I want to wish a pre-July 4th Happy 4th of July to everybody who will be out and about BBQ’n watching fireworks and the like.

What will I be doing you ask?

Well, this weekend the Sexxiest Man Alive will be in the M-I-Yayo.

That’s Miami for you Rick Ross illiterates out there.

The Summer of Love continues for Panama Jackson and Associates (that’s my law firm) in Miami as I witness the nuptuals of two more friends of mine. If you remember, one of my boys kicked off the summer in May by getting married in my favorite city in the United States of America (the Beautiful), Atlanta. I really must say that Black love is a beautiful thing. But Black love that decides to get married in Miami and invites me along for the ride and then adds me to the wedding party requiring that I spend time in Miami…

…during a holiday weekend?

Well, that’s the kind of love I can get behind. Any love that ultimately benefits me in the short or long run is okay with me.

I have one more wedding I’m definitely going too (I’m in that wedding as well…props to the homey JK) at the end of September and one that I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make due to its relative location in this hemisphere. But dammit, keep the love going anyway.

2006: The Summer of Love

And…!!!

And another one of my friends got engaged as recently as a month ago and is getting married in October.

With all this love in the air, the question always arises: Panama, you’re 27 now and you aren’t exactly a spring chicken anymore (I’m too sexxy for that shit actually), when are you going to get married?

Panama Jackson = in no rush.

He’s chillin. In fact, I’m straight.

So straight.

I’ve been put in charge of putting together the music for the pre-Wedding BBQ that’s taking place on Saturday (the wedding is on Sunday). And in the process of putting together some music I noticed something.

I’ll bet your just chomping at the bit to know what I discovered aren’t you? No?

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

What I noticed was that it’s fuckin’ hard to make a “clean” playlist of the most popular songs out there nowadays. Now, for this particular event I’m supposed to be spanning decades which is very easy to do given my music collection. Hell I even have a few pre-made playlists specifically for purposes like this. But all of those playlists include music for the older crowd.

By throwing a BBQ with both young and old folks you have to play the new stuff. And boy is some of that shit fuckin’ profane. And vulgar too! This always causes me some sort of moral dilemma (of which I’ve actually talked about before). I know there will be little kids present and older people and I sure as hell don’t want to inundate them with the throngs of bitches and asses that don’t get bleeped out of the CLEAN versions of songs. Luckily, drug talk has become so coded that most people that don’t listen to rap won’t know what the fuck the rappers are talking about in that realm.

I’ve been combing through my stacks and iTunes trying to find clean AND suitable versions of songs for kids from 8-80 and let me tell you, the shit is an exercise in problem solving. Luckily I only have to come with about 4 hours of music. That’s not hard to do at all, but sheesh.

All I’m saying is that you rappin’ ass niggas need to clean up your fuckin’ music. Shit’s just too profane and vulgar.

With that said, I’m really looking forward to going to this wedding and hanging with my boys and turning Miami out. Let’s see, we’ve turned out LA, San Diego, Atlanta (on a continuous basis), NY, DC, Boston, New Orleans, and Las Vegas. I could very well be missing a few cities but you can blame that on the liquor…

…and Jim Jones.

Did I also mention that this will not only be my first time in Miami…but the WHOLE STATE OF FLORIDA!

That’s right kiddies, Panama has never been to Disneyland or DisneyWorld. I lived overseas for a sizable portion of my life so I’ve been to Euro-Disney, but never to the real Happiest Place on Earth. I was so deprived as a child. There are still emotional scars.

So…have a Happy 4th…enjoy yourself.

Relax yourself and envision the gobs of fun that the Killa (me) will be having in Miami with the beautiful people as the Summer of Love keeps on rolling.

It’s a celebration, bitches.

I don’t have any children right now, nor am I exactly looking to bring any litte Panamas or Panamaishas into the world in the near future. But Godwilling, I do want kids.

In fact, I want a few kids. I grew up in a household with 3 sisters, an add-on brother, and a bunch of other folks who might as well have been family. I can’t imagine having just one child. I had way too much fun growing up with my siblings to have an only child who has to create all of his own entertainment. Though, I’m sure he could, Lord knows I did.

True Story: When I was 3, my mother bought me a Playskool My First Hiking Trip Set (or something along those lines). It came with a canteen, a compass, and a utility belt. My mother filled up my canteen with water. Showed me what the compass was and opened the door. Now my usual thing was to just walk outside and play in the grass in front our apartment. Not that day. See, my mother messed up, she ALSO told me what hiking was. So what did Peewee Panama do? He went hiking. There were some woods behind our apartment complex so I moseyed on into the woods to go, ya know, hiking. Apparently I was gone for something like 3 hours causing my father, the police, and the military installation behind our home to be called. Me? I was just out walking around in the woods and drinking the water in my canteen and ya know, hiking. According to my mother, I just strolled up out of the woods right into the house, said, “hi mommy,” then sat down and watched cartoons.

Moral of the story: Parenting can be a bitch.

Anyway, as thoughts of parenthood become more frequent as I get older, I’ve started to have one lingering concern. It is a concern unlike any other concern. I’m not worried about having gay children or anything. In today’s day and age, the more kids you have it seems the more likely that is to be the case with at least one of them. Plus, I’m okay with that.

I’m not worried about raising a black male child. I was a black male child and I came out alright and I know the conversations I’m going to need to have. Plus, I refuse to sugarcoat shit.

Nope, my concern is this: I don’t really want to be cooler than my kids.

You see, I fashion myself to be a pretty cool dude. Feel free to disagree, but also feel free to go fuck yourself.

Mmkay?

I also know that cool isn’t something you create, it’s just something you are. I assume you’re born with it. Like green eyes, only not like that at all.

When you meet people who are cool, it instantly becomes the first adjective you use when describing them. Which is interesting because cool is one of the hardest things to describe in and of itself. What does cool even mean? For real, the next time you are talking to somebody and they tell you how cool their friend is, ask them what makes them cool.

I’d be willing to put money that at some point they end up saying this: “I don’t know, she/he’s just…cool.”

