Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises Presents…Panama’s Propositions

[***Administrative Note: Being as today is the last day of Black History Month, I thought I'd pass on a link I received from a friend of mine in North Carolina that includes many pictures from the Civil Rights Movement, specifically the goings ons in both Birmingham and Montgomery, both hotbeds of civil rights activity. It really is an intersting special report from the Birmingham News, so get thee to a nunnery, and check out Black history as it was happeneing. ***]

I rarely listen to the radio anymore. I just usually watch MTV Jams to determine what the hot songs are right now since the hot songs usually have a video which is why I would be watching MTV Jams since they show videos and since I’m paying extra money a month for the digital package JUST so I can have MTV Jams and vh1 Soul (which both show videos, by the way) the least they can do is provide me the information on what the popular songs of the moment are.

So yeah…I don’t listen to the radio much. On the occasions when I do, sometimes I’m treated to a song or two that I actually like. Most times, I hear songs that I hate to admit I like or songs that I’d never pay my own money to own. Rarely do I hear a song that has any semblance of social relevance or is relatable to the common man. It’s usually bitches and money. Excuse me…that was not the right thing to say.

Big booty bitches and money.

And cars.

But then yesterday happened. As I drove home from work, I decided to listen to the radio. Anybody who lives in the Washington, DC, area knows that between the two radio stations here, WKYS (93.9) and WPGC (95.5), you will hear the exact same songs on either station…on repeat…all day long. Which is why I don’t listen to the radio much and just usually watch videos on MTV Jams to figure out which songs would be on the radio since those would be the popular songs…well…we already covered that.

Upon listening to the radio, WKYS to be exact, I heard a song of social relevance. I heard a song of truth and honesty. I sat in traffic, attempting to slow down to 40 MPH (to avoide the ticket-cameras that will take a picture of your ass for doing 46 in a 45 MPH zone…actually its more like your bumper and license plate but since Patra had the song “Pull Up To My Bumper” I assume it was more about ass than cars which is why using the word “ass” a few lines back is somewhat of a pun, not one of those “intended” puns, but a pun nonetheless) in the 3rd Street Tunnel as I made my way to New York Avenue.

What I heard in this song was a man’s realization. It was a man’s realization and admittance (and if that’s not a word, try admittation on for size) that he was human. It was a song that spoke of a problem, but wasn’t asking for help. It was the nature of man. Man doesn’t usually want help for his addictions or problems, man wants to wallow in them and receive the momentous short-lived euphoria we gain from the moments our addictions bring. We don’t want to lose the freedom our addictions bring to our locked-down minds and bodies.

This song was common to all mankind.

This song has social relevance.

This song was T-Pain’s, “I’m In Luv (Wit A Stripper)”.

No go ahead and laugh and say something to the effect of, “this nigga is trippin’.”

[***Sidenote: Yesterday I was perusing some old posts of mine when I came across a new comment on a post from last January about what happened to me at a club in Huntsville, Alabama. In this comment, the person told me that before I go talking about racism of any kind, I need to re-examine my use of the word "nigga" on my site. And though I don' t understand how the two correlate given that I am a black man and refer to myself as the dreaded n-word, which is clearly an argument for another day and can go on for many many days, it could very well be a valid point. However, I am the master of my soul, the funder of my domain, and illustrious words of the Youngbloodz, we here at Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises, "don't give a fuck" what you think. If I use the word nigga, it doesn't mean that racism, overt or covert, exists any less...AND...I'm Panama the Most Muhfuckin'. Apparently, they didn't get the memo. So, in case you missed what was in between the lines up there, and you are reading this right now....this goes out to you and you and you, let me clear my throat, and enunciate it properly...fuck you. Smile! ***]

The reason this song speaks volumes about mankind’s inner battle is because this is a real phenomenon that isn’t spoken about much in pop culture. Sure, there are many an ode to the ass bounceologists, but mostly in the exploitative manner. When was the last time you heard a song about a man exhibiting his desires over the strippers in a way that neither degraded or relegated the women to mere trinkets for a man to ogle over??

Not that this song doesn’t do those things, but I’m just saying, when was the last time you heard a song like that?

However, T-Pain does admit the fact that one of the Pole Proprietors has gained a spot in his heart. And let me tell you, he isn’t the only man to have this happen. I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes to a friend of mine.

A long time ago, for one of our boys 19th (or 20th) birthday, somebody had the bright idea to take him to a strip club. Well, we were in Atlanta so that suggestion was not only a great idea, but everybody was on board. Strapped with a cadre of 1 dollar bills (actually we were pretty broke so we didn’t have so many), we ventured to a strip club. After being called out by the club management for sitting right up on the stage but not tipping well, we commenced to put our money into the stripper’s bank account. Then we got a lap dance for my boy.

I watched an entire relationship happen before my very eyes.

During the course of this lapdance, my boy had a look of true passion on his face. There seemed to be actual feelings occuring. In that 10 minute lap dance, he told her that he loved her.

You see, my boy fell in love with a stripper.

T-Pain’s song gives an anthem and a face to men everywhere who have fallen in love with strippers. Sure, you can’t touch them in some states and in DC they don’t even take off their bottoms…but that doesn’t change the fact that some men do fall in love with strippers. They are the fantasy we desire. They provide the elusive pleasure principle that many a man doesn’t receive from the cascades of women he may be involved with…unless he is dating a stripper.

Which usually doesn’t exactly conjure up thoughts of jealousy. Somewhere along the line, the buck stops at dating a stripper. Jury’s out on how fucked up this is or not.

But you see, that’s why this song brings so much to the table. He wants to bring this woman to his home to do that night thing, but he can’t wife her up. She’s a stripper for goodness’ sake. The moral dilemma of the Strip Club Connoisseur. The Thong Theorem. The ultimate question mark.

He’s in love, but what can he do with that love?

Nobody knows.

