American's have got to be the most hypocritical nation of people since Asians started getting those operations to make their legs longer. They are the same group of folks who, hundreds of years ago, made their Geisha girls wrap wet cloths around their feet to the point of purposeful disfigurement, just to appear dainty & petite. When they took off their shoes, their feet looked like the grossest sushi rolls made of flesh & bone. Now, all of the sudden, they're breaking their legs & stretching them, for the sake of 1, maybe 1 1/2 inches of extra height. Yeah, American's are no different.
For the sake of argument, the entire country rallied around itself to celebrate the first colored man to be elected Commander In Chief earlier this year. I'm surprised Hot97 & Power106 don't play old negro spirituals in between Gucci Mane & Orange Juice Da Man, of whatever the hell his mom call's him. So, once the novelty of a Black dude calling the shots wore off, the hate rains like $1 bills at an Atlanta strip club. Americans, as a whole, were even mad that Barry received the Nobel Peace Prize. Wtf? Some went as far as to say he should have declined it. Yeah, that would have given ammunition to more right wing conservatives than O. J. Simpson's book release. Bill O'Reilly would've probably dedicated an entire show to how President Barack Obama, THE representative of the U. S. A., turned down such a prestigious accolade just to show how little he cares for our country. Sounds about right; O'Reilly's a Douche Nozzle Grand Wizard.
I think he deserved it, but not for the obvious reasons. In fact, here's a list of awards that President Obama gets, care of Reading & Writing Is For Dumb People. You heard me right, we hand out awards. Hopefully next year, I'll get Mike Epps to stand around & read over my shoulder while I'm typing...
The "Braver than me" award: When he made his speech at the inauguration, all I kept thinking about was J. F. K.'s assaination. & I was thousands of miles away, at home. For him to walk out, after all the racism that surfaced upon his election, without full body armor & a federal agent toting a gun bigger than Mini-me says a lot about the size of his balls [||]. To this day, I argue the point that he probably did have a vest on under that fancy ass suit, though. I know cats who wear vests to take out the trash.
The "I take care of my kids"
award: President Obama showed the world that Black American males do have the ability to love their mate & children simultaneously, & in one setting. All of us don't go scurrying into the woods to forage for more nuts (no pun intended). Actually, this award goes to all the Black guys I know that sacrifice it all for the betterment of their clan. It's not easy, but it's worth it. Thanks to Barack, there's now other places negroes can be observed outside of music videos & episodes of 'Cops'.
The "Reading & writing ain't for dumb people" award: Barry O. is as articulate, & in cases of the southern representatives of office, more so than plenty of people in the government. No matter how candid the recording, I've heard him pronounce all the letters of the words he uses, especially 'g' & 'r'. I think I heard him say "ain't" once, but they may have been just been Joe Biden in the background.
The "Keeping it real" award: Even though we like to put presidents higher on the social hierarchy, it's good that not only does President Obama play basketball, but he still walks like a brutha. I've seen some old photos of him, while still a resident of Hawaii rocking the 'fro, where he was chilling back, smoking Newports. Eff what people think, that dude still smokes Newports. & to the company's, ummm, credit, I've never met anybody other than niggas that smoke Newports. There's some viral video of him & Michelle dancing, & again, Black folks sure can cut a rug. It wasn't like he was doing the "Stanky Leg" or any other atrocious ghetto-tastic routine, but he was getting his groove on. I'll bet my Blackberry that, when he does the "Cupid Shuffle", he's in front of the crowd.
On behalf of Reading & Writing Is For Dumb People, we'd like you, President Barack Obama, to accept these awards. & since only 30 or so people read this, don't worry about a backlash upon your acceptance. You're welcome.
In all seriousness, I voted for Barack, & I'm not disappointed that I did. What I think people fail to realize is that, even the leader of the free world is a human being. Multiply that by the mantra, "You can't please everybody", & divide that by his responsibility to govern over millions of people, & how much can we, as a nation, possibly expect from him. His decisions may not always reflect my personal interest, but it's not like he's MY president. He's our president, & there's more to that position than starting wars & funding schools. He probably has the hardest job in America (next to bouncers at Black strip clubs), & even when it seems like he's lying, or not making good on a promise, I truly believe dude's trying to do the best he can.
The more his constituents go in on him, the more the outside world views America as a fragmented country. Conincidentally, Obama's the reason that America's not globally public enemy #1 any longer. All I'm saying is, not only has he not been in office less than a year, but let's give him a chance. Rome wasn't built in a day.
