Seriously, I don’t understand her appeal.

For years now, Alicia Keys has been a media darling and musical phenom, ad nauseum. Anytime she releases an album, pundits and fans alike adore and browbeat one another for the chance to praise and adorn her with accolades aplenty.

In short, everbody loves Alicia Keys and I honestly have no clue why. I’ve tried to get it. Can she sing? Well sure…she has an alright voice though I wouldn’t exactly place her anywhere near the upper echelon of singers. Face it. Mariah Carey she ain’t.

She plays the piano but whoopty-damn do. For the large part her albums don’t rely much on her piano abilities. Most of her songs are hip-hop influenced if anything with replayed or interpolated samples. Sure they have some piano influence in them…

…but so do a lot of my own beats and I can’t play the piano for shit.

Though I totally murder Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

I. Just. Kill. That.

Alicia Keys get acting roles and to be honest, her role in Smoking Aces was the first time I’d ever found myself mentioning how attractive she is. Granted, I’d never kick her out of the bed under any circumstances but that makes her no more hot than anybody else.

Though, have you seen her on the cover of Complex magazine…watered down? Good googly moogly. I have said before and will repeat again that wet women look so much hotter than dry women. If you are a marginally attractive chick who rates like a 6 on the Dude Scale, go run under some sprinklers and always walk around like looking like you live under a rain cloud. You’re going to rate at least at a 7 at that point. And you can date 7’s.

Sixes? You just schlump them.

Back to the lecture at hand. Alicia Keys is light and brite so perhaps thats part of her draw as we all know racially ambiguous chilidren are much easier to market than children of the sun. But overall, I honestly don’t get it.

I have all of her albums and none of them was any better than most albums on the market. Songs In A Minor was alright, but I can only think of maybe 3 songs that I liked including the single, “Fallin’”. I liked “Butterfly” but I can’t even remember the name of the other joint I liked.

Diary was, eh…alright I guess. The only songs I liked were the single “You Don’t Know My Name” (which was largely piano influenced but was also a sampled piano by Kanye West) and “The Diary”. I can’t honestly even remember what the rest of the album sounds like.

So she’s not a first rate singer, doesn’t have albums that will be remembered 20 years from now, and is attractive but not in a “I want to sex you down on sight” kind of way. She’s like an upgraded version of Brandy except Brandy had some actual good entire albums (like Full Moon). She’s clearly a better songwriter than Beyonce, but hell, who isn’t?

Difference is that Beyonce’s popularity I can understand. She’s an ultimate performer. And she makes intentionall catchy pop music to appeal to the masses without any shade of personality. That’s how you bring folks in. However, Alicia Keys songs are apparently full of “integrity” or something. I don’t know.

Perhaps I’m a hater. However, I don’t care. She’s no more talented than anybody else and her albums are no better than anybody else…

…so why does everybody love them some damn Alicia Keys?

And “No One” is not a good song. You can disagree, but you will be wrong.

[***This post is long. Like Panama-length long. I'm dropping k-nowledge that many people might find useful. I'm trying to save you motherfuckers money. Do the k-nowledge and read. ***]

For the past 9 months now, I’ve been managing a nightclub in DC. It’s a pretty well-known spot and we hold all types of events. We’ve had Erykah Badu hosting a party and have had 9th Wonder (of Little Brother, Mary J. Blige, Jay-Z production fame) spinning on the 1’s and 2’s. We’ve held court for The Roots crew and had ?uestlove spinning old school classics. We’ve done concerts and happy hours. Cornel West has been there as has Malcolm Jamal-Warner. Dick Gregory randomly strolled by one day. We’ve hosted First Fridays. We’ve hosted fundraiser gala’s.

Basically, we’re all purpose like a motherfucker. For as many successful events as I’ve seen happen at our club, I’ve witnessed a million terrible events. And by terrible I mean, nobody shows up…period. Bad planning. Just an all around fuckfest of an event. In fact, we often joke about the worst parties we’ve had. The running joke–and I’m not sure how it started–between me and one of the owners is that whenever a bad party happens, “it’s another Panama party”. Me no know.

I know that there are are a lot of burgeoning event planners and party promoters out there who think that they can throw parties and just know that they’d be good at it.

Yeah. Okay.

Before you put all of your money where my hand is, let me explain to you how to throw a bad party. People often times tell you what you need to throw the party to end all parties. Fuck that. Let me explain to you the mindstate that goes into throwing a bad party. Follow me.

10 WAYS TO THROW A SHITTY PARTY AND HEAR THE OWNER SAY, “FUCK YOU, PAY ME”

1) Think that just because you’ve throw a few successful house parties, you can step up into the big leagues.

Methinks that this is where everything goes wrong for most people. You see, house parties, though they involve planning, are just that. House parties. You don’t need nearly as many people to fill a house as you do to fill a club. Folks don’t pay a cover. Further, you can tell people to bring bottles of liquor and most will comply. You need a marginal sound system. Basically, the ONLY think you need for a house party is really the house and some speakers. And some red cups. You can tell people to bring liquor but the least you can do is get the Solo cups. And do you know what luxury you have by throwing a house party? No cost…well, aside from the potential damage that may occur during said houseparty. But really, if you know enough broke people…ya know, the motherfuckers who DON’T feel like getting dressed up and paying for the luxury of seeing people that they don’t know, you can throw successful houseparties once a month or more than that if you throw one party where major shit went down that keeps people talking.

Hell, people LIKE house parties because they’re low maintenance and low budget. It’s the “I have shit else to do” alternative to sitting at home scratching your balls and being a loser on a Friday night.

2) Think that your friends are going to support you in all of your endeavors in life.