He’s in love with a stripper, as many a man is, but she’s a stripper and her job is to make other men feel important. There is agony, and pain. T-Pain to be exact.

She’s poppin’ and rollin’…she’s coming down from the ceiling.

Right into the hearts of man.

Finally, a song about the common man’s plight for love in all the wrong places.

Finally, a song about life.

Time for another edition of random thoughts from an office somewhere in Washington, DC.

Relax yourself girl, please settle down.

-I think Flavor of Love is the best show on television right now. This show has jumped from guilty pleasure to the show I want to call everybody and tell them to watch. I’m going to be sad to see it end. Is it ignorance personified? Yes. Is it further proof that there are at least 10 women in the world with absolutely NO other purpose than to be video hoes? Hell yes. Did Punkin deserve to get molly-the-fuck-wopped for spitting torpedo style on New York? Without a doubt. It’s been said before, but this is The Black Bachelor. There is nothing cookie cutter about this show. Flavor Flaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaav! He is my choice for man of the year!

-I’d also like to go on the record and admit that I watch Grey’s Anatomy. Every Sunday. I tried to avoid it but my younger sister got me hooked. And I’d like to slap the monkey shine shit out of Meredith for using poor George like she did. She is an assmonkey and should be given the heeby jeeby’s and the Bee Gee’s for her actions. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, watch the show.

-I just checked CNN.com and it appears that Justice Antonin Scalia has become the newest spokesman for the gun-toting NRA nuts out there. I’m well aware that everybody in the NRA isn’t just itching to shoot something every 10 seconds. However, I’ve also read one of the NRA’s monthly magazine. Talk about totally misguided people. There was even a quote that stated there was proof that the more people owned personal handguns, the less crime occurred. I’d like to see the study that made a positive correlation between those two things. I’m not saying it isn’t possible, but it sounds to me like one of those instances of making the stats fit the position. Kind of like Ice Hockey in Hong Kong…only not at all.

Anyway, this is what Scalia said to the National Wild Turkey Federation, which I somehow think has less to do with a buch of Wild Turkey’s coming together to set an agenda for the continued progress of the species and more to do with a bunch of middle-aged white men trying to find new ways to kill them. Gander if you will…um, no pun intended:

“The attitude of people associating guns with nothing but crime, that is what has to be changed,” Scalia told the audience of about 2,000.

“I used to travel on the subway from Queens to Manhattan with a rifle,” he said. “Could you imagine doing that today in New York City?”

It seems that the good Justice wants folks to be able to walk around with guns all willy nilly. I wonder if that includes us little nigras in the inner city ghettoes that these people wouldn’t venture to if their wives were kidnapped by Christopher Walken and Laurence Fishburne.

And there are folks carrying rifles on the subway today in New York City, Antonin. They are called the U.S. Military.

-Master P should be shot by the U.S. Military on a New York City subway for being a grown ass black man with no rhythm. Thank you.

-Has anybody else noticed that R. Kelly STILL hasn’t been to trial yet?

-I must mention this again. But poor Busta Rhymes. Riding high off his comeback courtesy of Dr. Dre and Aftermath Records. How pissed would you be to see him wearing a Stop Snitching t-shirt right about now? Me, I’d be heated and I’d throw potatoes at white people in Idaho. I read on Allhiphop (which doesn’t necessarily give this much credence) that he went to Cali to avoid a New York State subpoena. Not sure how much truth there is to that. But damn…I’m just glad I’m not a rapper and don’t have to live by shit like that for street credibility. Then again I also miss out on all of the video hoes and free access to any STD imaginable. But I guess you can’t make an omelete without breaking a few eggs.

I’m sure that will make sense to somebody. I’m also sure that somebody will actually consider whether or not that’s a worthy trade-off.

-Howard University, the other white meat, is holding a Hip Hop Symposium on it’s campus at the end of March. I think that when I hit it big, I’m going to have one of them there symposiums myself and partner with an HBCU so I can bring all these people who come here and think that rap is garbage and put them on stage with other folks like myself so we can battle it out in public. I’m sure there are actually people who hold views similar to T. (look at that, you got a shoutout in one of my posts) on one of the spectrum and then there are people like me on the whole other end. We might also make it pay per view and feature a boxing ring where for every good point somebody makes, the other gets to take blast their favorite rap or other song. Either that or everybody will just take shots of Grey Goose and then we have a After Symposium Jam filled with nothing but the clean version of rap songs and Willie Nelson.

But, something I did want to mention was that these symposiums rarely feature people, especially younger black folks, who have a disdainful opinion on rap. It’s always people who are rappers trying to explain what needs to happen. Coincidentally, they are also some of the oldest and currently least selling rappers in the game right now. Ironic? I think not.

Bottom line, when I hit it big, some of you will get calls from me.

-I realized the other day that I know one person who actually still watches BET. I’d like to say that my plan is working, but the fact is, BET just sucks and has been running people away faster than the creator AYD’S Weight Loss regiment. I saw this on vh1’s WebJunk show. Apparently, in the late 70’s (I think), there was a fellow who created the AYD’s weight loss regimen. Talk about the WORST name for a produce, weight-loss, no less. I wonder where that dude is now.

Anyway, BET has apparently run anybody who would actually watch it away. Not that I care much, I just feel that it’s important to do BET updates from time to time.

-I went to the University of Maryland for grad school. With that in mind, I’d like to say that I’m a huge Duke Blue Devils fan. And I love JJ Redick.

And fuck the Maryland Terrapins and have fun in the National Invitational Tournament.

I have become bored with myself.

That is all for now.

Actually it’s more than white. It has blue and pink stripes in it as well, but you get the picture.