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
How I Could Just Kill A Man
We've all heard Derrion Albert's tragic story. Not tragic because he was a relative or personal friend, but tragic because we had the privilege of witnessing his beating. A beating that led to his death.
Things like this occur regularly, throughout inner-city war zones all across the glorious U.S.A., on any given day. However, reading about them in the newspaper or online doesn't force us to attach a human life to the victim. Having the luxury of viral video gives the poor kid a personality, a presence, a life, so to speak. These are the images that build legends, more so than eyewitness accounts & empty anchor person rhetoric.
I try to imagine what he was thinking; put myself in his unfortunate shoes during the last several heartbreaking minutes of his life. I would like to think that, somewhere in the earlier part of the violence, he blacked-out & wasn't aware of the horror he was experiencing. Knowing the resilience of the human brain, he was probably cognizant of his predicament, if only in a haze, but knowing the fortitude of the human mind, the whole episode was most likely funneled into some dark, solitary place, in case he survived the attack.
I saw on some news outlet, where the relatives of the accused were denying their respective family member's involvement, even going so far as to call Derrion a "gang member" & saying insensitive things like "it was just a gang fight, they're all gang bangers" & "my son was defending himself". How do you say that to the mother who must not only avoid the media, and the video being forced down society's collective throat, but also has to bury her son? Even if that were God's truth, it still doesn't justify the lack of compassion that we, as humans, have for one another.
Not that this incident has a monopoly over societal ills; parents are killing their own children (& vice versa), fathers are raping their daughters, the list is a bottomless barrel of inequity with no foreseeable future other than annihilation. & regardless to whatever, it's not a race issue as much a people issue. Impoverished people, to be exact. The detrimental cycle of poverty breeds a different kind of creature. "The Cosby Show" was merely a fun house mirror, designed to distort the wicked actuality of our genuine reflections. So contrast to that fantasy, when despair is all you know, there's basically no chance at creating anything else. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, but within that rule is Murphy's Law (anything that can happen, probably will), & the mathematics just don't work in most "exceptions" favors. They wind up as statistics or innocent victims to the reality they're forced to digest routinely.
Any possible solution goes beyond tax reforms & job markets. There's no political advisors or government officials with the ability to change the hearts of man. Even if the most unfortunate, misguided soul was taken from his natural environment & thrust into the richest, most beneficial environment with every imaginable bell & whistle life has to offer, that wouldn't necessarily change generation upon generation of programmed misinformation, struggle, & survival of the fittest ethos. & truth be told, the real skills one need to "live" in today's society aren't taught in school. That's why so many youth's become disenchanted with education by 10th grade. Their education comes from the street. The same street where their ignorance was conceived, waving good bye to them as they leave, & subsequently, saying "Hello" to them when they return home.
& I'll tell you this; these rappers aren't helping matters one bit. Even the one's with a voice are usually to wrapped up in their own personal battles to lend a hand. It all begins at home, as we should already know, but think about the conditions of said homes in a lot of instances. So, what we can do, individually, is reach out to those tangible, be it boy or girl. Help those still within arm's distance. Now is not the time to be innocent bystanders, but willing participants in whatever avenues need to be traversed. Again, it all begins at home...
Broken homes, drug abuse, desensitization, racism, classism, depression, alcoholism, violence in general are all fueled by a harsh poverty that many may never escape. Those that succumb rarely make it through to the finish line. I'm not here to preach, but, wow. Something's gotta give.
*RIP to all those whose untimely, unnecessary deaths remind us about this turbulent life we live daily*
Things like this occur regularly, throughout inner-city war zones all across the glorious U.S.A., on any given day. However, reading about them in the newspaper or online doesn't force us to attach a human life to the victim. Having the luxury of viral video gives the poor kid a personality, a presence, a life, so to speak. These are the images that build legends, more so than eyewitness accounts & empty anchor person rhetoric.
I try to imagine what he was thinking; put myself in his unfortunate shoes during the last several heartbreaking minutes of his life. I would like to think that, somewhere in the earlier part of the violence, he blacked-out & wasn't aware of the horror he was experiencing. Knowing the resilience of the human brain, he was probably cognizant of his predicament, if only in a haze, but knowing the fortitude of the human mind, the whole episode was most likely funneled into some dark, solitary place, in case he survived the attack.
I saw on some news outlet, where the relatives of the accused were denying their respective family member's involvement, even going so far as to call Derrion a "gang member" & saying insensitive things like "it was just a gang fight, they're all gang bangers" & "my son was defending himself". How do you say that to the mother who must not only avoid the media, and the video being forced down society's collective throat, but also has to bury her son? Even if that were God's truth, it still doesn't justify the lack of compassion that we, as humans, have for one another.