Hmm…yeah. No. If you think that just because you’re throwing a party your friends will come out and be your source of support you are sadly mistaken. Unless you are known for throwing the banging ass house parties (see 1) a solid 10 percent maybe of all the friends you invite are going to come to your party and PAY to get in to said party. Let’s just be real here. Friends feel like they should get friend priveleges. They want that $Free.99 hookup. Problem is, maybe the owner is getting a cut of the door and he’s going to be very careful about you letting in everybody unless it’s outlined upfront. Shit…I fuckin’ MANAGE a nightclub and do you know how many people I know who’ve ONLY been there for shit like my birthday?! And they’d get in free. Just because you’re doing it doesn’t mean that anybody is coming. That Field of Dreams shit? For birds and white people.

And to piggyback on #2…

3) Think that everybody who says they’re coming…is coming.

Most promoters use the half-half metric. This means that if they get 300 RSVPs, they expect maybe half will show up. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been in meetings with promoters who tell me, “yeah man, it’s looking great, I have like 1000 RSVPs!” Day of the party and 30 people show up. I’m not sure why this little facet of life eludes people but read this very carefully:

IT TAKES NOTHING TO RSVP TO AN EVENT. Hell, I can’t go to shit because I work on every Friday and Saturday night but do you know I RSVP for damn near every event that comes my way…AND I KNOW I CAN’T EVEN GO! Everybody RSVP’s for shit like free guestlists so that they can cover all of their options SHOULD THEY decide to actually go out.

Word to the wise, don’t be a dolt…any motherfucker can RSVP.

4) Think you can do it by yourself.

Look, the only things in life that ALWAYS works out okay solo are masturbating and first-degree murder. Word to OJ Simpson. Everything else helps to have a partner or somebody to help cover the bases. This is the catch-22 that most solo promoters get themselves caught up in. Sure, if you’re night is a success, you reap all the reward. But if it doesn’t? You lose dunny. You stay losing too because unless you got major dolo, you probably weren’t expecting to have to come off of $3,000 dollars to cover the bar minimum that you didn’t reach.

Here’s a little knowledge for you folks thinking about joining the wonderful world of club promotion. It’s a business. Wait…y’all must didn’t hear that Tribe Called Quest shit…

IT’S A BUSINESS. You and the owner agree to terms that are going to be beneficial for you both, but moreso for the owner. You’re getting a bar miminum. For the uninitiated, that means you will have an agreed upon amount that the bar must meet in order for you to basically walk out of the club breaking even. This also supposes that the owner is not taking anything off of what you charge at the door.

Many club owners want some of the door and want the bar. Promoters want the door and some of the bar. You see how that can get muddled?

So say you have a party on a Friday night with a bar minimum of $5,000 (which is cheap actually, I mean it is Friday), and you’re charging $20 at the door. Well, if 100 people show up, that $5000 is a pretty hard number to reach because everybody has to spend: what class??!?!

$50 bucks! Yeah, that ain’t happening. Consider that women are cheap bastards and also that folks do not want to blow $50 bucks on drinks AFTER they just blew $20 at the door.

And if the party is wack, folks will leave early. Sure they’re mad that they paid $20, but chances are you said folks would get in free before 11pm or something ANYWAY to get them there. Effectively, you’ve made NOTHING at this point. With 100 people you’re lucky if your bar does $2,000. So say it does. And say 50 of those 100 paid to get in.

What you’ve effectively done is made $1,000 at the door and the bar did $2,000. And let’s say the owners benevolent and doesn’t take anything from the door. Chance are you paid at least $1,000 up-front to reserve the party since owners ain’t stupid. They want some cash (or credit card) as a deposit…and it’s non-refundable. If you meet your minimum, you get it back. So you have a $5,000 minimum, you made $2,000 at the bar so you owe $3,000. Well, you put down a $1000 deposit, so now you owe $2,000.

My guess is that you AREN’T going to ante up that $1,000 you made at the door though its the smart thing to do. So you’re in the whole 2 stacks. Solo. All by yourself.

You don’t want that. Believe you me. You might be doing well in life, but coming off of 2 stacks solo because your party flopped is not a good look.

Promoting is a team sport unless owners all just like you and let your party happen without consequence. But umm…Roseanne ass chance there bucko.

5) Think that just because you’re nice you can be a good promoter.

Fact is, everybody ain’t a promoter. Just because you like talking to people doesn’t mean you can be a good promoter. You know why? All nice people ain’t sales people. Promotion is sales. You have to effectively convince people to come to your party and spend their money on your vision. Why should anybody come to your party and spend their money to make you money? Especially if you have no resume, so to speak. I’ve met people who’ve convinced themselves that they’re promoters and their parties always suck. Always. Nobody comes. And you know who notices that nobody comes?

Club owners. They do not like not making money. It is not a good look. Your party will get Republic Gardened (RIP). And the manager, me, will come and shut shit down early much to your disdain but guess who won’t give a shit?

Me. The manager. If it doesn’t make dollars, it doesn’t make sense. People don’t realize that when you open club doors, you start out losing money in wages. All the people that come to work HAVE to be paid whether anybody comes to your shit or not.

6) Think that you don’t have to spend a lot of time ACTUALLY promoting.

Promoting sucks. You have to get flyers and meet people all the time. It’s tiresome. Once you’ve been in the game long enough where word-of-mouth carries then you’re straight. You can just send out emails and people will come because you have a track record. But until that point, you’re ass is a campaigning fool. You have to hit the streets gathering emails and making nice with women and babies. You can’t just assume that folks will show up to your even because you got some place to open the doors. Basically, you AREN’T Marc Barnes. Promoting is hard work. Not only that, you have to convince owners to let you throw parties at their place. And if you’re Black and cater to a Black crowd…well, that can take some major convincing.

7) Think that some people wouldn’t rather sit at home reading a book than come out to your party.