Every February, we celebrate Black History Month. And like clockwork, every February 2nd I forget it’s Black History Month. Is it me or does it seem like the further you get from a mandated public education, the further from the radar Black History Month becomes? I don’t even get annoying e-mails telling me things like:

“On this day in 1873, Cleophas Lincoln invented the first spinning rims for a horsedrawn buggy. They consisted of 18 extra wooden poles that would start spinning when the buggy reached speeds of over 8 miles per hour. He is also credited with being the first person to introduce the term ‘no homo” to modern society. Upon returning back from a trip to the NYC Annual Horsedrawn Buggy convention, he found that somebody had burned down his home. Visibly distraught, a passerby asked him what was wrong and he responded, ‘No home…Oooooooooh!’ A phrase was born. Black History Month…American History in Color.”

And of course, none of that up there has anything to do with what I’m writing about.

How many people, who are gainfully employed and reading this, work primarily with white people?

Go ahead, you can raise your hand. You are not alone.

Michael Jackson is with you.

I’d be willing to bet money that a good 90 percent of people who work in a place that has a speedy internet connection work mostly with white people.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Oh yeah, you can put your hands down now.

On second thought, if you really wanna party with me…put your hands where my eyes can see!!!

Speaking of Busta Rhymes (only quickly), isn’t a shame that amidst the whole ignoramously ignorant “Stop Snitchin’” campaign, a rapper got pulled into it and actually had to make a conscious decision to keep quiet or risk the wrath of Jim Jones and other misguided fuckboys and niggas who feel that despite his longtime FRIEND being murdered and given that chances are he saw who shot him, he should STILL keep quiet because snitching is wrong?? It’s almost like we WANT more criminals in our neighborhoods.

You know despite all the success and home loans I’m eligible for, being black sure does suck sometimes.

Hmm…that is both a t-shirt AND a joke waiting to happen.

Back to the lecture at hand. I work with numerous and gobs of white people. This poses no major issues at all. In fact, I really don’t mind, care, or give a shit. However, I tend to hear some strange conversations from time to time, and I am definitely inclined to believe that white people do feel like all black people look alike. Well, the other day, a strange, but interesting conversation was brought to me by a co-worker.

Across from my place of employment is a gym that everybody who works here gets a discounted membership too. Lots of people go during work hours. Hell, more people NEED to go. I work for the government. There are a lot of fat, balding white men and a lot of out of shape people with tattoes that say things like, “Anarchy” walking around. No, working out won’t help the tattoes. I just felt like sharing.

I myself am a non-going member. Well, one of the fellows that works with me who goes to work there has taken issue with the music that gets played. It would seem that they play rap music non-stop. He’s entitled to his opinion and frankly I can only take but so much Lil Jon all day. He did admit that the music gets him pumped. He also said he thinks its mostly violent and angry. Like Guns ‘N Roses except sung by black people.

Of course, he doesn’t actually LISTEN to any of the words (once again, I got him to admit that as well), but he just gets that feeling. He said he hears a lot of words like “shut up” and shit in the music. I assume they played a Trick Daddy song. Who knows.

And then he said something strange to me.

Let me replay the conversation for you.

Co-Worker: It just seems like a lot of the music is just violent and angry and not positive.

Pencil-Pushing Panama: Well, it’s not all of it. It might just be what you’re hearing in there. Some of the more popular, energy driven rap.

Co-Worker: Maybe. I’d just rather listen to something like, I don’t know, Journey. But I don’t want to go ask them to play it. I just don’t want to hear all that negative stuff all the time. The rap music seems so negative. I don’t think you listen to rap.

PP Panama: Really? Why not?

Co-Worker: It just seems negative and I don’t think you’d be into that negative the rap music.

PP Panama: WHAT????????????

CW: I said I don’t think you’d be into the rap music.

PP Panama: WHAT????????????????/!!

CW: I SAID I don’t think…aww forget it.

PP Panama: OKAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!! Now get out.

Okay, the last Lil Jon induced half of that convo didn’t really happen. I embellished a little.

But that struck me as odd because my co-worker, who apparently doesn’t view me to be a negative person, since I work with him and all, would assume that I wouldn’t listen to “the rap” music. Probably because he deems it to be something negative.

Interesting.

Now, granted, he’s aware that I listen to everything from the Beach Boys to Sinatra to The Jackson 5. We’ve had all of these talks around the office with most of the older people being surprised how much I know about “their” music. But he also randomly asks me if I have any Frankie Vallie (sp?) albums. Other things he knows about me?

I’m 26 and a young black man who lives in a black neighborhood around black people.

And he’s also made reference to “the rap” music before and how he hears it blasting from windows in the summer in his Virignia suburb from cars being driven primarily by black dudes. We have some very candid conversations, me and this particular co-worker. He’s a good dude.

But me, the good black dude probably doesn’t listen to rap music, because rap music is negative. And I wonder how many white people might actually make that assumption. Since you work with me, and you aren’t a negative (black) person, and since all rap is negative, you wouldn’t listen to it.

And don’t get it fucked up, they assume that black people equals rap music. Just not the “good” ones.

Which further proves the point that a majority of mainstream (read: white) America feels like rap is just downright flith-flarn-filth, through and through.

[***DISCLAIMER: I'm not saying that ALL white people think like this. I'm well aware that many white people don't hold this view. I'm also aware that it's many YOUNGER white people who don't hold this view. Quite scary actually...cuz we could see a shift where white people know more about rap than many of us do. Oh wait...too late. ***]

Clearly I’m not re-inventing the wheel here, as this is a thought that has probably crossed many folks mind, but it just seems funny to me that because I work with white people, to them, rap music must not be my brand of Vodka since its the downfall of society. I’m not contributing to the downfall since I have a good job, therefore, they view me differently.

[***Sidenote: It isn't all of them though. Some of these fuckers up in here look at me sideways. So I return the favor. I actually love it though. You can give me a good job, but they make it so that you never forget where you are. Of course, some people are just assholes in general, but still, I chose to make it a black white thing. I can do that. I'm me. ***]

I wonder what they’d think if they saw me after work when I look like the regular black folks my age, sans the long ass feminine white shirts, fake jewelry, and urban apparel that I hate so much.