Being as this will be my child, I will assume that he will be going through many phases on his way to discovering his cool. If my child is anything like me, he’ll go through his nerd phase, his awkward phase, etc. The normal things that black children that can read go through.

Yes bitches, my child will be one of the reading black people. But on his way into adolescence I hope he discovers his cool. His ability to just be himself regardless of what else is going on around him. Of course, if that cool involves him wearing all black and lots of metal studs and shit, well…we’re gonna have a talk.

Until I realize that it’s probably my fault for playing so much Led Zeppelin around the house.

Back to the cool. You know, growing up can be very hard. We spend so much time trying to figure out where we fit in with our friends and just the world period that it can take a while to figure out who you really are. With that in mind, I’m looking forward to seeing my children go through all of the phases. But what happens if, and when, my child discovers his inner self and its…

..Urkel.

And all of his friends have pocket protectors and their conversations linger on the newest mechanical pencil and its aerodynamic capabilities.

I mean, I’ll love him just the same. But you better believe I’ll be throwing a football at him all the time. And if he can’t catch, that’s just too bad for him. He’ll figure it out over time. He can cry to his momma all he wants. But…and it’s a simple but…

…what if that’s just how he’s comfortable. Mind you, I’ll be accepting, but I’ll want him to branch out. I suppose I’m more worried about my kids being complete introverts than I am being overly cool. Despite saying that I’m a cool cat and shit, I tend to think I’m more funny than cool. I don’t know how many people would use cool as the first adjective to describe me.

Of course, sexxy would be first.

*ba-dum-ching*

I’m just concerned with the social malaise that could occur if my kid turns into the uber-uncool versoin of Urkel. Because despite what you think, I really do think Urkel was a pretty cool dude. He did his thing, was open and honest and all that. He was alright with me.

Granted, I don’t have any kids yet so this is all moot. And I will love my kids regardless and truthfully, it might be kind of fun to have a really nerdly kid with the taped up glasses. Not sure how that would happen given that any woman I procreate with is gonna be cool as a fan too, but it could happen. Plus, kids like that just have to increase the entertainment value in the house right??

And besides, we all remember Steve Urkel had Stephon in him. So maybe all I have to do is harness the inner cool.

And try not to make my son a ho.

To be a parent…

I just got back from Huntsville, Alabama.

And I’ve noticed that lately, every time I go there, I’m acutally glad to be there.

Well aside from the fact that I went out to the club on Saturday night and if that was the normal club scene I’d have to kill myself if I lived there.

Either that or become a Buddhist.

I also realized that it’s entirely possible to walk out the house with some turqoise boxer briefs and a tie wrapped around your head with some Birkenstocks on and be completely over dressed for the club. I’m not saying that was me, but I really could have got into this club with a “dress code” dressed like Jesus.

With the halo.

Of course, at least I’m down South so the women look good, but nothing quite annoys me more than niggas trying to hit on two of my sisters with me sitting there telling me they don’t want no trouble cuz they’re on “papers.”

When they’re like 6′5″ and 280 pounds.

Which I am not. Just feels patronizing, ya know? I mean I have feelings. Almost felt like a challenge.

Hmm, to take it even further. I never have to drink to have a good time. For the first time, I had to drink to have a good time. A lot. Fortunately for me, my sisters are a riot.

Slight caveat, when I say sisters up there, I’m speaking of one actual sister of mine and one adopted sister, sort of. But the weird thing is, if it wasn’t for the law, neither would be related to me at all. Seriously, they could do a study on my family and it would take years to break down how I happen to have a brother and 6 sisters and only one of them is blood.

But we’re family like the Jacksons.

Either way, I have come to appreciate being in Huntsville. I’ve realized that I love open space a whole lot. And greenspace. I like peace and quiet at night and the ability to drive out of the city into just open roads and quiet and crickets and dark roads and stuff. Backroads and the like. I’ve always wanted to buy a house in the city and a house out in the sticks where not too many people could find me.

I like the country a lot as well. I like walking around barefoot without worrying about catching HIV from the sidewalk.

Though I’ll never live in Huntsville for long periods of time, I might buy me a house or something there. Kind of my getaway for when I move back to Atlanta.

Oh, and by the way, there is like zero depth whatever to anything I’m writing today. I’m just sharing because sharing is caring.

But the real reason I wanted to write this post is because I need to do a formal congratulations to one of my boys, The Great. I think I will now have to change his name from The Great, to The Doc. My boy, at age 27, has received his Ph.D. in Biology and Biomedical Engineering from the Georgia Institute of Technology.

That’s Georgia Tech for those that just don’t know.

I’m so proud of that dude I don’t even know what to do with myself. Luckily we’ll be in Miami this weekend at a friends wedding so we can kick of the festivities something proper. Then again in August in the A.

To my boy, who occasionally reads here, congratulations. You know, I need to say this here, and forgive me if it sounds a little gloatish, but I’m really proud of my group of friends. I don’t know if it’s just luck or what have you, but I got a group of friends from Morehouse that all managed to graduate in 4 years, together, which at Morehouse is an accomplishment worthy of an award.

All of us have managed to get some type of advanced degree in some random field. We’ve got lawyers, educators, economists, policy analysts, scientists.

And we all can get as ignant as the next man.

And I appreciate that.

I think I shall change our motto to, “we do big shit.”

Anyway, to my boy, The Artists Now Known as The Doc and formerly known as The Great, the first Ph.D. in the group, good damn job homeboy.

Good damn job.

You know, that is by far one of Nas’ best songs in years. Everything about that song was great.

Just thought I’d share.

Along those lines (or not really at all), it seems that violent crime was up in America in 2005, with an almost 5 percent increase in murders and a nearly 3 percent increase in overall crime.

Somewhere, Jim Jones is snickering to himself.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t think that number’s really going to come down too much. And do you know why? Because gas prices are too fucking high. Seriously, I went to the gas station in my neighborhood two days ago and it was $3.22 for low grade. Had I just driven RIGHT up the street, it was $2.99. That’s enough to make me want to stab somebody.

And I have a good job with income coming in.

