughnut. Nothing else is that crack…only difference is instead of Pookie at the spot…you got Jane and Barbara and Zach and Ken and Pedrag and Nicolay…

Location and Flexible Hours kind of go together. Shit, who doesn’t know where a Krispy Kreme is if they live in a city with one. And what’s really funny, Jane and Barbara and ‘nem ain’t afraid to go into the black neighborhoods for some Krispy Kreme. In Atlanta’s West End community (home to Morehouse, Spelman, Clark-Atlanta, ITC, Morris Brown) there is a tight Krispy Kreme store. And I’ve seen white people there. I used to wonder why in the hell white people would be in the blackest of black neighborhoods…then I realized…Krispy Kreme is a helluva drug. They got sugar on their side so they ain’t afraid of no black folks when doughnuts is on they mind.

You put the Krispy Kreme in the right place where people can then go behind the store and basically snort up their doughnuts…you got yourself a winner. And what’s better…all of the Krispy Kreme’s I’ve seen are 24 hours…which means you can get yourself fucked up at night off some Krispy Kreme or whenever you need that “fix.” Crackheads do this all the time and can probably provide some valuable insight on late night lurking for some crack/doughnuts.

And you know what…Krispy Kreme loves its patrons. In America, we are some unhealthy people. And you know what, we don’t give a shit. We want to eat what we want when we want. And they make that possible. Fuck, I want some saccahrin induced carbohydrates at 213am…well summabitch…I can have them. I might have to drive an hour for it, but I can have it! They make themselves available for us to eat and enjoy their tasty treats…because they love us. And I as a proud American, thank them for that…

And that’s how crack works. You need it…they got it so you can go off and feel better about yourself later. To hell with the future…worry about the now.

And Krispy Kreme sits back and gets all that money like drug money. They follow the same premise as crack dealers do…minus the guns and ammo and shit that we tend to associate with drug dealers. But their ammo is more lethal…it kills you while it makes you happy…and that is the American dream.

Krispy Kreme is the new crack…and I for one am proud to say I’m a crack/Kremehead.

And for those people wondering how given all of this information, Krispy Kreme isn’t the man as opposed to Starbucks.

Simple.

I like doughnuts.

It’s amazing what offends me nowadays.

I can watch BET: Uncut and not be offended in the slightest at the exploitation. I’m actually more amazed at the audacity of some of the rappers and video girls than of the videos themselves. I mean how do you ACTUALLY have this conversation before shooting the “Tip Drill” video:

Nelly: Hey girl, E.I., you sure is fine…kind of. Anyway, when you get your eagle on, I was kind of just hoping, fa sho, if I could swipe Murphy Lee’s credit card down the crack of yo’ ass? Me and my derties think it would make a helluva camera shot…AND make you famous, ya dig….

Ugly Video Girl: Ooooooooh big daddy…anything for you, Nelly! Can you make sure its one of them new black American Express Cards…they are sooooooooo sexxy!!!!!!!!!! Get a good swipe too cuz I hate when I’m at the mall, and stuff, and they be having to re-swipe my mama’s card over and over…I like it when they get it in just one good swipe!

I watched Soul Plane the whole way through and was quite honestly amused by it. Not that it was a good movie, in fact it was really pretty stupid…BUT I was amused by it. And let’s be real…an airline run by a ghetto individual JUST might turn into what happened in the movie. I mean they are starting to have exercise classes on planes, who knows what’s next?.

Shit I’d fly NWA. And I don’t mean Northwest Airlines, either.

Bush not speaking at the NAACP didn’t offend me, I didn’t think that he should.

I once saw during the unveiling of the World War II Memorial in Washington, DC, (which is a quite beautiful memorial, I might add) a white man, obviously from a place where black folks don’t reside or even visit, with a confederate hat on and a shirt that said, “If I’d Known It Would Be Like This, I’d Have Picked My Own Damn Cotton!” And you know what…I thought that shit was funny! And I thought the dude wearing it had big freakin’ cajones for wearing that shit in Chocolate City. I damn near wanted to slap him five and say, “I really hope you make it home buddy. Tight shirt!”

Chappelle Show race-based skits to me are hilarious…like the reparations episode…DAMN that was on point. I got into the biggest argument with some friends of mine about this. They were offended that Chappelle would make such sweeping generalizations about black people and worried that white people would think that we would behave in this manner if we actually did get Reparations. Welllllllllllllllll….I just had to point out two things.

1) It’s satire, intended to be social commentary but not necessarilly true, AND…
2) I have two degrees and I’d start a damn record label with my reparations. Call that joint…Thanks2DaMan Productions or something, ya know, out of respect.