This is more of a niche market thing. If you’re target audience is the urban professional crowd. Know that some of these people, namely the women, won’t mind sitting at home reading a book or watching Lifetime instead of coming out to your party. People who read ALWAYS have options. They can go out for drinks early and go home and be comfortable at home and not have to worry about some overly-aggressive behemoth palming their asses because he IS one of those folks who will spend $50 bucks at the bar (or a couple thousand because he’s a baller…and an idiot). Pretty simple there.

8 ) Think that because you threw ONE good party that all of your parties will be good.

I’ve seen this one with my own two eyes a few times. Circumstances created a party that wasn’t into the party of the year. There is a term for this occurrence:

fluke.

Flukes do happen and it’s probably best to operate under the auspices of recognizing that flukes do happen. When your party erupts into something way bigger than you expected, be happy and bask in the success. Do not however, think that it gives you leverage and come to people with an attitude of, “I think my track record speaks for itself.”

It doesn’t speak. In fact, it’s mute. Your track record was a fluke and you will get yourself in trouble because owners want to make money and might bank on a fluke. Thing is, YOU are left holding the financial bag. And we’ll be more than happy to add bags to you.

Realize that people come to the club of their choice because they felt it was their best option on that particular night, not because they like you. In a major city, those options can change instantly.

One good party does not another good party make.

9) Think that spending all your money on a big-name (or pseudo big-name) DJ is going to bring out the people.

A great DJ of national fame will always bring out people. Thing is, those people have proven track records of rocking parties…pretty erroneously. Somebody had to get those people INTO those venues at some point to GET those DJ’s to national prominence. Another thing to remember is this, much like HDTV’s, all DJ’s are going to play the same shit anyway. Unless, of course, you’re going for a totally different type of party. You don’t get a DJ who specializes in Afro-beat if what you want is Souljaboy. They’re all playing the same songs. On a good night, folks will say, “MAN…who WAS that DJ?!?! He was rocking.” On a regular party night, folks will just dance and enjoy themselves.

Of course, you NEVER want folks to say, “who the FUCK was that whack ass DJ?! He played ‘Hello Eireen’ between Souljaboy and Richboy.”

*cough?uestlovecough*

10) Think that because you ARE somebody, you can’t throw terrible parties.

Being humble in this business is a must because even Love has bad nights. Even the dudes with the biggest followings can have off nights. It happens to everybody. Once you go thinking that you’re such-n-such and that your name alone brings people out, you get a wack night where nobody shows up and a slight melee ensues between you and security and the manager and the owner causing little dudes to break up fights in the middle of the dance floor.

****

These are all things to consider when thinking of throwing a party. It’s way easier than you think to catch a brick on a party…even if you are somebody.

Before you get ready to throw your next party at any club and end up owing the club $5,000, read these rules and think.

Just think…

…we’ll be more than happy to take your money.

Don’t be so quick to give it all up.

Over my vast 27 years of existence, I’ve gained amazing amounts of knowledge about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I’ve learned how to tie my shoes, which has proven to be a most valuable skill as I ventured through my formative years running amok amongst the trees.

(I’m feeling poetic today.)

I learned how to type correctly in either 6 or 7th grade, a skill set, that has continued to serve me most wonderfully thus far in life since if I couldn’t really type you wouldn’t be reading this right now and I wouldn’t be Panama Jackson, the most sexxy muhfucka on the net…no, I’d be Panama…well, you don’t want to know what I’d be doing. Let’s just say it would involve some safety pins, a few spools of wire, a parking garage receipt from Bloomingdales , and an empty bottle of Cambodian breast milk.

Bad Boy…come out and play.

I’ve also learned a lot about dating. I’m of the belief that the more relationships you experience the more you learn about yourself. You learn about the things you can and cannot tolerate, your pet peeves, your interests and how your interests parlay into your significant other’s interests. Basically you gain information on what kind of person you will be most compatible with.

Now, with this knowledge of compatibility also comes knowledge to the opposite. You’d like some examples, wouldn’t you… you dastardly devils, you?

Okay. I shall share.

Things I know that I couldn’t deal with would include dating a woman with a tattoo on her neck. And how do I know this? Because I dated a woman with a tattoo on her neck. Granted, I didn’t actually know she had a tattoo on her neck when we first met because her hair was covering it. However, once it was discovered that the aforementioned women had a tattoo on her neck I just couldn’t help but to stare at it. Her tattoo was a singular letter. Now part of the problem was that the letter was not the first letter of the name she’d given me. Turns out, she had a whole extra part of her name that she didn’t tell me about, for which the tatter alluded.

Plus, I’m a bad person so you know I struggled to NOT ask questions like: “I suppose you already have job security, huh?”

Or, “You don’t really believe in shooting for the stars, do you?”

One snap decision removed most gainful employment from her repertoire. And because I’m neither a rapper nor a ballplayer I can’t date a woman with a tattoo on her neck. Plus, she might be tougher than me because Lord knows that I’m not getting a tattoo on my neck.

Umm, fuck that.

[***Sidenote: I seriously have to wonder what would make anybody get a tattoo on their neck. With all of the free skin roaming flaplessly all over the human body, why in the flying fuck would somebody stop and say, you know where I don't have a tat?...on the sensitive area between my face and my shoulders. You can always tell a nigga who's afraid of a job, because he'll have a tattoo on a place that would scare off the nice white people who employ us. Plus, you just can't put a nigga with a tat on his neck up front unless he's doing security in which case I suppose it helps to add to the "secure" illusion of "don't fuck with us, my security has a tattoo on his neck, he doesn't play. Westside beeeyotch." Further, why the fuck would any woman do that? That shit is up there with smoking and walking like a Siamese Floating Yacht as the most unsexxy things a woman can do. There is no such thing as a sexxy neck tattoo. There's also something about Mary....but who's counting. ***]

You want another example don’t you? You’re in luck because I have another one. It’s not really an example per se, but more a realization I came to the other day that led to me having these thoughts for which I’m sharing.