So what about the broke individuals out there who live in cities or states where public transportation isn’t exactly on and poppin’? The more you have to pay for the necessary goods, the less money you have all around, causing the bills you are required to pay seem that much more overwhelming causing niggas to be upset causing niggas to do things that niggas do when niggas get upset and frustrated.

Rob muhfuckas.

Hell, I’ve contemplated getting somebody for some money before. And I can read. Well.

Now, the funny thing about this, and the reason I’m about to contradict a statement I just made a few paragraphs ago is because when I read the article, one little fact jumped out at me.

Murders rose 4.8 percent, meaning there were more than 16,900 victims in 2005. That would be the most since 1998 and the largest percentage increase in 15 years.

Murders jumped from 272 to 334 in Houston, a 23 percent spike; from 330 to 377 in Philadelphia, a 14 percent rise; and from 131 to 144 in Las Vegas, a 10 percent increase.

Okay, makes sense, niggas are broke…yada yada yada. Except in Vegas where there’s mostly white folks, but hey, we’re just splitting hairs there, right?

Crime last year increased in all regions, although the 5.7 percent rise in the Midwest was at least three times any other region’s. These states make up the Midwest: Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Nebraska, North Dakota, Ohio, South Dakota and Wisconsin.

Say heffa say what?? Oh no he didn’t! Oh no he didn’t!

Ahem.

Do you know what this means?

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

Do you know that only you can prevent forest fires?

You ready? I don’t think you are.

It means that WHITE PEOPLE are cutting up and acting a gotdamn fool now too!!!

Sure, Chicago and Detroit are major cities in those states, but peep this little tidbit:

Despite the national numbers, Detroit, Los Angeles and New York were among several large cities that saw the number of murders drop.

Of course, when you have the kind of years Detroit has had in the past few years, it’s almost impossible for crime NOT to drop.

You know things are bad when white people are comprising the biggest increase in crimes in this country. In other words, shit is so bad that white people are having to rob eachother now. I don’t know about you, but that scares me. If it’s one thing I can usually count on, it’s the order of operations.

Black people rob black people and white people, sometimes. White people get robbed and call the police. Now white people are fucking up the rotation by robbing white people too. This has potential to bode badly for the black community. If white people start robbing, that doesn’t mean white people will go to jail for it…nope. It means that MORE black people will seem to be guilty of shit they weren’t even capable of doing.

Basically, a black man might NOW be held responsible for a crime he didn’t commit…BECAUSE HE WAS OUT ROBBING SOMEBODY ELSE AT THE SAME TIME.

As if life isn’t already hard enough out here for a pimp.

Luckily…I’m not SO worried about this. If it’s one thing white people don’t like, it’s being the victims of crime. They feel that they shouldn’t have to deal with that kind of thing. Crime is a darky problem. So when tough shit happens to white people, well by Jiminy, they do something about it. White man gets robbed, Congress passes legislation. Black man gets robbed…well, he lives to get robbed again, hopefully.

So maybe, since they have pinpointed that Middle Americans have been losing their fucking minds as of late, and at the risk of having to put white people in jail with Black and Latino people who seem to be fighting all the time, possibly over immigration and whether or not the Latinos have the right to even be in jail (don’t you love the ridiculous reaches I make sometimes), I think Officer Law and his boys in blue will find some way to get their shit together to keep white people safe.

Of course, you can’t make too much out of one years worth of information. It could potentially be that it was an abnormal year across the nation for crime. What with gas prices being what they are, maybe people just aren’t thinking straight. And gas has been a bitch since before 2006. So potentially, this will all change by the time they do the 2006 numbers, though I’m not SO sure, because even if they clean up shit for the white folks, black folks still have a big broke problem.

This just makes me think of how crazy things are around DC. Last year, in Prince George’s County, Maryland, the nation’s most affluent majority-minority county, the suburbs of DC…they amassed nearly 180 murders. That was ALMOST as many murders as The Crack Capitol itself. And this is where the rich niggas live. Though, it does make sense since nearly every black person is being priced right out of the District. Shit, they have to go somewhere. Car jackings were at an all time high in PG County.

If you can’t feel safe in the ‘burbs, where can you feel safe? And that’s why I think gas prices might start to drop at some point. This nation can’t afford to put white people on television robbing and killing eachother. It’s bad PR. And no, that doesn’t stand for Puerto Rico for the few of you who are trying to figure out what PR means.

Black people commit crimes, Latinos sneak in to the country, drive down wages…then commit crimes, and white people make this great country so great!

Except in Middle America right now where white people are shooting…

…and it’s making them look bad.

If ever there was a motivation for better crime prevention. It’s just a damn shame white people got to act crazy for me to believe the potential is there for it to exist.

[***EDIT (451pm EST): For anybody that cares, I've taken to blogging on my MySpace page quite frequently as well. Over there though, it's usually very short (no...for real) ideas or thoughts. I've posted 3 times today over there. I just felt like sharing that information because sharing is caring. Panama Over At MySpace. ***]

I’m not sure how many people are aware of this, but in the United States of America, June is Black Music Month. A few years ago, President Bush signed some proclamation, proclaiming that June would be a month to recognize and celebrate the achievements and inspiration that black music and musicians have brought to society, as that’s what proclamations do, they proclaim.

Still no word on whether or not that proclamation to recognize the back-breaking free Black labor that built the very America we live, work, and play in has reached his desk or not. You know the one that says, “Damn, they sure did a whole lot of shit. Maybe somebody should say ‘thanks.’”

But Black music. Yeah, it’s in there.

Now, whether or not anybody is actually taking the time to appreciate the contributions of black people to the American musical landscape is beyond me. I was in Best Buy, and they had a stand with about 6 CD’s in it saying, “Black Music Month. Listen, learn, and remember…brothaman word up!”

Okay, I made that last part up, but still. That’s about the extent to which I’ve seen it mentioned. So I will do my part to commemorate by listening to solely black artists all month. Now, you may be saying in hushed tones, “Panama, you dolt, you’re a young strapping black male who’s sexxiness is always questioned but never overturned, that isn’t exactly doing anything special, now is it?”