Maybe I’ll start blasting Lil Jon in the office or throw on a little 50 Cent just to show them. Or maybe, I just don’t care. I know why he thinks what he thinks, and I know its rooted in the same ignorant shit that lots of white people, including my mother feels, about rap and our whole hip-hop culture.

And they’re wrong.

And don’t care.

As long as I work here, I’m not a regular black man, I’m me…the one that works here. Well, at least until I rob somebody and they see me on the news and I get taken to prison and all types of bad things happen to me because I’m light-skinnededed and sexxy. No brokeback.

I’ll bet he’d think I was listening to rap then.

Until then, it’s time to rev up The Beatles.

[***Administrative Note/Shameless Promotion For Somebody Else: Do you have aspirations for Hollywood glory...or similary delusions of granduer? If you live in the Washington, D.C./Baltimore Area, and are interested in getting your feet wet and testing out your acting chops, go to A Great Imagination. A casting call is undergoing for an independent film being shot in the area over the summer. Do you think you are the next Halle Berry, Julia Roberts, or Bruce Willis? Will Smith or Tom Hanks? Mary-Kate or Ashley? Then do yourself a favor and throw your hat into the ring. The camera is waiting for you. ***]

So a brotha went home this past weekend.

My mother recently retired after a career in financial services so her children (me and my three sisters) did what any party-loving, semi-alcoholic tendencied, black family from down South children would do. We threw her a retirement party replete with lots of food, family (something like 200 folks showed up), and alcohol. My oldest sister is something along the lines of an uncertified master chefstress. Good times were had by all.

That is not what this post is about.

You see, me travelling home, means that I had to fly. If you’ll recall (I’m too lazy to link anything), I’ve had some very, how do you say, fucked up travelling experiences lately. From delayed flights, to cancelled flights, to inclement weather, to radar malfunctions, to cargo distribution problems…well, you get the picture. Needless to say, I was a little intrigued by my impending travel as to what new adventures might befall our tragic hero, me.

Yes, I shall now, and heretofore be referred to as a hero. I’m laying claim to it before Kanye steals it. He’s already the savior.

They call me Panama…Panama Jackson. My daddy ain’t Joe, my mama ain’t Catherine.

If I may, if I might, I’d like to share what happened on my flights. So I will.

Let me start off by saying that nothing so dastardly as a cancelled flight occurred this time. No, this time were laughs, celebrities, and national concern issues.

For anybody living on the East Coast, and more specifically, the Mid-Atlantic and points north, you are aware that a massive snowstorm was expected (and hit). Perfect…as soon as I decide to head down South, my trip back North might be impeded by Mother Nature and her mood swings again. Moody muhfucka.

Little Known Panama Fact: You don’t want to travel with me. You know why? I’ll tell you why. I’m never in a rush. I get to the airport a good hour and a half early. And I check bags. Every time. Even on weekend trips. I do not like rolling a small suitcase with me. I like to be free to roam and walk as I please without a big ass bag. And I hate trying to find a spot on a crowded plane for my carry-on bag. I like to put whatever I have under the seat in front of me. Essentially, I will piss you off. I often piss of peopel who I travel with because they hate waiting for bags at baggage claim. Like I said, I’m never in a rush. You will hate me. Kiss my ass.

So…I had a direct flight from Washington, DC’s Ronald Reagan National Airport to Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. You can often tell when somebody doesn’t live in the DC area because they will refer to it as Reagan National Airport. Locals, call it National.

I had a friendly seatmate. We began talking as soon as I sat down. Which was good since we had a lot of time on our hands being as apparently we had one too many people on our flight.

You know what that means right? In today’s climate of terrorist threats and national emergencies…we weren’t going anywhere…for a while.

The flight attendants counted, and counted again, until somebody went Nino Brown and told on this one particular fellow who wasn’t sitting in the right seat. Luckily, it was the airline’s fault. They double-booked one seat…on a flight with empty seats. Some thirty minutes later, they clear it up. During that time I think I saw one white woman with a Republican hat on say, “see….that’s why we need to spy on them.” Clearly proving how gullible and non-sensical a lot of people are in today’s day and age. She was thusly pinged with a very hard pretzel by one liberally zealous jackass (pun intended) sitting a few seats behind her. Hilarity ensued.

And yes, I made up everything from “During that time…” forward.

But it would have been fun.

Other than that…my initial flight went off sans hitch. That is a success in my book. The fun began on the trip back.

Language and cultural barriers are quite the comedy to me. I don’t think people spend enough time enjoying the cultural differences of our great country. We also don’t spend enough time laughing at people who blatantly don’t give a shit about order and unconfusion. Such was my flight from Atlanta to Charlotte on Sunday.

As an aside, National Airport was closed for much of the day on Sunday. I didn’t know this. Apparently watching The Daily Show with Jon Stewart for news doesn’t exactly give you everything you need to know. One helpful middle-aged woman who was eavesdropping on my conversation with my mother while I sat in wait for my flight from Atlanta to Charlotte…told me the airport was closed, sending me on a 10 minute scavenger hunt for information making sure that if I was stranded somewhere…it wasn’t going to be in Charlotte.

Moral of the story: When bad weather occurs, watch the news. You might get stuck in Chicago if you don’t and have to fly into Chattanooga instead of Huntsville, even though they are roughly 80 miles apart.

Anyway, there was a large Asian contingent on my flight to Charlotte. Apparently, they didn’t give a shit about where they were assigned seats. Nope…they all just sat down where they felt like sitting. And even further, they didn’t sit together. Nope. They were spread out all over the plane fucking up EVERYBODY’S seating. One man asked the woman if she was sitting in his seat. She looked at him, politely smiled, then just started looking out the window.

That’s fucked up.

So you can just imagine the chaos that ensued. And when I say large contingent, I mean about 8 people. Which means that people didn’t even know they had to find a new seat until they walked into the cabin and were staring into the Seat Jackers. Oh yes…and it was a full flight…but nobody knew this, so nobody could just take any seat. No…people actually had to stand in the aisles and wait for available seats, FURTHER, fucking up the boarding process.