I realized that, I can’t date a woman who doesn’t have at least one email address that encompasses some part of her real name.

Think about that for a minute.

*marinating*

Let me back track a little and explain where this idea came from. So I’ve done a lot of writing in some very random places. Well, I always include my email address so I tend to get lots of random emails. And I read them all…and sometimes I even make the mistake of reading people’s email addresses. I’ll get a very well written email with good points and interesting views from somebody with this email address:

Lickylickysuckysucky969@yahoo.com

And yes I made that email address up, but no I’m not really exaggerating. Not to say I can’t respect the words that are written or anything, but umm…if I ever receive a religious email from ole LickyLicky up there, let’s just say I’m calling bullshit.

It’s just one of those things that makes you go, hmmmm. Any and every reading black person that I know with multiple email address has at least one with their real name incorporated into it. I have two. I have about 6 different email addresses and 2 of them use my full birth name. And do you know what that means?

It means I can get a job. You cannot apply for a job that asks for your email if it’s: Fuggmepropadaddy@yahoo.com

Well, you can apply, but you shouldn’t exactly be waiting on a response. What the hell am I going to do with a woman who can’t get employed? Sorry, but working at McDonald’s just won’t cut it in my life right now…if it’s your own fault.

If she were to aspire to work at McDonald’s because she thinks she just looks sexxy flipping burgers that’s one thing. Actually, it isn’t. I need a little less delusion in my women. In today’s day and age of technological advancement, there is just no good reason not to have a professional email address. The only reason not to is if you have no real goals for professional careerdom of any sort. Shit, I know BROKE niggas with real email addresses.

And do you know why? Because broke niggas want to make money of the real variety.

Speaking of which, but not really at all. The funniest text message I received this week came from a friend of mine in Miami: Yung Joc was sweating my goodies last night. It was NOT going down.

That’s still cracking me up.

Good times.

So from here on out, along with asking questions about baby daddy’s and prison records, fuck a phone number, I’m asking for an email address, and if it’s something like, Sexkitten365…well, actually I might email her back. But let’s just say that if after a few days of talking, I ask what her professional email address is and she says, I don’t have one, but you can just email me at Luvulongtime@whateverthefuck.com…I’ll email her alright…

…from notgonnahappen@godie.com.

[***Yeah, yeah...it's long. Sue me. And this could very well be one of the most disjointed posts I've written in years. However, my sexxiness precludes me from stopping myself from putting it out there. Sadatay! ***]

There’s a popular clich?�d statement out there that goes a little something like this:

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. You may have heard that somewhere. It’s popular on schoolyards everywhere as future millionaires fend off the numerous taunts of usually bigger, cooler, or more assholish kids who make fun of each other during Act One of the omnipresent stage play, Life.

I know I’ve said it before to somebody. Probably to some girl who called me a name when I was six or seven. I’m guessing it was my best rebuttal. Either that or the similarly popular, “I’m rubber, you’re glue, whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you.” It’s funny how ridiculously ridiculous these statements are but how clear they are to children. I swear, there isn’t a kid alive who doesn’t know how to turn that statement around on another kid.

The main notion behind these statements is that words are just that, words. That they don’t necessarily hold much Oprah sometimes and that short of being bludgeoned with a Louisville Slugger, for the most part, you can just get up and move on past something someone has just said that you don’t necessarily agree with.

Well, me…I’m calling bullshit, especially the older you get. I don’t know which is a bigger lie: actions speak louder than words or Ken Lay’s actually dead.

And no, I don’t think he’s dead. There are times in life where death just seems a little bit too convenient. Ken Lay’s untimely demise? You bet your ass that’s one of those times.

And for the record, I do think actions speak loud. But I think that words carry just as much weight.

Now, I won’t be focusing on that “actions speak louder than words” segment, but more on how certain words really can totally get you in an assblender of trouble. One specific word actually. But since I’m verbose as a German bratwurst, I can’t just simply tell you the word. With that said…

…what’s the worst word you can call a woman who’s got any sort of interest in you?

Or shit a man for that matter?

You in the back.

No, it’s not bitch.

Though calling a woman a bitch is not recommended and calling a man a bitch can result in an asswhippin.’ Unless you’re friends of course and as along as its been discussed at some point that such language is okay and that all parties are in agreement that such okayedness is indeed alright, or alright with me, like Janet Jackson who has a new song out that really isn’t so stellar featuring Nelly produced by JD which sounds a lot like “We Belong Together” which sounds a lot like “Confessions” which was the partial title of a book by a woman with a son who is of school age who must venture everyday around a bunch of people who know that the best thing his mother has ever done in her life was fellate Shaq…well.

I mean, it’s a fucked up word to call a woman and all and probably will fuck you up in the game but by the point you actually were to call a woman that I’m guessing the interest has probably dissipated faster than a Halle Berry relationshiop.

But no its not bitch.

Ah, what the hell, just for good measure: Who you callin’ a bitch!!?!!?!!

U.N.I.T.Y.

You, over there scratching yourself.

No, it’s not cunt. Though…though, I REALLY don’t suggest calling a woman that, especially if she likes you. She will commence to un-liking you. And just…why would you do that?

You all are killing me.

The word?

Buddy.

Yes. It’s buddy.

Oh, you don’t believe me? You can case study this shit if you want to. Allow me to offer a situation from my own life as fodder for discussion.

Once upon a blue moon, I was a lovestruck idiot in college. I’d managed to find a woman who for whatever reason got me all in a tizzy. Now, despite my constant attempts to woo this woman, she managed to fend off my advances like she was practicing for the National DisANigga Time Trials. But she didn’t exactly want me to not continue to woo her since my woo-age was neither stalkerish nor annoying. My woo-age included flowers, poetry, trips to cheap dinners. Basically, I had your all around being a nice guy who really likes a girl thing going on. I’d do dumb shit hoping she’d take notice despite the fact that she’d made it clear she wasn’t really trying to be with me, though clearly she was interested but it might have just been in the way I treated her. Figure out if she’s worth it, then treat her like a Queen. I had that little equation backwards.

