It’s time for another observation that has me totally baffled. Yet, I almost think I get this one…

I party a lot these days. Not so much because I like going out all of the time. Nope. It’s because I’m forced to be a participator about 5 days a week with a current part-time full-time venture I’m apart of. You see, Panama Muhf****n’ is a manager of a nightclub in Washington, DC. At night - I still have the day job as well.

Sleep be damned.

Amongst my observations and basically uber-noshit observations is that anytime you want to get a party going with a bunch of 25-and-up’s, your best bet is to throw on BBD’s “Poison”. Well, that amongst other songs but “Poison” just has an amazing effect on the crowd.

Hands go up. Ass’s prepare to shake. And old school dances come from that inner place inside most of us where we stuff our Hammerpants and adoration of Michael Jackson: The Before-I-Lost-My-Damn-Mind Years. The cross-leg-kick-step dance comes out and the folks with the real skills process to the middle of the floor while everybody watches the old-school showdowns. It’s like stripping with clothes on and less niggas making it rain (on them hoes).

It’s a lot of fun and I’m sure most people are a witness.

Hallelujah!

It is, in effect, a club-banger; one of those tracks that the DJ holds on to because you don’t want to break it out too early before the party really gets going. It’s the track that can shift your party into the next gear. Of course, it has to be followed up by something equally jarring, like…what is the perfect follow up song to “Poison”. In all of my years of club-going, I wonder if I’ve ever stopped to smell the hummus and ponder on the fact that any sequence of songs was just perfect.

Well, recently I’ve gone out to a few white clubs. I have some friends in town for the summer who are less than Negroid. Of course the music is different though there are definite similarities. It’s like listening to the pop station versus the urban station. Except there’s one glaring difference.

Hmm…stop. I don’t know if it’s just me but my senses get on high alert when certain songs with the word “nigga” in them come on in white clubs. I can’t help but watch as people mimic the lyrics, including the word “nigga”. Got damn strength in numbers. Of course, it’s a white club for a reason. Only a few Black folks are ever usually there, scoping the white chicks.

I’ve seent it with my own two eyes.

Well, do you realize that white clubs actually play and use Vanilla Ice’s “Ice Ice Baby” much in the same way that urban clubs use “Poison”? Mind you, I’m talking about college bars and clubs like that where there’s no dress code and lots of people wear Abercrombie & Fitch.

I almost spit my drink out the first time I heard “Ice Ice Baby” and was in utter amazement that it was being played and that people were losing their minds. I must have said something a good 10 times to my friends like…”white people actually LIKE this?”

Of course, I also realize that white people don’t take (in general) club music as serious as some of us Black folks do. I can’t even imagine a DJ throwing some Vanilla Ice in the mix at an urban establishment. Niggas would literally stop moving and all stare at the DJ while he went into, “I’m just joking people…” and go into something way more appropos.

You know, I was almost offended that everybody was okay with “Ice Ice Baby” then I realized that before I really cared about rap, I probably loved that song like everybody else when it came out and helped to make Vanilla Ice the multi-millionaire that he is today.

Do you all realize that Vanilla Ice claimed to have been dangled over a balcony over royalties from the song “Ice Ice Baby” by Suge Knight and then claimed that it was a lie.

My guess is that he probably got dangled over a balcony after the original claim causing him to say it never happened.

Funny how life happens sometimes, isn’t it?

Anyway…this was just another boring observation that I’ve made lately. Still stepping my blogging game up again…

Plus, I drink Kool-Aid with my family.

It was written.

Thank you and good night.

And no, this isn’t a review of the television show on BET. I haven’t watched the show and have no plans to do so. It’s on BET. AND it used to be “Hot Ghetto Mess”. When I said I wanted new original programming at BET, somehow, this isn’t what I envisioned.

Nope.

A few weeks ago now (or sometime last month) a bunch of niggas made strides for the Black community with their attempts at building our long lacking self-esteem and showing the young Black people that we can make it despite whatever obstacles, either historical or present, are lobbed our way.