Then…one of the stewardesses kindly asked the Asian woman sitting next to me (I was also a victim of the Incredibly Missing Seating Assignment) to place her purse under her seat. What happened??

Nothing. She just looked forward and kept her purse right there in her lap. That was until she decided to clean out her purse, take off her shoes, and begin foot fondling me under the seats. Look, I’m as big a fan of foot fondling as the next man…but I didn’t know her. I was slightly offended. What? Did she think I was easy or something? She was not getting my goodies.

And oh yes, back to the purse cleaning. This was a 40 minute flight. She dumped out the WHOLE damn purse. And just started ruffling through shit. Maybe it’s just me, but why the hell couldn’t that wait? Who does that on a plane? Especially with limited space. It was bad enough she took off her shoes and started playing footsies with me, she’s also cleaning out her purse? Dumping shit onto my side of the arm-divider.

The Wrath of the Asian Seat Jackers was felt, tenfold. Man, was I happy to get off of that flight.

Only to find my way to my connecting gate and realize that I vaguely recognized 4 black urban looking gentlemen with Atlanta baseball caps on. I couldn’t quite place them, but something told me they were rappers.

And then it happened.

One of them stood up, he leaned with it, then he rocked with it. Then I saw his white tee. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was on a flight with Dem Franchize Boyz.

The sad part is that, of all the black folks on the plane, I might have been the only one who recognized them. Basically, nobody gave a shit. Of course, the So So Def jackets made people who have heard of So So Def take notice, but for the most part, groupiedom was at a lull.

But, they are quasi-celebrities, and signed to a major label. You know what that means right???

Coach.

Yes, these niggas were flying coach. Hell, 3 out of 4 of them sat in the seats directly behind me. And I ain’t no first class dude. I wonder what it feels like to be a non-recognizable, coach flying, hit-single having, celebrity. I’ll tell you what it feels like. No, what it sounds like, rather.

One member of the group, upon noticing the fairly attractive younger college to post-bac looking black woman who would be sharing the row with him began rapping lyrics…to his own songs. Yes, he pulled out “White Tee”. And then…”I Think They Like Me.” I don’t know if they were his lyrics, but he was rapping somebody’s lyrics, then he hit the chorus for the grand finale on both songs. Seemingly to no avail.

My question is this: if you are a major-label, album having rapper, is it ever okay to use our own songs to attempt to get attention from people in hopes they’ll recognize you? Or is that a cry for help?

Wow, this is getting long. Good thing it’s almost over.

Still reading?

Sweet.

One member, the one with the locs, was sitting in the middle seeat of the row behind me, between two sorority looking white chicks. Sucks for them. He fell asleep and started snoring…loudly. So loudly, people 10 rows up were turning around trying to figure out who was snoring. Much to the annoyance of all. The stewardess didn’t know what to do, but he was seriously impeding everybody’s flight experience. I just turned my iPod up all the way and hoped I wouldn’t have to become a new member of the class action suit against Apple for iPod’s causing hearing loss.

Even members of his group were looking around like, got damn he’s loud.

Either way, it was another trip for the books. Oh yeah, except for the fact that the snow in DC that began to melt turned into ice on Sunday night in the Economy Parking llot at National Airport, causing me to bust my ass on the concrete as I tried to walk to my car.

You know how in cartoons you see somebody’s feet go straight into the air? That was me. I saw my feet go straight into the air right before I fell straight back onto my ass. Twice. I also think I hit somebody’s car with my suitcase which went flying into the air as I slipped.

In closing, this wasn’t a bad trip…more humourous than anything. Just remember to lean with it, and then rock with it….and be on the lookout for black men flying coach.

They may be celebrities. That is all.

Happy Valentine’s Day!!!!

Coretta Scott-King, the iconic widow of slain civil rights leader, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was laid to rest on Tuesday. Coretta, as she has been so affectionately called furthered the cause of her husband after his untimely death and made sure to keep the struggle for civil rights at the forefront of American society.

You see, Coretta (she attained one name status long ago), was concerned about the direction of this country and hoped that progress and strides could be made to reach the elusive equality her husband fought and ultimately gave his life for.

Progress, hope, and optimism. That was Coretta.

It was for these reasons that CNN, MSNBC, and Fox News Channel (!!!), broadcasted the funeral live for their viewers.

“You can find me in DC…” – Notorious B.I.G. “Kick In The Door”, 1997, Life After Death

Not on Tuesday you couldn’t.

Because BET decided “to offer a different experience for BET viewers.” (link via Poplicks)

Sometimes I feel as if I’m beating a dead horse here, or preaching to the choir, or kickin’ tires and lightin’ fires.

However, how is it that TVOne and the Black Family Channel (a station I didn’t even know existed), both stations catered to the “black experience”, would decide to broadcast the funeral but BET, the one station with the most reach, opts to run music videos.

And let’s be real, its BET, it isn’t as if they were running a political analysis of Bush’s budget proposal. They did run a 30-minute taped tribute later that night, but whoopty damn doo.

“If BET erred, we erred on the side of giving viewers a different choice… . We wanted people to have access to this wherever they were – at work, at home, traveling, at school. The online experience would give them that.”

No…you erred on the side of being yourself. It seems like they intentionally TRY to do things that are in direct conflict with what makes sense. I swear, if we ever elect a Black President…BET will probably decide to go to a country music format.

Non-sequitor? Clearly. That is BET in a nutshell.

So BET ran the funeral online.

By a show of hands, who here actually goes to BET’s website???

*crickets*

And excuse my fuckedupedness, but why would you? In fact, hold on one second…

*going to BET’s website to see what’s actually on there*

Umm…feel free to whistle while you twerk…er…work. Ah fuck it, it’s BET…that’s what you saw instead of the funeral anyway.