I was idiot, hear me roar. Actually, it should read like this. I was idiot, heard me roar (since this shit was in the past and all).

But one fine day, as we were on the phone, me in my non-chalant manner innocently said to her, “hey buddy…”

STOP.

Have you seen I’m Gonna Get You Sucka? Do you remember the part where the mother who is on her period turns into the monsterish thing who is doing back flips and shit when folks come into her house looking for Jack Spade? Yeah, that was this chick. Hell, throw a conniption in there too.

I felt like I had just shot her grandmother with a rusty barnacle. She went off on me. Now remember, this was a chick who didn’t want to be with me, but apparently she for damn sure didn’t like the connotation that comes along with being called a buddy.

“I am NOT your buddy.”

Sheesh.

I left that alone after that and had learned my lesson.

That was until the next time I used that term and the exact same shit occurred.

And you know what, I didn’t get it at first. Why would these women who seemingly don’t want to be with me get so offended at the use of the term “buddy”. Then it dawned on me.

Women fucking HATE that word because it makes them feel less special. “No he didn’t call me his buddy. What I look like? His boy Jim that he plays ball with!!! Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit…he better had get right in his mind!”

And in some ways I can kind of understand. Maybe its unintentionally intentional, but words like “buddy” and shit tend to pop up when people are dating and they’re in that limbo, where-are-we-going stage. Maybe we’re all just playing mind games with one another.

I prefer mind strip-poker.

While we’re talking about stripping, I actually played strip spin the bottle once. Talk about just TRYING to find a reason to get naked.

Mentos…the freshmaker.

Back to the point.

The dude is thinking that if he calls her buddy and he gets a reaction then he knows she’s feeling him definitely. Kind of like forcing the green light. On that stupid ass Love Jones shit.

I need to say this here…I fuckin’ HATE when people try to passively aggressively bait me into shit. I know some folks who go out of their way to force an issue by total beat-around-the bushage. I want those people to get hit by lightning.

Most people I know hate passive-agressive ass bastards too. It’s one thing if two dating people are passive-aggressively feeling each other out in hopes of, you know, feeling each other out later. It’s something altogether different when people say this:

“We might need to talk about something later on.”

Umm…the fuck does that mean? What do you mean might? If we might need to talk about it later on then we probably DO need to talk about it now.

Spit it out nigga!!!

Sounds personal, n’est-ce pas?

Wow, I’ve taken some tangents but that was some major tangential shit right there.

Ah yes, women hate feeling less than special. Especially if they like you. Even more especially than the past especially if questions are lingering about the direction two people are heading.

Yo, are you actually still reading this?

In some ways I don’t even think its deeper than that. An interested woman wants to know that you feel that she’s more special than other random folks in your life, whether its true or not.

Speaking of which, and since I’ve already written like a gazillion words, what in the fuck is up with some women really thinking that they should be the ace numero uno priority in a man’s life, above his family and shit. I had to cut a chick back before behind that. She actually told me that she felt she should have a higher place in my life than my momma(s) and sisters and just family over all.

After like 3 months.

Of knowing each other.

I thought she was joking. She was not. I thought it’d be best if she exited my life. She did not.

She went bye-bye.

I think at this point, my original point, whatever it may have been has gotten lost so let me just end with this nugget of advice:

Wear shower shoes in public showers.

Goodnight and goodluck.

[***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

I’m at the least focused point I’ve ever been in my life right now. For one, the heat is about to finally show up to stay and I just love the summer. Now, I’m no fan of 95 degree days, but I do look forward to 65 degree mornings.

And second, one of my boys is getting married. I couldn’t be happier. I looked at their wedding website and it just made me feel all happy and shit.

In fact, I’m feeling all emotional right now. Plus I watched Love Actually last night too.

Hold me.

Okay, that’s not really true (the emotional part, I did watch Love Actually last night), but I’m on my way to celebrate the wedding festivities, leaving tomorrow morning in fact not returning until Tuesday afternoon, which has rendered me totally incapable of coherent thought and focus. I must be the second most useless employee this side of the Mississippi right now. Who’s the first?

That would be me right before I went to Vegas. And I’m only at my second most useless right now because the powers that be have hit me with all kinds of shit to do, and a nationally broken headline story peripherally involves yours truly. So let’s just say, the potential for having to do work during the wedding weekend is high.

Well, despite my lack of focus right now, I still have been very observant of the changing seasons and the impact it has on people’s habits. Specifically the period of transitioning from spring to summer when invariably…

…some of y’all niggas lose y’alls damn mind.

So like the million other people, in my bored and ready-to-roll-out-like-Luda-n-em, I decided to put together a do’s and don’ts for the summertime.

Panama Jackson Presents…Do Read This List and Don’t Be A Menace To South Central While Drinking Your Juice In The Hood: Summer Tips 101

***Note: This slight list of tips will include shit for all ages and both men and women. Lickety-split. ***

Do be conscious of the fact that all people cannot wear all things. If you are a 300 pound woman, you cannot wear a size 2 anything. Honestly, nobody wants to see your skin. Make sure you can cover the shit up.

With that in mind…

Don’t color coordinate your clothing choices with your hair, ladies (Seen this morning upon entering my building at work). It’s not a good look…especially if you already color coordinated your hair with your skin tone. You will walk around looking like a nude crayon. Except nobody likes fake nude people. Or crayons. We feel cheated. Just stop it!

Do enjoy the lovely outdoors whenever you can.

Don’t fuck it up by shooting somebody. You know the crime rates increase in the summertime cuz niggas get hot and agitated. Calm the fuck down.