And you’d be wrong. Hell, do you know what I have on repeat right now at my job on iTunes? A group called Psapp from England (I think). My play count for yesterday for this one song? No lie…49 times. It’s a 5 minute song and I had it on repeat all day. The song? It’s called “Cosy In The Rocket”. Methinks you’ve heard it as it’s the theme song for the hit tv show that I can’t get enough of, Grey’s Anatomy.

Between that group, The Doobie Brothers, and the fact that I just can’t quite listening to Led Zeppelin right now, I haven’t really listened to Black artists doing Black music. Though the argument can still be made that I’m listening to Black music.

Anyway.

There is one Black artist I have been listening to lately because I decided to revisit his album. And upon revisistation of said album for which I revisited, a bunch of questions came up as is prone to happen once you decide to revisit.

The album? Jay-Z’s The Blueprint.

Let me quickly say this: I’m a Reasonable Doubt kind of guy. I like the Blueprint alright, but I don’t love it like other folks do. Never have. Everybody calls it a classic album, so I go with the crowd on that one, but I’ll take Reasonable Doubt over The Blueprint any day of the week.

But I decided to pop it in anyway and listen to it. I had just watched Fade to Black on HBO so I was in a Jay mood. And for the first time, I listened intently, but also with a comedic lense because there’s just gobs of humor floating through this album. At least to me anyway. Allow me to share in question form. I’ll put the song names up front so you know what songs inspired said questions.

1. The Ruler’s Back

So I was listening to this song, then I heard this line that I used to love, but now it got me to thinking:

“…fuckin’ with me, you gotta drop A-Mil/cuz if you gonna cop something you gotta cop for real…”

Well that just makes me laugh, but it also makes me wonder.

If you’re Amil, just how much does that hurt your feelings? Clearly, you were a weak link, which is difficult to do when Memphis Bleek is in the picture, but yet you managed to do the unthinkable…be less marketable than Bleek. Or the Young Gunz. Or State Property. Well you get the point…she no sell.

So I just have to wonder from Amil’s standpoint, when she heard that line, and her family heard that line, and her friends heard that line…for how long did she just not talk to anybody? I’m sure to some degree she was just like, “fuck that nigga, fuck all them niggas” and I’m sure she’s doing fine as a spokeswoman for zoo’s everywhere, but I’m sure it hurt.

Fuck it, I just have to do this. Is it me, or was Amil not one of the most unattractive women, like ever. On her album cover…hhh…hold on…

*going to get album cover for Amil’s quintuple wood album, All Money Is Legal*

Now really, which one is the lion? She looks like the ghost of Christmas never. She makes me shudder.

*shudder*

2. Takeover

Ahh, one of my favorite tracks on the album. I have a confession to make.

Forgive me Father for I have hip-hop sinned.

I never thought “Ether” was THAT damn great a diss track. In fact, I think Jay’s verse on “Takeover” was way better than the whole damn “Ether” song. Hell, Jay got him in one verse. One fuckin’ verse. Niggs remember what Jay said in that shit. I can’t recall but a few superficial jabs from “Ether”. And it was true. I mean it was good to see Nas back in championship form and shit, but it just didn’t do it for me.

Anyway, my question isn’t about Nas, because we all know how that one played out. Now the babymommafucker and the babydaddy are working together. My question is more for the Mobb Deep disses. So, without question, niggas in Queensbridge listen to Jay. The same niggas that kick it with Hav and specifically Twinkle-Toes Prodigy currently AKA 50’s Fuck Buddy.

So do you think that the niggas in QB ever told the Mobb that Jay kind of fucked them up on that song? If Prodigy is your boy, do you just pretend that you never heard it? Is there some kind of unspoken QB rule where nobody talks about “Takeover”? And Prodigy tried to come back with the hot beat but wacktastic verse on the song “Crawlin’”. And no, you probably haven’t heard it. I just have to wonder about that. Jay fucked them niggas ROYALLY on that verse. No kiss. No vaseline. No money on the night stand.

I just wonder what everybody else was saying to them around that time.

6. U Don’t Know

This song has caused numerous Kanye vs. Just Blaze arguments amongst my friends. Anytime somebody says, who’s better, it always comes back to…well Blaze produced “U Don’t Know”. Usually ends the debate. Except that was in like 2002. Now Kanye is clearly the king, but back then. Blaze was on his monkey.

My question? Isn’t that damn song ridiculously fuckin’ hot…still?

That is all.

10. Song Cry

Umm…I’ve never liked this. It reeks of “depth”. However women loved it so fuck it.

Umm, I have no question. I just think it’s quite ungood. And I wanted to share.

Now…

11. All I Need

…on the other hand. Is fuckin’ amazing. This beat alone is bananas.

I just wanted to share again.

I’m entitled.

I’m me and you’re not.

12. Renegade

Now this song here…this spawned a huge question for me. Eminem produced this and raps alongside Jay. But it’s for Jay’s album. Which means that Jay had as much time as he wanted to record his verses and make sure they were top notch.

My question? Do you think that Jay just kind of conceded the fact that there was no chance in Hell of him crafting verses as hot as Eminem’s verses on this song? Eminem’s verses on this shit rival his verse on the “Dead Wrong (Remix)” which is about jack shit but is so fuckin’ good it’s scary.

I’ll bet Jay heard Em’s verses and made the gas face like, “fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…how the fuck can I compete with that??”

And it isn’t like Jay’s verses aren’t good, they are. But Em’s verses are just…Eminemish. He brought his A+ game on that shit, probably cuz it was for Jay. In the back of my mind, I kind of wonder if that’s why Nas didn’t let Em do a verse on “The Cross”, which Eminem produced on God’s Son.

And by the way, “The Cross”…garbage. But after saying to Jay on “Ether”: “…and Eminem murdered you on your own shit…” I suppose you can’t really run the risk of having the same thing happen to you on your own album, now can you?

Well, those are the big three questions I had. This is my contribution to celebrating Black Music Month. I’d like some answers to those questions please, if you have any. They are kind of rhetorical, but you know, those are real questions that have real answers.

Good night and good luck.