*back*

Just like I thought…there is no good reason to go to BET.com. It isn’t like there’s any news there or anything. News that affects black people. No, you can just go to BlackAmericaWeb for that…and even that isn’t all that stellar.

It’s strange, when I think of finding out what’s going on with black people in America, BET doesn’t even come onto the radar. Hell, they quit running “Day-Late-And-Dollar-Short” News last July. Apparently people still watch BET though…and I’m not shitting on anybody’s religion, but okay. However, deciding to run the feed on their site, largely a HAZMAT-like destination, and offer on their TV station videos and Burger King (guess that was close enough) commercials…which reaches a vastly larger audience, was…how do you young kids say this nowadays…

…oh yes…stupid as the fuck.

And the justification…even worse. I feel like they have the staff of chimps that the careerbuilder.com commercials are using, running shit.

And I’m not calling black people monkies. Plus, I’m not white…you can’t fire me.

To be fair ABC, NBC, and CBS all streamed the funeral on their website. And you know what, I’ll bet people watched it there…from work. I go to abc.com. I got to CNN.com at least 4 times a day. I watch TV on my computer ALL the time at work…while I’m, ya know, working.

“While acknowledging that BET “has not satisfied what every viewer would want” in regard to King’s funeral, the network provided “an informative, enriching experience,” (Michael) Lewellen says.

The experience won’t hurt BET’s image, he insists.”

You got that right, jack. In fact, I don’t even think anybody noticed. Or cared. Hell, I only found this out, after the fact. You can’t hurt an image that’s high point is BET:Uncut.

You just can’t.

I do however wonder about which “informative, enriching experience” he was speaking of. It’s BET…when was the last time you watched BET and you felt more informed or enlightened?

I’m well aware that BET is well within it’s rights to not show anything substantive on its station. And they exercise that right very well. In fact, I’d say they were tops in the industry at pointless programming intended to do nothing to further the cause of its intended audience…however…

…it’s Coretta.

An icon of not only Black, but American culture. Hell, four US presidents were there. Including the one “black” President we’ve had…President William “Slick Willie” Clinton.

And BET aired the Ying Yang Twins.

So, with that, I’d like to suggest that when the NAACP gets together to change their name (hopefully sometime before I die), BET also be invited to the Re-Naming Committee Board meeting and come up with something more appropriate.

Like, NUT. Nothing Useful Television.

At least that would be honest.

In other news, Kanye got robbed at the Grammy’s in the Album of The Year Category. I’ve heard U2’s album, it wasn’t that great. I just hope that this causes Kanye to once again, create an album that can’t be denied. Because at some point, the RIAA is going to have to acknowledge him.

And somebody tell Sly Stone that McDonald’s wants its Golden Arches back.

Over the past few weeks, some brash and uncouth young lady has been coming thru this site with designs on getting me to come “out” of the closet.

Essentially, she thinks that I’m brokeback. Umm…no brokeback. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

The more you know.

*ding*

Well you know, she got me to thinking. Maybe I should come out of the closet. There really is nothing wrong with admitting certain things. People either love me for me, or not at all. As long as I’m okay with myself…that’s all that matters right?

Right.

Mama said there’d be days like, there’d be days like this, my mama said. It is time for me to just open up the closet door, and step out.

*sweating bullets*

Ladies and gentlemen…I’m…

…the sexxiest muhfucka this side of the River Jordan. And that shit ain’t in Chicago, jack.

Wow, that was easier than I thought it would be. And to think I was nervous telling people what they already knew.

However, old igmo got me thinking about the fact that there are some things that I probably should come out of the closet about, with this being Black History Month and all. Or as I so affectionately like to call it, the Annual Monthly Stoned Soul Picnic and BBQ, complete with the revolutionary Black Panther BBQ sauce courtesy of Fredrika Newton (Huey P. Newton’s widow), Burn Baby Burn Revolutionary Hot Sauce!

And no, I’m not making that up.

“Each bottle of Burn Baby Burn Revolutionary Hot Sauce will come with a tag noting milestones in the history of the Black Panther Party for Self- Defense, which was formed in 1966 by Huey Newton and his college classmate Bobby Seale.”

Oy vey.

I know that’s old news for some, but its Black History Month, we must rehash old facts.

Dr. Martin Luther Tha King, Jr. lived, had some dream, then died.

Fact.

That is all. You may now continue with European History.

So, without further ado (adieu…can somebody please tell me which is the proper form to use when saying “withour further…”)…I’m coming out of the closet.

*sighing in preparation for the long admit*

1. I don’t really like The Color Purple. I never have. I have seen it more times than I care to imagine, but even now, I get little enjoyment out of watching the actual movie. The last time I saw it, which was last summer sometime, I did find it to be much funnier than I remembered. However, I still wasn’t enthralled. And yes, I’m aware that I’m a man and I’ve heard more than enough “you wouldn’t understand because you’re a man and its a movie about women’s struggles” arguments. Frankly, I don’t give a damn. It’s ALSO a movie. Me no likey.

2. I can’t read. *OOPS* That’s from a taped conversation with Fantasia. How’d that get in here??

3. I like Mandy Moore. A lot. In fact, she is one of my favorites. This is not to say she can act. She has proven she can’t. I, however, pay that no mind. Just the other day I watched the movie Chasing Liberty because while I was flipping thru channels she showed up on my TV screen. I watched the whole movie because of her. She’s 5′10″ and 21 years old. She’s legal.

I only threw the 5′10″ thing in there because I can’t believe she’s that tall. I thought it was camera angles. Turns out, she’s just that damn tall.

4. I do not like chicken with bones in them. Yes, I’m a breast man. *rimshot* No really, I do not like wings, thighs, etc. Never have. I do not know why this is. However, if you ever want to make sure I won’t take any of your food, order some wings.