The NAACP buried the n-word. Now this isn’t news to anybody clearly. This made national news and opinions were plentiful. I didn’t really pay much attention to most opinions because I felt like this was the biggest damn waste of time in the history of wasting time. This is up there with Sheila Jackson-Lee’s uber-fucking-stupid attempts a few years ago to get hurricane’s named after Black people. I wonder how she feels now that motherfucking Katrina wiped out a bunch of niggas. Somebody needs to follow up with her on that one pronto. You know Black people have too much time on our hands when we introduce affirmative action into the weather.

I mean, really.

I also think it was just damn dumb. I’m a big fan of symbolism. I really am; especially symoblism that turns a system on its ear and makes a splash.

Burying the n-word? No splash. The funny shit is that I’m not convinced that none of the niggas in the NAACP don’t use the n-word. It’s just too easy a word to use if you’re Black. It really is. I’ve actually made attempts to stop using it to no avail. No dice. I’m sure I could stop if I really wanted to, but you know what, I like the n-word. Just like I like cursing. Makes for much more spirited conversations.

My main beef with symbolic gestures like the NAACP’s is that it stops there. After the burial there is nothing. There’s no real significance. AND it just sounds like a dumb ass idea. Corny. Contrived. A waste of resources. In fact, I want to know who green lighted this idea. I sincerely hope that this wasn’t on the docket of important business for the NAACP and that somebody just threw this shit out around the watercooler one day and a bunch of niggas ran with it. If it wasted no more than 15 minutes of actual “we could be changing the world” time then I suppose I ain’t but so mad aside from the lack of significane in the aftermath.

But once again, it is the NAACP and my guess it that these niggas have nothing better to do until the next nigga comes along and screams racism somewhere…

Speaking of which, I have to say something here that might be of unfavorable view. But man, niggas owe them Duke Lacrosse players a big motherfucking apology. MAN…I’m so glad I kept my opinion to myself on that one. However it gets to a much bigger issue, and one that will need to be expanded upon in the future.

As Black people, we are so tired of being trampled upon and outcast that when something does go down, we tend to act out emotionally first. There is no judge and jury. Everybody’s guilty. And that does pose a problem. It means that we think too many of our own aren’t guilty and too many other people are guilty. It’s a legitimate reaction-solely based on the amount of shit Black people have had to and still have to go through-but its one that more times than not needs further examination.

Tawanna Brawley anyone? True, indeed, there are more than enough instances where we are completely justified in our reactions and responses, however, when we’re wrong we tend to just move on to the next shit (Al Sharpton) with very little in the way of regretting any mistakes.

Yeah so pretty much, all the problems in the Black community are Al Sharpton’s fault since he’s at the center of all the ruckus in the Black community.

Think about that for a minute.

Anyway, random I know. But its Friday, and I’m bored.

It was written.

…way over town, that digs on me.

I really just felt like writing that.

I’m going to be back blogging again. Permanently. Probably daily.

This is two-fold.

1 Fold - I’m just bored a lot and I have a million and 4 things on my mind. Will it all be poignant?

Of course. It’s me bitches.

Will it all make sense?

Of course not. It’s me bitches.

2 Fold - I potentially have a very interesting proposition coming my way that will require me to start back writing constantly. So I need the practice. The kid is rusty as all hell. Hell, I don’t even feel like writing most of the time to tell the truth.

Truth. Justice. The American Way.

Wasn’t that Superman’s motto or something?

My motto? I may not get there with you…cuz you niggas are always late. And I hate late niggas.

Word. Life.

So in the immortal words of that cat who died saving the world by flying his jet into the lasers of destruction (as opposed to the eve of destruction which is a movie, an album title, a moniker, and perhaps an actual day though my guess is nobody will know that day cuz it would kind of ruin the surprise, right?) in the movie Independence Day…

…I’m baaaaaaaack.

Of course, his going back ended in his demise. Hopefully I don’t have that same problem. I don’t like my demise. I like my mise.

Stupidity has a home at JGT Enteprises.

So yes, writing for a purpose because I might be doing a lot more writing on a much larger forum. We’ll see how it shakes out, but I need practice anyway.

And you all need some entertainment, whoever you all may be.

Where ever you are. Man, I miss Terry Ellis.

Chuuch, bitches. Chuuch.