Over the duration of the time that I’ve been blogging, I’ve gotten numerous requests and various questions as to why I don’t have any pictures up on my site. Or better yet, I’ve been said to lack courage (recently) for not having any pictures up and available for the masses…as if I’m hiding something.

Trust me. The kid is sexxy.

I’m not hiding shit.

I may, however, be smarter than you.

And do you know why I’d make such a bold, arrogant, and completely unnecessary statement?

Well, for one, because it’s true.

And for two, because I know good and damn well that anybody and everybody has access to anything that shows up online.

And just for kicks…I can say it because I’m sexxy.

I am what some people in the white community call, employed. Legally and gainfully. Why in the living shit would I jeopardize a paycheck that comes every two weeks, on time, by placing pictures up on a site where I skewer any and everything…to include things that may or may not be related to my job?

I don’t hear any muhfuckas asking…fuck that, requesting that I prove who I am and my sexxy, offering to front my salary for a year on the chance that some government search entity decides to accidentally mosey on over to ole JGT Headquarters and then, poof, vamoose, son of a bitch.

Fired for making inflammatory comments or some dumb shit.

My job doesn’t cause me to be in the public realm and actually frowns upon it. In Washington, when you end up online or in the news…it’s usually not a good thing. Trust me on that one.

In fact, there is a mantra espoused around here that seems to fit the point: If you don’t want to see it on the front page of the Washington Post…don’t write it down.

The reason this came up, and also why it fits into my campaign to lobby for better criminals in America is because, once again…

…people are fucking stupid.

With the advent of Facebook and MySpace, legions of young people from ages 12-30 are posting pictures, personal blog entries, hobbies, likes, dislikes, etc. all over the internet. Harmless right? Fucking wrong. Just yesterday, there was an article in the New York Times about employers who do online searches looking for the folks they are intending to hire. You know, just to see what’s out there if anything.

And do you know what these employers are finding? Dumb fuckers who write shit like, “I like to smoke weed 2 to 3 times a week while I’m sipping some Tanqueray and smacking the ass of a phat ass stripper.”

And umm, contrary to popular belief, that statement probably came from a white dude.

If I’m an employer, don’t you think that it might make me think twice about this upstanding, Harvard MBA, yada yada yada. True, those things might not have anything to do with job performance, but you know what, I’d be willing to bet that in most interviews, the things that employers look for first is character. In the hour they spend talking to you, what lies are you able to convincingly get across? Are you trustworthy? Honest? Punctual? Not likely to end up in jail for doing dumb shit?

A lot of folks might say, “well that just doesn’t seem right.” Employers shouldn’t be out there looking for that type of information on you. That’s not fair. And if you really think that…you are an idiot.

Let me just say that one mo’ ‘gain. You. Are. An. Idiot.

They are looking to pay you money to do them a service. Hell, they should be able to do any and every damn thing they want to make sure they are making a good investment. And guess what? You do the exact same shit.

What is this same shit that I’m referring to?

You google EVERYBODY.

If you meet somebody today, and they give you their name, you and all of your friends are going to google this muhfucka to see what you can find out. Hell, you’ve probably googled yourself twice this morning! You want to know what my real name pulls up on Google?

I’m either: 1) dead (as in executed in prison); 2) a graphics designer; or 3) an athlete who seemingly topped out in college.

Luckily, none of that is damning. But let somebody come across this site. Sure they’ll be entertained (hopefully), but can I really blame them for thinking twice about inviting me in for an interview? They might ask me to come do a comedy show…and then send me on my way. But, I’d rather be paid for my services, not thanked for being funny.

Hell, I remember at one of the blogger meet-up/happy hours in DC last year that the main point that everybody hit home is that, none of these pictures need to find their way online. And do you know why that was so important? Because nearly everybody that lives and works in DC has ties to the government who might not like the bloggadacious nature of what we write about. Or even more simply, most of don’t even know if we’re even “allowed” to be blogging. So why risk it? Were there pictures taken? Of course. Have you seen them?

Probably not. But back to the point.

Why wouldn’t I expect job employers to google me in today’s day and age? Or check Facebook? Or MySpace? You’re also forgetting that a lot of recruiters are young. So they KNOW what to look for. And here we go, putting all the stupidest information on ourselves out for the entire world to see, then wonder why we can’t find jobs at times.

There’s a very good reason why I had to tell somebody who had a picture of me up on MySpace, with my name and shit PROMINENTLY displayed on it to take it down. Despite not really caring for my job all that much…well, I’d like to keep it for a while.

You know, ride this paycheck thing out and see where it takes me.

And thus finds us in the times of lackluster ass criminality. If you put on your MySpace page that you like to have sex with monkeys while sipping a MaiTai with Tah-Tah in Nevada (word life), then that’s your own fault if you can’t quite seem to get any job interviews. Of course, that’s assuming that you have placed your real name and shit on the site. Which for some strange reason…SO many people have done.

I suppose it’s one thing if you keep your site clean. Nothing out of the ordinary, or nothing too provocative or incriminating. But realize that the more information you put out there, the more can be used in determining things about yourself. Granted, nearly anybody with a site or a MySpace page is slightly narcissistic and wants a piece of the limelight, but I’m sure getting busted at 2am on national news because you got caught sending messages to a 14 year old girl through MySpace is how you really want to get caught.

Nor should you be a high-ranking official in the federal government either. But that’s neither here nor there.

Better criminals. I don’t know how else to say it. If you have your name plastered all over the internet with pictures of you smoking rocks and giving head to a sailor on the good ship Lollypop, then that’s all your fault dumbass.

You are an idiot.

Just something to think about.

So the next time you ask me why I don’t have pictures up online, or why the pictures on my MySpace page don’t give you a clear shot of my face so YOU can know what I look like…it’s because nobody has offered to pay me annually for my services.

You seeing me for the 5 seconds it would take to look at my picture and say, “Okay, that’s Panama,” could potentially cost me tens of thousands of dollars in annual salary that I’m sure you wouldn’t be willing to pay me.

Just doesn’t seem fair.

And quite frankly, it ain’t worth it.

I’m a much better criminal than that.