But like I said, stuff like that doesn’t offend me in the slightest. Most people are offended because they worry about what white people are going to say or think about black people if they come across such garbage. And to them I say, “Who gives a shit, some of its true!” They (or those that have those thoughts anyway, not all white people) will continue to think what they will with or without “positive” movies and shows on the air. I, for one, cannot keep going out of my way to make sure that every white person believes we are all smart and educated when they are around me and undo what they saw on television.

You become the exception, not the rule. Remember that shit and you won’t be so offended anymore either.

So what does offend me?

Well gotdamn if it isn’t the bastardization of black culture in mainstream America. And by black culture I mainly mean hip-hop culture as it stands b/c regardless of who the participants are nowadays, much of what is perceived as hip-hop culture is largely considered to be black and/or minority focused and urban, which is the white code word for black. And well, we all know mainstream means white. The only thing that is usually on point is the CP Time…cuz they usually catch on two to three years too damn late!

Honestly…I can’t take that shit anymore. Hearing white people try to sound “black” (and I can hear the “what do black people sound like”…well I’ll tell you, that same sound you think of when somebody says “sound black”…shit we know what that means) as if its naturally them…that is my equivalent of hearing somebody scraping their fingers across a blackboard on purpose. Or white people who go out of their way to be “hip-hop.” Now let me clarify something here. I have no problem with people being themselves, be they white or black. I have no problem with white rappers/producers…hell a lot of them are good. Or even white people being immersed into the culture…because they understand the culture and don’t want to be me.

But I’ll be damned if throwing on six fake platinum chains and a bandana as a young white boy from Any Suburb, USA doesn’t annoy the living shit out of me. That is somebody standing on the outskirts of the culture acting on what they perceive to be “the culture.” Shit, I know being young and black is cool and all, but if you want to be me, then fuck…take everything that goes along with it. And you know what…IT SOUNDS AND LOOKS FUCKING STUPID!

(There is one exception here: Malibu’s Most Wanted. I know I know, this SHOULD be the epitome of what I’m talking about. But since that shit was just SO unbelievably unrealistic to me…I had to let that one slide. Thank you and kiss my ass.)

I’ll give some examples since I don’t want my point to be misconstrued here as being anti-white, its all based upon specific experiences. One happened at a Plantation of all places, and the other I witnessed on TV recently…but has been mirrored on cutting room floors across the nation.

Last May (2003), my mother was in town for my graduation from grad school. So being as she came to DC for the first time, she wanted to see it all. A short drive from our nation’s capital is the beloved Mount Vernon Estate/Plantation of our first president, George Washington. Though I try to stay away from Plantations as a rule, (I’m from the South…the whole damn region seems like a former Plantation), on a whim, we decided to visit one day.

This was the day I wanted to reject my urbanicity.

Not only was I the only black person there…but I saw and heard some of the most annoying shit ever. I remember one little boy asking his mother if Washington was rich, to which the mother replied…

“He must have been…he had quite a few slaves!”

I looked at my mother, who is white mind you, and just said, quite simply, “I hate white people…” And of course I didn’t mean it, but for once she gave me a pass for being an asshole. But anyway, what really struck me was the large group of kids of which this inquisitive little bugger was apart.

They were all dressed like they just stepped out of a Hip Hop for Dummies Seminar. Fake chains…and I don’t mean small ropes…I mean those atrocities rappers were wearing with pendants a few years back including but not limited to: manhole covers, midgets, cars, brocoli, etc. You get the picture. All of them had their clothes hanging ridiculously off of their bodies. Some of these kids were rocking Pac t-shirts and the like. Basically…everything I would think black folks would wear if I was white and had never actually seen a real black person.

And then the conversations they were having…Good Lord…I swear I wanted to sit them all down and say to them…you can’t go around saying “those threads is mad dope, word up!” Mostly because, NOBODY SAYS ANY OF THAT SHIT ANYMORE. Like they were just pissing me off with their lateness and syntax. And then I realized…the fault is all on me and my peers. If we didn’t walk around talking like we do and doing what we do so effortlessly and flawlessly and setting trends the way we do…I wouldn’t have to listen to these little fucks butcher a language and culture. I mean you’d think that since they spend so much money on it, they’d do it right.

And you know what made it really annoying??? These bastards were talking REALLY loud around me, hoping (I assume) that I would hear them and recognize their attempts at being “cool.” Now my attire that day might have had something to do with it too. I had on a doo-rag, and a bandana wrapped around my head, a dickies shirt on, some Timberland boots on (straight butta baby)…and a straw hat (I’m from the South…we do those big time down thurrr…). They assumed I was “down” so they wanted to show me that they were “down” too. Fuckin’ roaches. I told my mom that day that if it would help, I’d go home and burn all my “hip-hop” flavored shit just to make sure I didn’t influence any other white kids into being assholes and identity-crisesed!