Do use lotion on your flour-kickers if you must wear sandals. This rule does not apply to white people so much. Though I do suggest using lotion on your feet anyway. But more for health and not aesthetic reasons.

And along those lines…

Don’t over do the baby powder. Especially on the chest region. Not only do I not understand it, but you will walk around looking like you’re about to be put in a deep fryer. Again, not a good look.

Speaking of ungood looks…

Do make sure that you don’t try too hard to bring certain dead styles back. I’ve seen a few women in the past few weeks rocking polka dots. Now I’m not saying it’s not okay, but I am saying don’t do it. It wasn’t hot when it was in style, it definitely won’t be hot now that its been laid to rest and one-line ethered by the Notorious B.I.G. Just because Kwame can make a comeback doesn’t mean polka dots can.

Do me baby.

Don’t speak.

Do wash your cars because there is nothing worse than driving around in the summer with a dusty ass ride. Women at busstops can’t really appreciate a dustymobile.

Don’t write anything overly obscene on anybody’s dusty ass car. A simple “wash me bitch” or “this fuckin’ car is dusty as fuck” will suffice.

Do make sure that your shoe game is in check. Keep them bitches clean. Especially your Air Force 1s (or Uptowns or Coke Whites, whatever you call them). For the life of me I’ll never understand why any grown ass man would walk around wearing shoes looking like they survived Vietnam. Women notice shoes, fellas.

As a caveat to a former one for the ladies:

Don’t wear shoes that are too small for your feet to handle. If you need to understand geometry and calculus in order to get your feet comfortably into your shoes, shoot yourself. Or if your not the violent type, just get some bigger got damn shoes, sasquatch.

Do make sure you summertime mackin’ game is intact. Please fellas, practice your game on minor league women you really don’t want before you go taking it to the big leagues. You make all men look bad when you have bad summertime game.

I realize that last one was bit jacked up and implies that some women should have game “practiced” on them. There is no set guideline for who the batting practice chicks are. Just assume you aren’t one. Mmkay?

Don’t deal with losers with zero game, ladies. It will have repercussions and reverberations for years to come on some sorry sap who really does like you. Feel free to clown a lame cat though. But give yourself a quota, only like, one a week or something.

Do go to a BBQ.

Don’t burn down a park. Smokey the Bear says only you can prevent forest fires. Hey, did anybody else ever notice that Smokey’s ass was always on the scene of forest fires? I’m not saying he lit them himself, but if there’s no fires he kind of doesn’t have a career now, does he? Think about it.

Do enjoy the summer.

Don’t stop loving me now…

Do miss me while I’m gone wedding-ing and drinking and not posting til next week sometime.

Don’t fret, this list is done.

“In all of my experiences of living, most black women dating white men tend to be more on the darker side of the shade tree. I don’t know if lighter women are just on a quest for more color in their children’s lives or what, but you just don’t see that very often. I have a theory on this…” -an excerpt from a post entitled Tired Black Man: Negro Please! courtesy of His Royal Sexxiness and Purveyor of All Things Symbiotically Good aka Panama Jackson

In the comments section of that post, Brick said that she’d like to hear this theory. As the man who makes it a job to give the people what they want, I shall lay out my theory on this.

I’m nice like that. And sexxy enough to do it.

As an aside, me and some of my boys actually have rules on that type of thing, though we break them quite often. One of our rules has been to “always give the people what they want” though it usually involves proliferation of the feminine spirit. Of course, it is only the case when you can do so, i.e. you’re not in a relationship of any sorts or when you won’t step on your God’s toes in the process. And you think Bill Maher started that New Rule shit? We’ve been coming up with new rules since 1997.

Center of Excellence, bitches. Center of Excellence.

Now to the theory.

If you pay attention to most of the interracial black woman-white man couples you see, you’ll probably notice a few things about them. For one, the white man doesn’t usually look like the kind of white dude who would be seriously dating a black woman, Paul Walls of the world excepted. He usually looks more like, Kevin James. Your garden variety regular white dude. This has always baffled me because like any other true blue American, I succumb to racial stereotypes just like the next person, and that combo just rarely makes sense to me.

Two, you will usually notice that its usually the more dark sisters who are dating the white dudes. And by darker, I mean the less light light skinneded. Basically, if you’re actual degree of darktivity is debatable, but the term light-skinned is ALWAYS the first option, then I’m not talking about you.

You know, I really should start chronicling these random terms I create and compile them into some sort of Panamictionary. That idea has actually been suggested to me for a few years now. I’m just lazy.

On the surface, it seems like it might be some sort of complex subconscious psychological thing that causes light skinned women to not date white men while their darker sisters partake of the other other white meat.

You know, as I am typing, I just queried The After Party Hostess because I didn’t know what the first white meat was. I mean I knew that pork was the other white meat, but I wasn’t sure what the original white meat was. She informed me that it was chicken. I have just disappointed the black community in ways no other man has done in years. It hasn’t been this bad since the Great Watermelon Fiasco of 1994.

*hangs head in shame*

I contend that the reasons for these dating trends are quite simple. As black people, we are the only race (to a lesser extent Indians from India and Arabs) that can actually do pre-screened color matching. Yes, the stereotype about black people is true; we care so much about aesthetics that we will usually try to match ourselves with appropriately colored counterparts as a means of taking more balanced pictures and creating more creatively colored children.

Go on ahead and marinate on that for a minute.

*humming “Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash*

I never said the shit was deep.

Think about this (dammit, you know that whenever somebody tells you to think about something, they think they are bringing some depth), most black people are usually totally miffed when white people think we all look alike since our colors vary (thanks to the institution of slavery and black woman rape) so much that you can literally have a good thousand shades of “black”. White people and Asians on the other hand, well, excuse my ignorance here, actually fuck you if you’re offended, look WAY more alike on any given day than two black people who don’t have the same parents. As far as I’m concerned, they’re all cousins.