This has been a Public Service Announcement brought to you by the Better Crime in America (BCA) Campaign. Get your fuckin’ act together before you do something stupid. Good night and good luck.

Men do evil.

It’s sometimes referred to as the evil that men do.

I’m sure you’ve heard of it.

The men who do evil, who are notoriously famous for being the executors of the evil that men do, tend to be the rue of the Earth.

Let’s see. There was Hitler. No explanation needed there. There was Jim Jones, who despite his misgivings as a crazed lunatic who convinced hundreds of people to die in Panama, is responsible for making a ghetto brand a household name. For it is Jim Jones who caused the coinage of the now age-old adage, “You won’t get me to drink that Kool-Aid.”

The downside there is that Kool-Aid, on its own merits isn’t exactly a nutritious morning supplement, but still, it’s Kool-Aid. How can you ruin Kool-Aid for everybody by killing people with it? That’s just evil. Seriously, on the list of fucked up things to do in life, using Kool-Aid to kill people (despite the poison added, it was still Kool-Aid) just seems wrong on a fundamental level. Luckily, we’ve moved on past the Jim Jones Kool-Aid connotation and children everywhere are able to enjoy it without thinking of cults and mass death, but still.

As you can see, the whole Kool-Aid things really bothers me.

You’re probably thinking to yourself right now, “Self, what in the hell is this uber-sexxy fellow speaking of?”

A-ha.

Well, amongst the throngs of evildoers who have passed over this Earth, there are a few men (and women) who do not get enough attention for their evil deeds. And I for one don’t think that’s fair. As any God-fearing, justice driven individual would do, I feel that it is my duty to bring those deeds to the limelight. I’m speaking of the creators of…

…low-rise jeans.

Evil.

Let that Titanic for a second.

*listening to “My Beautiful Sinking Ship” by Devics*

Maybe it’s just me, but a cool 97% of women who wear low-rise jeans needn’t wear low-rise jeans. I don’t know? Any takers?

In America, we have a problem. There’s a reason Arnold “The Governator” Schwarzenegger was placed on the damn committee for physical fitness back in the day. It’s because we tend to be largely out of shape. Low-rise jeans exploit this losing effort in the Battle of The Bulge by causing women who know good and got damn well that they have no business wearing anything that will accentuate their mid-sections to wear them and mushroom around their jeans. I mean extra back fat and shit that forms a muffin-top like effect surrounding the jeans.

Essentially I’ve seen women walking around looking like mushrooms.

And that is just wrong.

Yes, this might offend some of you. But no, I don’t give a shit. Granted it’s mostly younger white women who seem to not get the memo on when it is appropriate to wear certain clothing, but I’ve seen black women do it.

And even worse, I’ve seen MEN wearing low-rise jeans. And I don’t mean niggas sagging either (which seems to have almost pretty much fallen to the wayside everywhere except in the South).

Hmm…

I’d like to personally put out a moratorium on niggas starting clothing lines. I don’t mean printing up t-shirts, I mean full fledge clothing lines. Just stop. I just read yesterday that F-A-B-O-lous has started a new clothing line called “Ric Yung” (pronounced “rich young”). All these niggas swear they’re doing something different.

They.

Are.

Not.

They all wear the same shit. Whatever Jay-Z says to wear. With the exception of Kanye, Pharrell, and Andre 3000, I don’t want ‘nan other nigga to start a clothing line ever again.

Stop it.

So yes, low-rise jeans and their creators are just evil. They know that women want to expose themselves. Before the Great Apple Incident of Way B.C. men and women were frolicking through the garden bucky-nakey doing cartwheels and jumping jacks. I find it hard to believe that some of that free-spiritedness that resurfaced in the 1960’s hasn’t managed to make its way into our collective eternal psyches. So women will continue walking around looking like mushrooms, making fashion faux pas after fashion faux pas.

It’s just not sexxy. And it counters that whole, “I don’t want to look fat” mantra that so many women wear so proudly. Know your body and know your limitations. It’s one thing to not care what people think. I applaud that spirit. It’s something altogether to not care what people think at the detriment of other people. Not wearing deodorant, or not bathing regularly, or not being able to wash clothes come to mind. Similarly, I can’t not look at a chick with her midriff exposed, especially if it makes me want to go buy some fungus.

Further, your thong does not make me happy if its been lost amidst a roll or two. And I’m not talking dinner rolls.

Though your bad decision might make me want to go eat a dinner roll since that’s what you’re sharing, rolls.

Don’t you see the evil here?

Similarly vying for a place in Hell would be the makers of clothing for little girls that has writing on the hindparts.

Yes, those fuckers deserve to be shot.

For one, it almost seems to ASK for pedophilistic attention. For two, as the educated, reading rainbow pushing brotha that I am, I read everything. And unfortunately, that has included checking out the words sprawled across women’s derriere. I do my best to not pay attention to words written on the asses of what seem to be young women because I feel like somebody might be looking at me and point and yell and then the next thing you know, I’m on some damn registry in Vermont.

Thing is, I don’t even understand it as a fashion thing. Women claim to hate when men only pay attention to their assets, yet if you have words written on them, or are wearing a skin tight shirt with writing on it…well, you’ve given me an excuse to check you out. If you get pissed off that I’m not paying attention to your eyes but your ass, then that’s your fault. Don’t put the words “Enter here” on your ass.

Just don’t do it.

Ass writing = no-no.

The creators of said fashion designs and the like deserve to be backhanded with rickets. They have caused undue pain, offense, and confusion to many a person and they are just wrong. Thank you.

For the legions of women who can wear low-rise jeans, keep bangin’. You are a testament to gyms or good genes everywhere. I appreciate seeing your thongs and the way your jeans hang off your hips. In fact, thank you for having discernible hips. It’s clearly an art, not a right.

I salute you.

[***Thanks to everybody who sent me birthday wishes of some sort. I appreciate it. I had a great birthday and I might have to write about how not to throw a high school graduation party in the future. Trust me, it's an art form. ***]

There are a few laws or mandates that I think should have been placed in the U.S. Constitution.