I could really go on and on about this…

But last night I saw that asshole of a show on UPN “The Player” that brought all the painful memories rushing back. It’s about that model from Miami and all of the “playas” competing for her affection. Basically who could be the biggest “playa”. Will she “play” them or will they “play” her? Got damn…

Have you ever wanted a whole cast to burn in hell? It was almost worth ending it all for me…I was ready to call my mother and say, life has been good to me, but I shan’t go on anymore…white people have forced me to jump off of this building.

Every time I heard somebody, and it was always a white person, say “playa” I cringed. It sounded so…contrived. Like white people saying “nigga.” As a white person, you REALLY have to go out of your way to add that to your vocabulary. Unless, and this is a big unless, you grew up hating “niggers.” But we ain’t talking about “niggers.” To quote the late great Tupac Shakur:

“Niggers were the ones with ropes around their necks hanging from a tree. Niggaz are the ones with ropes around their neck, hanging at the club.”

Classic.

Now I know that being a player isn’t a black thing. But I’ll be damned if all these folks weren’t trying to have that urban edge to themselves…so everytime they said “playa” it was like they were trying to sound…black. The more they said it…the worse it became to a point where I think I hated everybody…even the black people, for not smacking the shit out of the white people, who to me seemed to be mocking the black people.

And stuff like this just really irks the hell out of me. And you know what, it’s only going to get worse. It isn’t like black people go out of their way to do the things that some segment of the white population latch onto…shit just kind of naturally evolves, like rap has. Thing is, when mainstream American catches on a year or two later and goes full monty on our asses…it’s just too much for me to handle. And I want to go out and start dead prez’n mufuckas. Shit makes me want to join the Panthers AND the Nation of Islam (pre-Malcolm’s trip to Mecca).

It really, really, really pisses me off. Not Soul Plane, shit not even Ghettopoly…but white people who really go out of their way to attempt hip-hop/black culture yet wouldn’t step one foot in Any Ghetto, USA, and end up looking like straight assholes …

Playa.

-Michael Jackson, “Black or White”, Dangerous, 1991

That’s what Michael Jackson says. And he should know…

…he’s been both.

But what about the people that aren’t black or white…but, say… MIXED????

(***DISCLAIMER#1: I’m mixed. My dad is a black man from Alabama and my mother is a white woman from France. So I can talk about this shit if I want too.***)

(***DISCLAIMER#2: I’m primarily talking about mixed black/white kids. However, this does have relevance to any kid who is mixed with black and anything else.***)

Have you ever been channel surfing during the daytime and come to a talk show with a title saying something like, “Kicking Rocks in the Black and White World: Hell for the Mixed Kids,” or “Nobody Plays With Half-Breeds”? No…neither have I.

BUT…I have come across those shows that give mixed children, usually the offspring of black and white couples and usually girls, a chance to talk about the difficulties of growing up mixed (or interracial) in a world where almost black kids (because let’s be honest here, these kids are not almost white) have many troubles due to those race-mixers AKA their parents decision to make their lives a living hell.

Race-mixer. (noun) def. person who decides to challenge the status quo and what God set aside as the natural order of things, namely people who try to mix urban and suburban…er…black and white, to make curly hair lighterskinned BLACK children thereby reducing the number of white people in the world and integrating our once lovely and segregated lifestyles and damning us all to hell by drinking out of the same water fountains and even…HOLY SHIT…TALKING TO ONE ANOTHER.

But I digress.

Typical Talk Show Conversation b/w Host and Mixed Kid(s):

Host: What is it like to be…do you need a tissue, Becky-Shanquilta… what’s it like to be MIXED???

(collective gasp from audience)

Fucked up Kid AKA Becky-Shanquilta: The black kids won’t play with me because I’m too light, and the white kids won’t play with me because I’m too dark!! It’s sad because I can’t make friends. I just want people to like me!! It’s not fair…I get picked on in school by the black kids who call me “oreo” and “half-breed” and the white kids always want to touch my hair…

Most of the conversations (in summation) go something like that. And to be quite honest, this shit is offensive to me. They make me look bad. Now I’ve been mixed my whole life…and maybe I’m the exception to the rule, but I’m always thinking…WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THESE BASTARDS???

And then it hits me…they don’t know that they are black!