Now that’s just part of it. There are other pieces at play here of darker and vile conception. Or not.

It has been my observation as well that most light-skinned women would rather date a darker skinned man. Now this could have psychological ramifications. Potentially the fuckedupedness that we in the black community have passed down amongst ourselves over hundreds of years continues to rear its ugly head here. As a means of staying “black” and having “black children” light skinned people tend to look for the blacker the berry counterparts. Men and women do this.

Panama Pon-de-river Fession (similar to a confession but coming from Panama): I have a thing for darker sisters. I always have. My last few girlfriends have been of the lighter variety and that has always presented a dilemma for me. You see, I’m mixed. Feel free to *gasp* now if you weren’t aware. This means I’m kind of on the light side. I have nieces and nephews and all of those little kids are light. What I’m getting at here is that, I want my kids to have some color. Or I would like to at least give my kids a shot at some color. Chances are that might not happen, but still. On the other end, I really just love darker skinned women. I’m gonna sound like a racist here but fuck you, I just love dark skin tones and how flawless it looks a lot of time. A nice chocolate woman will get my attention a good 10 out of 10 times. Assuming of course that she doesn’t look like Grace Jones or India.Arie.

Now, I’m not suggesting that light skinned women are somehow “apologizing” for their skin tone by seeking out darker men, I’m just saying that coupled with the aesthetic nature of black people, maybe its just one of those things that is bound to happen. And you have to admit, family pictures always look good with people of two different complexions. You may disagree, but you will be wrong.

All that to say, light skinned women and white men don’t actually make for good pictures. And I think we are all aware of this. Plus, given the fact that a higher percentage of light skinned black women tend to be of the militant variety (including mixed black women), it’s just hard to date a white man when your idol is Malcolm X.

Of course, there is a caveat there too. A lot of lighter women are indeed mixed. And they may have grown up in a house where naivete was the meal du jour where the kids are told to believe that color is not an issue in America in which case that light skinned woman might date white men…until reality hits her like a MAC truck one day, and then she totally flips the script back to the better picture-fitting darker skinned man.

Now to the dark skinned women.

Are you still reading? Because this shit is getting long.

I think that darker women dating white men is a function of the white man being wholly attracted to black women in general, as well as his white women counterparts, and the black woman just being openminded and probably also tired of trifling black menses.

I think that a white dude interested in black women, on a strictly physical level, would more likely than not be interested in the darker women. You can throw that whole exotic thing into the equation if you want, but I think it comes down to this (and yes it is stereotype induced): If a white man is going to date a black woman, he wants to date a black woman, not some lightskinned chick with permed straight hair that could be mistaken as a dark skinned white girl (big ups to Murs). He wants a real no questions asked black woman. Maybe she has her hair permed too, but her complexion tells him all he needs to know. No mistaking her. Plus, the pictures will look nice and colorful.

From the black woman’s end, she is not usually worried about her kids skin tone (like light skinned people) therefore she can throw caution to the wind and date somebody of another race and possibly have kids because she will still be contributing to the black community. And since, stupid as this shit is, a lot of light skinned dudes (from what I’ve been told and shit) don’t like dating darker women (since we are pretty ignant in the black community) and dark skinned men want light women (see prior ignorance) dark women will find them an appropriate white man, if she’s at all interested.

You see, some of this has complicated ends to it, but really, the foremost reason why dark skinned women date white men, and light skinned women don’t is:

Its all about the Polaroids.

End theory.

[***EDIT (3/21/2006): I was going to post a new entry today, but an interesting comment popped up that seems to be great fodder for a knock-down drag out convo between men and women. Not sure if the comment was real in the first place since the last person who wrote as "A Us Citizen" was just calling me gay, but she did pose an interesting question. So venture to the comments and let the games begin. Ichiban bitches!***]

[***Today we're gonna start the week of topics provided by the masses. First up to bat, Barry Bonds!***]

Let’s see:

Swollen head: check!

Swollen body: check!

Ridiculously Increased Statistical Performance AFTER 35: check!

Personal Trainer supplies steroids to everybody: check!

Face it, Barry Bonds is guilty of doping up to increase his prominence amongst the tainted legends of baseball stars past.

And I, for one, don’t give a flying fuck.

It’s interesting how huge the discussion about Barry Bonds has become amongst baseball circles. He’s been guilty in the court of public opinion for years now, but if he keeps belting out homeruns on his quest for Babe Ruth’s historic 714, we’ll all still watch.

If I was Barry Bonds, when I hit number 715, I’d risk suspension and pissing off an entire nation by running the basepath with the middle finger salute up to everybody. The fact that sports reporters have clearly quit their day jobs to churn out books on the fact that Barry Bonds has used steroids speaks to the fact that, basically, folks really don’t have shit better to do with their time.

I read this on ESPN, but Barry Bonds really is like the new OJ Simpson to white people. He’s destroying America’s, increasingly colorless, pasttime. OJ went out and got him a white woman, and subsequently had her ass chop suey’d. Barry Bonds played baseball and subsequently shit all over it by taking its most beloved record, the home run record, and did it thru tainted means.

Hell, you’d think that Barry Bonds was a terrorist or something the way he’s being treated. If he wasn’t in danger of breaking Babe Ruth’s record, I don’t think he’d get THIS much hateration thrown at him. Well, that and the fact that he’s a total jackass to the press. But hell, he’s been that way since day one right?

Much like every other black person in America, I can’t help but notice how much of a free pass Mark McGwire, the All-American white boy has gotten in this entire debacle. The steroids he was publicly using were banned a few years after he broke the then home run record set by Roger Maris at 71. I don’t understand for the life of me how that muhfucka gets NO burn nowadays as having tainted the legacy of baseball. Nope…just Bonds. Major league baseball players have been using steroids and destroying the sanctity of the game for years.