For one, I think that all short men must be nice. I’ve said that before on this site, but it requires mentioning at least once a month. I pray that if I say it enough, I will speak it into existence which will make everybody’s life better since you won’t have to deal with the moral dilemma of having to stomp out a jackass midget dude because he’s talking shit and doesn’t realize that Napolean actually lost at some point.

I also think that ugly women must be nice too. It does not serve you well to already be an unattractive woman AND be an asshole. People will not feel bad about talking shit to a woman who looks like the busted version of Grace Jones.

And that’s saying something.

Ugly men should be nice too, I agree, but for some reason it always stands out more when an unattractive broad is especially personality-flawed. At that point, her only hope in life is to get knocked up and have children who will hopefully love her, except she’ll be such an ass to them because of her own problems that love won’t live there anymore. It will relocate across the street…at the crack house.

Bleak picture right? Hmm…has anybody ever realized how Memphis Bleek has really grown into his name? The nigga’s career? Bleak like shit. Talk about your self-fulfilling prophecy.

Well, in true Panamanian form, another addendum to the list of things that certain groups should be has been discovered.

And its very contrary to the others, but still an important one for a few groups of women nonetheless.

You ready?

I don’t think you are.

You think you know, but you have no idea.

Okay…

New Rule: Attractive women should be barred from taking ugly pictures. Further, attractive women need to recognize that they took ugly pictures and make strides to keep them from invading the public realm.

Reason-being: The running law is that pictures don’t lie. According to Shakira and Wyclef, neither do hips. And I like Shakira’s hips. But that’s irrelevant here. Back to the point. If a beautiful woman takes ugly pictures, can she indeed be attractive?

Think about that.

[***Sidenote: I know that we are born and stuck with the attributes we have. However, I believe that a lot of women just have no clue how to take pictures. Especially pretty but not famous chicks. It takes a certain level of confidence and narcissm to be able to maintain your flyness and/or sexxy in photograph form. Just being hot and taking a picture does not equate to a hot picture. You too can end up on Hot Ghetto Mess.com. The more you know. Ding. ***]

And what is this public realm I spoke of previously? Places like MySpace. That needs no explanation, but I’ve seen some women that I know are attractive in real life take some uberfugly pictures and place them on MySpace.

Not.

A.

Good.

Look.

But let us revisit this notion that if an “attractive” woman consistenly takes “unattractive” pictures, is she truly attractive?

My thinking is…no.

A picture by definition is a freeze frame moment. It is what you look like at that exact moment. Now say you attempt to look fly in a picture, and fail horribly. Then also say you just take a picture, candidly, no frills or anything, and you still end up looking like a daffodil. Constantly, constantly, constantly smoking trees. I’m going to be loathe to call you hot.

You know, let me just take it a step further. If you are a woman who takes consistantly bad pictures, even if 9 out of 10 men say you are…

…you cannot be a dime. To be a dime, your true beauty will transcend all. Everybody has off days. But truly beautiful women, even on their off days, look ridiculously gorgeous.

A few weeks ago, while riding with my boy in Atlanta, we drove by a chick in a Hyundai. Now we both looked into the car because we saw a chick who looked like she might be cute, and she had on a scarf. Not a headwrap…a scarf. Clearly, she was intending to go from Point A to Point B, with minimal stops in between. But you know what? That chick looked HOT in her little scarf. Me and my boy concurred that that is what you want in a woman, appearance wise. Even with scarf on and no makeup and whatnot, she still had her sexxy going.

For the record, I’m not a fan of makeup. Never have been.

I also happen to think that she might take a good picture because she was just looking like herself. If you can look good just waking up, and you take good pictures, AND you’ve been called a dime before.

You just may be a dime.

The other part of this is that many attractive women don’t know how to take good pictures. They try to take poses and shit that make them look extra fly or something. I think the problem is that not enough people practice posing. Me, I practice. You never know when you’re going to have take a model-esque picture. Then again, I also think that I’m the sexxiest muhfucka on the planet, so I’m GOING to take good pictures.

Then again, I’m not a woman. For the most part, an attractive woman can get by with taking bad pictures because they have been proclaimed attractive, which might be why they don’t put much effort into it. They’ll do asanine shit like run their fingers thru their hair in strange ways thinking that their baseline beauty will makeup for the utter fucktasticness of the pose they just provided.

If I have to explain to others that you’re really hot when they look at your pictures, well, you need to step your damn picture game up. Just because you’re in it doesn’t make it good. It makes it a picture with you in it.

And if the picture makes you look like a horse, then you should really reconsider making those pictures available.

Either that or you’re really a horse.

But it’s okay, I don’t judge.

Time you spent reading this: 5-7 minutes

Time you spent trying to figure out just what in the fuck was the point: 10-20 minutes

Time it took you to realize that it was an exercise in futility: 25 minutes

Realization that the beauty is in the randomness of the love that Panama shares with all: Priceless

Today is the day before a holiday I’m trying to get instituted. Since this year June 3rd falls on a weekend, I’m trying to petition the president to have the nation observe it on the first Monday of June every year.

You may have already guessed what day I’m referring to, but in case you haven’t, I’m talking about tomorrow, June 3rd, 2006, which is:

The 27th Annual Panama D. Jackson Celebration of Life, Liberty, and All Things Sexxy…

…also known as…

…my birthday.

Strangely, turning 27 (sometimes referred to as almost 30) doesn’t really bother me or make me feel any older. I don’t know if this is a function of just getting older in general, but I feel just as young now as I did when I was 18. Hopefully, I’m just a little bit smarter and wiser. Or maybe I’m just in denial of the fact that pretty soon my body will begin to fall apart and shit.

Despite having so many friends getting married (4 this summer alone) and friends starting to settle down and begin families, I feel no rush to get to that point. I kind of waiver on marriage sometimes anyway, and truthfully it’s more important that I have children than it is to get married. Specifically, I want a daughter so I can raise my queen. Yes, I am a sap at heart and I want a daddy’s little girl so that I can spoil the living shit out of her. Sadly, I’ve expressed this sentiment to many women I know and they’ve informed me that going into it with that mindframe has the potential to cause major problems between my daughter and wife (assuming I have one) of jealousy. Not exactly sure how I’m going to get around that one…because my daughter…

…you will hate her.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself here because like I said, I’m in no rush to get to that point.