5. I was such a big fan of the show Friends, that I went to a Friends “Last Episode Party”. Yes, I was one of two black males there, with the other one only being there because I think he was trynna holler at the hostess. I also happened to know more about the show than the cascades of white people there causing people to whisper under their breath, “who’s that dashingly charming black bandana’d fellow of potential Latin American descent over there?”

Why, he’s Zorro. I, on the other hand, am Panama Jackson.

And, no brokeback to that entire paragraph up there.

6. Two of my favorite albums of all time are noted, footnoted, and notebooked as NWA’s EFIL4ZAGGIN and De La Soul’s de la soul is dead. However, what you don’t know is that if I have to chose between those two albums and Guns ‘N Roses’ Apetite For Destruction or Nirvana’s Nevermind, NWA and De La Soul might lose everytime. And they’re all going to lose if I can only take one album with me. That honor, goes to Splender Halfway Down The Sky. And no, you haven’t heard of them before.

7. Speaking of music, I just, as in three days ago, purchased Michael Jackson’s Thriller. For the first time. Some 24 years after its release. In my home, we had the album, but I’ve never owned my own copy. I purchased a Hillary Duff album, a 5th Dimension album (they had like ONE good song EVER), and two Lil Kim albums, before purchasing the 2nd best selling album in US history. I also purchased a reggae Best of The Best CD that I subsequently threw out of my car window for being so horrendously bitchtastic. I’m so ashamed at myself and I hope Michael Jackson can forgive me.

My mother too.

8. I hate hate hate black literature of the Zane variety. I think its filth flarn filth and utterly fuckin’ sucks. I’ve tried to read some of those books and just felt dirty and dumber. So, I chose to lump it all together. They all suck.

9. I never liked KRS-One. Ever. Still don’t. At all. Or Doug E. Fresh. And since I’m throwing rappers under the bus Terrell Owen’s style, I didn’t even like Tupac until AFTER he died. And I’m STILL more interested in the person than I am the uneven catalog of music that existed before his legacy was pimped Puffy style. And make no mistake, Puffy is pimping the Notorious B.I.G. like he’s in the running for Player of The Year. I hate to do this, but I’m almost convinced that Mrs. Wallace is too, though not as directly. Money might be short these days. I’m not saying I don’t understand, but that B.S. ass Duets album that has like, no duets, on it? Fuckin’ horrible and clearly a ploy to make money off a limited catalog and his name. And to quote the legendary B.I.G.:

“Number three: never trust no-bo-dy/
Your moms’ll set that ass up, properly gassed up/
Hoodie to mask up, shit, for that fast buck/
she be layin in the bushes to light that ass up”

Prophesy is a bitch.

10. I’m not a fan of Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, or BET. There, I said it.

Oh right…no shit. Guess this one doesn’t count.

So here’s a last bonus:

11. I really have no problem with Oprah Winfrey. I’m just afraid of her. She’s the most powerful woman in show business and white people love her. She’s like Suge Knight except she doesn’t smoke cigars, isn’t a Blood, and hasn’t been to jail. Oh yeah, and white people love her. She loves HBCU’s and takes in orphans. What’s not to like? I hate…to stop from crying. And no, I have no idea what that has to do with anything.

The revolution will not be televised…except on UPN…where during Black History Month, lots of movies with black people in them will be shown.

Happy BBQ!

*cheers as President Jackson enters the room*

*cueing up “I Think They Like Me” by Dem Franchize Boyz”

—President Jackson settles in at the podium and quiets the crowd with a fist in the air—

Ladies and gentlemen, members of my Cabinet, members of Bad Boy Entertainment, G-Unit, and Black Wall Street…welcome to the House.

I go to the House, but where do you go?

Today is the second day of our Annual Monthlong BBQ, Black History Month. It is a time where we black people, attempt to do something everyday to make sure that our mark on history is never forgotten. This morning, I attempted to get a loan at a bank for a home. I was rejected!

History is alive and well!

*unnecessary clapping that will be repeated at least 20 times during speech*

Four score and seven minutes ago, I was asleep. Now I’m awake, but let me tell you…I had a dream. It was not a dream deferred. No, I dreamed the impossible dream. In fact, dream lover come rescue me.

*clapping*

I’ll get to the state of our Stoned Soul PIcnic shortly, but first let me tell you about my dream. I had a dream that one day, black men from Southside Jamaica Queens (nigga ya heard me) and black men from Compton would one day be able to sit down at the table of Aaron McGruder, and kiss and make up, without literally doing so. In my dream, high schoolers in Prince George’s County, Maryland, the most affluent majority-minority county in America, were not shooting up school buses after being kicked off the bus for fighting.

In my dream, Ma$e was not going to Hell and Al Sharpton not only lost the perm, but got a haircut. You see, in my dream, remember, it was the impossible dream, Jesse Jackson…

…GOT A JOB!!!!

*lady faints in third aisle*

I had a dream ladies and gentlemen, that one day, as a nation, black people would not only not embarass the white people we so foolishly seek acceptance from, but we’d also stop embarassing ourselves by doing stupid things like getting tattos of grown men on our wrists or hands. Living grown men. A tatter of MLK is okay, but Tupac is not. In my dream, the murderers of Tupac and Biggie were found.

My people, we can talk about my dreams all day long. Let us talk about reality and the State of The Stoned Soul Picnic.

Today, on this February 2, 2006, we have got some problems. But we’ve also got some positive things happening in our community. Let us start with the problems and inspirationally move to the mountaintop.

Yes, because I heard it from the mountaintop, that we have issues. As I look out over the vast diversity that is you, me, him, and her, I realize that we are a people in search of Bobby Fischer. What does that mean? It means that we don’t know what the hell we are doing. We are amidst of a time of great talent and great means for many of our sons and daughters of the slaves of the Daughters of the American Revolution, yet, like DeNiro told the future real life murderer, Collagero, there is nothing worse than wasted talent.

*clapping*

A great scribe and wise man once said, “im writin’ to show you what we’re fightin’ for”.