So have track stars.

Football players.

Weight lifters.

Old people.

Oh, my bad, that’s marijuana which destroys the American home by having high kids run over a girl on a bicycle who is strangely riding on a busy street in front of a fast food restaurant drive thru without a parent in sight. Hell, she might have gotten hit regardless.

You know who I feel bad for in this whole steroid scandal? Jose Canseco.

That damn Jose “El Cubano” Conseco has been TRYING to get the press that Bonds receives daily. And yet, all the notoriety goes to Bonds. Conseco tried to singlehandedly bring down Major League Baseball with a book called “Juiced” detailing all of the steroid-based knowledge he could muster.

He admitted it.

He released his book and got his day in the sun.

Bonds hasn’t admitted to shit.

And we can’t stop talking about him.

Poor Jose. He even tried to holler at Christina Milian and she rejected him. His esteem must be fucked right about now.

I’ll bet Barry would love to share the spotlight with Jose a little more.

This whole steroid-Bonds bullshit speaks to America’s and the people-whp-can’ts desire to have things done our way. Barry isn’t a media darling, so we don’t want him to be the asshole who passes the Babe’s record. White people love Babe Ruth and hold him up as this paragon of athleticisim and value.

However, only black people really seem to be ones talking about the fact that had he been playing in an era where black pitchers were allowed to challenge him, he might not have been the same player. He might have, but we’ll never know.

America doesn’t want Bonds to break the record because he didn’t do it the right way. Hell, what does that even mean anymore? Who ISN’T taking some kind of supplement in sports? Everybody’s looking for an edge. I say let the steroids ride. If grown ass men want to kill themselves at 50, let them. It’s their choice.

Barry Bonds legacy might be at stake here as far as Hall of Fame voters go, but for my money, I say fuck ‘em. Crush Babe’s record. That way the legacy will be talked about forever. If he doesn’t make it into the Hall of Fame, they’ll HAVE to talk about you forever. Same way they do it with Pete Rose. Pete Rose is as central a figure to baseball nowadays as he was in his heyday. We HAVE to bring his name up every year.

Same thing with Barry Bonds. If he doesn’t get in, it will be a travesty; if he does (I think I used a semi-colon right for the first time EVER), he deserves it but it isn’t the “right” way.

Fuck ‘em all Barry.

Do just like you have been doing. Every homerun you hit will be a gigantic fuck you to baseball, America, and the people who are upset about OJ Simpson’s not guilty verdict…

…as long as you don’t kill your white wife too.

Good night and good luck!

First off, I’d like to thank everybody for the great blog topics. Next week I’ll be taking on the various topic suggestions.

Today, though, I came across this personality test so I figured, for people who would like to kill time, you might as well take it and find out your personality type. I know we all do these over and over, but fuck it, do it again.

I am King. Love me.

It’s a really short test and I think it will be fun to send around to the masses of folks you know. I’m going to post my results here and one of the write-ups. Let’s make a challenge out of this:

I’m interested in finding out how many people are extroverts versus introverts. My guess is that most people who actually blog are going to be extroverts but I could be wrong. My results have shown that I’m very much extroverted and would talk to a rock if it would talk back.

Which is true by the way, I’ve had full fledge conversations with inanimate objects…

Anyway, here’s the link to the test: The Jung Typology Test.

And here is the score for the Illustrious Panama Dontavious Jackson, Hero Extraordinaire:

I am an ENFP.

Extroverted: 78%
Intuitive: 50%
Feeling: 25%
Perceiving: 22%

I’m also sexxy, I just wanted to make sure nobody forgot that part.

Being an ENFP, also makes me a Champion Idealist. Yes bitches, I am a champion.

Here is one of the write-ups that appears with the results:

The Champion Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in accomplishing their aims, and informative and extraverted when relating with others. For Champions, nothing occurs which does not have some deep ethical significance, and this, coupled with their uncanny sense of the motivations of others, gives them a talent for seeing life as an exciting drama, pregnant with possibilities for both good and evil. This type is found in only about 3 percent of the general population, but they have great influence because of their extraordinary impact on others. Champions are inclined to go everywhere and look into everything that has to do with the advance of good and the retreat of evil in the world. They can’t bear to miss out on what is going on around them; they must experience, first hand, all the significant social events that affect our lives. And then they are eager to relate the stories they’ve uncovered, hoping to disclose the “truth” of people and issues, and to advocate causes. This strong drive to unveil current events can make them tireless in conversing with others, like fountains that bubble and splash, spilling over their own words to get it all out.

Champions consider intense emotional experiences as being vital to a full life, although they can never quite shake the feeling that a part of themselves is split off, uninvolved in the experience. Thus, while they strive for emotional congruency, they often see themselves in some danger of losing touch with their real feelings, which Champions possess in a wide range and variety. In the same vein, Champions strive toward a kind of spontaneous personal authenticity, and this intention always to “be themselves” is usually communicated nonverbally to others, who find it quite attractive. All too often, however, Champions fall short in their efforts to be authentic, and they tend to heap coals of fire on themselves, berating themselves for the slightest self-conscious role-playing.

As far as I’m concerned, this is pretty damn accurate, except for that good and evil part. I don’t really think about doing evil shit too often…unless you count crime and coming up with ways to improve on crimes or commit the perfect crime, in which case I plead the fifth.

Fif.

Cinqo.

I love my write up and all about how only like 3 percent of the population is similar. Yeah muhfucka…I like being a one and only type cat!!

Ichiban bitches!

So have at it, it’s a short test and its fun to learn more about yourself…and give up the goods. That means results here…extrovert or introvert, and do you agree.

Basically, I’m just trying to find a reason for anybody to actually comment on this post.

Good night and good luck.

Oh, and fuck Nevada for fucking up my NCAA bracket. That is all.

[***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.