The big 2-7…please everybody go out and have a drink on yourself in the name of celebrating my 27 years of existence on this big ole rock we like to call Earth.

Also, I’d like to give a quick shoutout to anybody who is celebrating a birthday soon or has celebrated one recently. In fact, if you are a Gemini…Happy Birthday.

What’s your favorite zodiac sign?? Gemini!!!

It’s not just a sign, it’s a way of life.

And why tell you today? Because I won’t even be checking this site tomorrow, so I decided to just let you all know today how important tomorrow is. I’m sexxy like that. And I want to make sure everybody knows to take a shot or have a drink for me. I’d like reports back people.

******

My birthday also marks my two year blogiversary. And yes that is corny as the fuck, but I started blogging on June 3, 2004. I knew my birthday was important, but it also signifies the day that I began to take over the world. And I have two other Geminis to thank for that.

And because I feel like saying it, “shower me with your loooooooove…”

*****

I’ve decided that I’m going to start blogging on my MySpace page from time to time too. Call it sheer boredom but what the hell, I still have absofuckinlutely no idea what to do with that damn page. So, short non-sensical blogs it is. At your leisure, and assuming that your employer hasn’t placed a MySpace embargo on your work computer, feel free to venture over to my site, leave a comment, search around or something. Who knows, one of these days I might actually add some real pictures, albeit for a short amount of time…a brotha needs his employment ya know.

www.myspace.com/panamadjackson

******

I might have to recuse myself from the Black Race for a period of no less than 1 week and no more that 1 month for one simple fact.

On Sunday, at the wedding I attended…was the very first time I’ve EVER heard the Rick James and Smokey Robinson song, “Ebony Eyes”.

*hanging head in shame*

I have no clue how this song has eluded me for so long, especially since I’m a Rick James fan. Hell, “Mary Jane” is one of my favorite songs of all time and has been since I first heard it in 9th grade. Granted, I’ve never cared for Smokey Robinson but that’s no excuse. I’ve learned that I’m not the only person who hasn’t heard this song before so maybe I’m taking this a little bit too seriously, but this song is so damn great, it instantly became a favorite. In fact, according to my iTunes tracker, I listened to this song 33 times yesterday at work. It would have been 99, except I put it on a 3 song playlist that played the entire day. I can’t tell you the other two songs I listened to because…

…I’m in the midst of a competition with another blogger to see who can put together the better old school CD. We have to make two 10 song playlists, one slow songs and the other midtempo, and send them to some folks to see which ones they like best. And the other two songs on my playlist are contenders. The only reason “Ebony Eyes” isn’t is because the other blogger was the first person to mention the song to me, so I concede that one.

****

A chick I know said something to me the other day in regards to a situation that has arisen and it got me to thinking. She said, “is that the change you want to make for your birthday?” Now me, being the ultrasmooth sexxy soul brother #2 that I am, I’ve never quite thought of my birthday as a time for change. In fact, for the most part there isn’t too much in my life that I’d want to change right now. That’s not entirely true, there are some situations that have occurred that have me secondguessing or overthinking or whatever, but that’s not really change, that’s more or less getting things that are already there in perspective. But in reality, there are no changes I’d make around this time that would be reflective of what needs to happen for my birthday…any change I make is obviously something that needs to change for my life. For instance, I could stand to be more financially smart, but then again, I operate as if I’m going to be very rich very soon, and am making certain moves to do so…so no real need for change there.

I could stand to eat healthier but that’s something that is always the case. The only real change that would ever need to be considered in my life, given that I live a pretty damn good life, would be the people in it. And I have to say, emphatically, I’m pretty damn lucky to have the friends that I do. Any frequenter to this site has read about my friends ad nauseum. We do trips, we fight, we don’t speak to eachother for a while, we go out to eat, we learn, we support…but we’re always still there for one another and thru it all, for the most part, nobody has to really question that friendship. Yes, there have been some tests. But I’ve never felt like I couldn’t depend on them. Or that I wasn’t significant. I’m not saying I need to get the red-carpet treatment, but I am saying, that with my friends, I know what it means to be their friend. We’re not perfect…like I said, we fight, but thats what happens in a family…a real one.

I’d like to say that I offer them the same thing they offer me. A bottom line level of trust, security, and appreciation. I’m talking the bare minimum. No need for lights, camera, action…just awareness that your friends do actually want to be your friends. Stumbled? Why yes I have (but I’m still not ordinary people…remember, they don’t know which way to go…me, I bought a map), but would I take a bullet for my friends? Yes I would. Two for a few of my boys because I wouldn’t be who I am today if not for them. And this goes for friends I’ve met online as well as friends I’ve known face-to-face, because for me, those lines are very blurry for some people, as I’ve met and kicked it with a sizeable amount of my online friends. And I’m talking major kickage.

To my friends, thanks…I’m lucky…and you are appreciated. And I’m alive for another year to recognize it.

So what’s the point of that little personally reflective monologue up there? There was no specific point…I’m just speaking out loud and being sappy and shit. Lest you forget, the kid teared up at a wedding recently. I’m feeling emotional like The Great Crack Queen, Whitney.

And it was also to see if in the time it took you to read that, if anybody’s car was stolen. According to some people’s figures cars are stolen every few minutes. Those were some long ass paragraphs, if you or somebody you know’s car wasn’t stolen in that time, well, we’re being lied to America!

Alright, enough with the sappy shit.

****

We in room 222!

****

Dammit…I JUST got an email with an evite in it for a cookout coming up in June. These two friends of mine who throw these joints ALWAYS have them on weekends I’m going to be out of town. And I mean that literally. I’ve been to like one of their events because no matter when they schedule it…Mr. Oh So Sexxy! is on his way out of town. Talk about coincidences that are about to become conspiracy theories.

****

To you, Thank you. I haven’t opened them yet. It’s not my birthday yet.

****

Happy Birthday to me…tomorrow! May you eat, drink, be merry without getting married. Hence may you eat, drink, be merry, and non-annulled.