Let’s get a few things straight. All mixed kids aren’t fucked up. But it would seem that a lot are. It seems as if a lot go through lifelong confusion issues such as trying to figure out who they identify more with, black or white, eventually realizing that they are…

wait for it…

it’s coming…

BLACK.

Amazing, huh??? Much to their chagrin sometimes. Then they go on these talk shows and/or focus groups and talk about the fact that life was so difficult for them and that they spent a lot of time alone because of their affliction, which is less about being mixed, and more about being mixed up.

FACT#1: Mixed kids are black. That was the case in the good old days, you know slavery days…its the same now.

For some reason, this little known fact seems to elude many mixed kids. Somehow, they didn’t get the memo. I got mine…though luckily I had the fortune of having my dad sit me down when I was six years old and have this convo (it was really short, he was wisest in his minimalist rants):

Poppa Duke: Boy, if you don’t remember anything I tell you in life, remember this…

Peewee Panama: Yeah daddy????

Poppa Duke: Boy, your mama is white…YOU ARE NOT! Don’t forget that shit and your life will be easy. Now clean up your room nigga!

Peewee Panama: *experiencing moment of clarity…it was amazing, everything makes so much sense* Okay daddy…can I have a quarter?

If more mixed kids were privy to these kinds of realizations at an early age instead of parents trying to tell these mixed (up) kids that they aren’t black or white, but mixed…maybe, just maybe, these fuckers would have somebody to play with because…

FACT#2: People don’t hate you because your mixed…they hate you because your an asshole.

A lot of these bastards probably play up on the fact that they aren’t black around the black kids, and try to play up the fact that they ARE white around the white people. We can blame slavery for the inferiority complex…I’m blaming parents for not being strong enough to tell the kids the damn truth. These kids spend so much time saying “I’m not black” to their black former friends that the black kids start to hate them. Black people come in all kinds of shades, we learn that early, so we as black people accept most black folks (except in some parts of the South where light skinnededed people tend to be loathed by some and loved by others), but these fuckers come along and say…I’m not black, I’m mixed…AND sound proud to not be black. Major no-no. That’s where that problem comes in and why black folks hate them half-breeds.

Now the problem from the white people…WELL…white people aren’t dumb. They know a non-white mufucka when they see one…EXCEPT in those cases where the mixed kid really does look, in fact, white (Imitation of Life, anyone???) sometimes confusing even black people. And white people are protective of their club AND hate self-unaware black people as much as black people do. Shoot, we hear and see it all the time on TV, “Jim, I was looking for more of an “urban” feel, and you just aren’t providing it so I’m gonna have to let you go. Go back to the streets and be more, you know…black, homie. Like that 50 Cent guy…”

So to run around calling yourself “half-white” to white people…well, it didn’t work in the 1860′s and doesn’t work now. You don’t want to become that black person that white people laugh about and refer to as, “not a black person…but one of us”, and feel comfortable saying stuff like, “those niggers, not you Benson, I mean Babatunde, er Brian…you’re one of us…” Talk about ending up lonely…black people can SMELL those mufuckas from far off. And we don’t like them either.

Assholes.

If you notice, I refer to myself as part of the “we” in that last sentence. I was raised black and have always referred to myself as black. Mostly because I have lived a black life (you know, raised with Luther Vandross, Motown, blaxploitation movies). But also because nobody who sees me thinks I’m mixed and I’m treated like I’m black by the world.

(***DISCLAIMER#3: Though I do claim to be black, I don’t shy away from being mixed. I’ll tell you in a heartbeat if it comes up. Most folks are surprised though since I seem so “black”…which to me means I have bass in my voice and actually still like to drink Kool-Aid.***)

What is treated like your black you ask?? Followed around in stores, harassed or bothered by police for no reason at least once, received a driving while black ticket, get looked at funny when walking with white women, listen to rap music…wait, that doesn’t count anymore, still get called a nigger in some parts of the south…just happen to be a smart nigger. And because, no matter what I achieve, I’m still a black man that achieved that. Not a man that achieved that…a black man that achieved that…and I’m flattered. Let’s be real…it’s cool to be black right now.

The real reason however…is because once I went to a KKK rally…somewhere in Iowa…and amidst the confusion, somebody said…

Klan Guy: You thur, booooy, what makes you think you kin jest be hur at this hur rally?

Me: I’m half-white.

And do you know they didn’t let me stay for at least HALF the rally! That’s the day I realized that half-white, makes you full black.

And my life has been easy ever since, well you know for a black guy. It’s really a shame more mixed kids don’t have this kind of experience. It was a real “cross burner”…

Get it “cross burner”…ya know, the cross, they burn the cross…ah hell…forget it.