Well, after he said that, he never did tell us what we are fighting for. And do you know why he didn’t? Because he has no idea what we’re fighting for. And that’s where we rest today, in the Stoned Soul Picnic, there are many people at the table, but nobody knows what to ask for…or how to even ask for it. The racism and bigotry of the past still exists, except now its in the form of vague, ambiguous policies and subtle digs. And without the overt nature of the beast, it has left many of us shooting into a Hoover-esque vacuum. And that sucks.

*clapping*

We look for a cause, but we’re not sure where to start. We start with the obvious, that white people are holding us down. And I’m telling you today people…

…that’s not fair. It’s not fair because we are helping them do it. We are fighting amongst ourselves and making it possible for eachother to remain in positions we don’t want to be in. The suburban county of Prince George’s, Maryland, once again the most affluent majority-minority county in America, had upwards of 170 murders last year. That is more murders than some major cities. In fact, the adjacent District of Columbia, long known as a murder capital, had only slighly more, despite having about 300,000 less people. Even in our bastions of hope and change, they shootin’…

…I made you look.

But do you see? How can we rise up if we keep shooting eachother down? And I don’t care how we got to these circumstances. I’m well aware that the legacy of slavery and the psychological ramifications are far-reaching, causing many of the very problems that exist.

However, if a nigga robs me, I don’t care how slavery impacted his mindframe causing him to place a gun at my temple…THAT nigga robbed me.

Fuck him.

*clapping*

I’m sorry for having to get so vulgar, but I just had to say it.

And can somebody, for the life of me, get Al Sharpton a hobby? Why does he keep showing up at the most random of times, getting involved in the most asinine of occasions. He even got involved in the whole 50 Cent versus The Game beef. And by hobby, I do not mean a talk show in a barbershop. I mean a hobby that furthers the progress of the people he’s claiming to love. How can you work in my best interest if your hair isn’t even in your best interest?

On this day, BET still exists in the form that has brought it much disdain from nearly everybody who watches it. Honestly, if I meet anybody who feels that BET is doing a service to the black community, I will assume they are CIA operatives in charge of bringing back COINTELPRO. And that’s assuming it ever stopped.

On this day, Donovan McNabb, a man who has been pretty much able to remain clean in the entire T.O. BS-fest, decided that he’d correct the wrong dots in an interview and claim that Terrell Owens said that Brett Favre would lead the hapless Eagles to a perfect season because he was a white quarterback. I don’t even think Donovan saw the interview. T.O. was asked a question, and he answered it. Was it dumb? Yes. However, Donovan McNabb DECIDED to make that “black-on-black” crime DESPITE that the question was not only brought to him, by Michael Irvin, a black man, but that it had NOTHING to do with race in the first place.

*GET YO’ HAND OUT OF MY POCKET*

Umm, if anybody tries to shoot me in the next few minutes, I just thought I’d let you know, this AIN’T the Audobon Ballroom, nigga. This here D.C. You will die.

Moving on, to more political topics. In what can only be deemed the worst shit that could possibly happen to any progressive forward thinking person, new Supreme Court Justice Samuel Aliton was confirmed. People have often felt that President Bush was doing damage, but that it woudl be over at the end of his term. No, this man has made sure that we will feel the wrath of his mind for decades to come. Apparently, given his past opinions, social, and political leanings, women will no longer have any say so over their bodies, and Princeton might just be able to get back to the glory days of old when minorities weren’t a problem.

God bless America!

On the bright side, Jesse Jackson hasn’t been making any noise for a while.

People think black culture is on the decline. I disagree, American culture is on the decline. We are a subset that reflects the whole. Hip-hop reflects the same thing. Hip-hop will get better when we get better. And I stole that from Mos Def, kind of sort of.

And most importantly, Jim Jones is out there running the streets ruining black culture.

As long as Jim Jones is allowed to run amuck and speak, black people cannot rise.

However, all is not lost. The Boondocks, and more importantly, Aaron McGruder has managed to continuously push the envelope, sometimes good and sometimes bad, yet always with the best of intentions. In a place where speech is often stifled for being different than what the mainstream wants, he has kept on talking. Let’s just keep him off of Memphis balconies.

We are still defining cultural trends for the world…and the jury is out on whether this is a good or a bad thing. Three 6 Mafia was nominated for an Oscar for their work on the Hustle & Flow movie, specifically their song “It’s Hard Out Here For A Pimp”. Terrance Howard was nominated as well, as as rapping pimp. Strange yes, but well take it where we can get it.

*chants of “Stay Hiiiiiii-iiiii-iiiii-iiiiigh” can be heard throughout*

See, that’s what I’m talking about right there!

Kanye West looks to bring even more G.O.O.D. music in the future, and despite his ultimate effeminate demeanor, so does The Game. And yes, I love LA.

*clapping*

Though things look bleak for black people, I believe that one day, we will figure out how to make good on those hopes and dreams that a relevant NAACP, SCLC, and King Family had in the ’60’s. The loss of Corretta Scott-King was a blow to us all, but we can now be assured that she is reunited with a man who was taken too soon. A man of great integrity…a Morehouse Man.

*clapping wildly and standing ovation for Morehouse Men everywhere*

My people, I can only hope that we can get up, so that we don’t have to stay down. And I know we can do it. We are moving towards that deluxe apartment in the sky. We just need the keys. And I’m not talking about Alicia. We have more black middle class-ers than ever and hopefully we can continue the trend. As long as we don’t forget that we need to make sure that others can do the same.

Ladies and gentlemen, we shall overcome…but that is outdated…so I’ll leave you with this gem from a Yonkers school boy…

We Gonna Make It…and if anybody gives you any guff…well then…

…we’ll kick in the door wavin’ the .44, all you heard was Poppa don’t hit me no more.

Yes, Biggie…that is all we heard.

Goodnight and Godspeed.

*clapping and gladhanding as President Jackson drops the mic, throws hands in the air, waves them like he just doesn’t care and exits, stage left*