Not that this incident has a monopoly over societal ills; parents are killing their own children (& vice versa), fathers are raping their daughters, the list is a bottomless barrel of inequity with no foreseeable future other than annihilation. & regardless to whatever, it's not a race issue as much a people issue. Impoverished people, to be exact. The detrimental cycle of poverty breeds a different kind of creature. "The Cosby Show" was merely a fun house mirror, designed to distort the wicked actuality of our genuine reflections. So contrast to that fantasy, when despair is all you know, there's basically no chance at creating anything else. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, but within that rule is Murphy's Law (anything that can happen, probably will), & the mathematics just don't work in most "exceptions" favors. They wind up as statistics or innocent victims to the reality they're forced to digest routinely.
Any possible solution goes beyond tax reforms & job markets. There's no political advisors or government officials with the ability to change the hearts of man. Even if the most unfortunate, misguided soul was taken from his natural environment & thrust into the richest, most beneficial environment with every imaginable bell & whistle life has to offer, that wouldn't necessarily change generation upon generation of programmed misinformation, struggle, & survival of the fittest ethos. & truth be told, the real skills one need to "live" in today's society aren't taught in school. That's why so many youth's become disenchanted with education by 10th grade. Their education comes from the street. The same street where their ignorance was conceived, waving good bye to them as they leave, & subsequently, saying "Hello" to them when they return home.
& I'll tell you this; these rappers aren't helping matters one bit. Even the one's with a voice are usually to wrapped up in their own personal battles to lend a hand. It all begins at home, as we should already know, but think about the conditions of said homes in a lot of instances. So, what we can do, individually, is reach out to those tangible, be it boy or girl. Help those still within arm's distance. Now is not the time to be innocent bystanders, but willing participants in whatever avenues need to be traversed. Again, it all begins at home...
Broken homes, drug abuse, desensitization, racism, classism, depression, alcoholism, violence in general are all fueled by a harsh poverty that many may never escape. Those that succumb rarely make it through to the finish line. I'm not here to preach, but, wow. Something's gotta give.
*RIP to all those whose untimely, unnecessary deaths remind us about this turbulent life we live daily*
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Death & a German soldier
My Grand Dad fought in WWII. Pretty cool, huh?
I would get bits & pieces of stories growing up, but he never got too graphic. How could he? He was too busy telling me how my earring made me look like a little girl & that my hat looked "stupid" backwards.
He died when I was about 13, from lung cancer. He was definitely an Army dude; even after he was diagnosed & they started him on all the necessary treatments, he still smoked. The last picture of him I had was on my 13th Bday. Smoking one of his uppity, skinny, douche bag cigarettes on the couch. Stubborn until the day he passed away in his bed;
One day my Mom came home early from work. She didn't like being home much when I was a kid, so when I heard her coming up the back steps in the middle of the day, I knew something was wrong. The look in her eyes confirmed my suspicion. She didn't say much, although she didn't say much to me anyway, so that wasn't anything unusual. However, I saw tears before she had the chance anyway.
"Damn".
I walked into my room, & in an odd act of grief, I changed my clothes. I had a USC pull over & my Grand Dad graduated from there. He was very proud of his alma mater, so I replaced my Black Bart t-shirt, out of respect, right before we left for my uncle's house.
When we got to my Dad's brother's house, my Grand Dad was in his bed, long passed away. I heard the adults whispering about how he was sort of smiling. I tried to see it, but No Dice. All I saw was my Grand Dad dead. No smiles, no grins, no type of personality whatsoever. If anything, I didn't see the same grimace from pain, so in hindsight he looked somewhat peaceful. Relaxed. More & more family gravitated to the house, & within a couple of hours, it seemed that all of my father's side of my family was crammed into my uncle's modest house. It turned into a party, & among all the grown folks reminiscing & children running about, small groups of relatives would check-in on my Grand Dad from time to time, as if he needed anything. If he were alive, he would have said "Everything I need is already here", granted he had a cigarette to complete the family gathering.
Eventually, the coroner was called, & they gathered the shell that was my Dad's Dad, & took him to the place that dead people go. That was the sad part. I'd never see him again. Funny but, out of all of the things I've forgotten throughout my years, some of which was very important, I've never forgotten his laugh, his smell, his voice & the plenty things he told me. I have a hard time remembering what I did last Thursday, but I can still feel my Grand Dad hug me. He bought me my first computer, first telescope, took me back & forth to junior high when I broke my leg & unbeknownst to me at the time, he'd been putting away money for me for when I graduated high school. I guess it's only right that my Dad is such a good GrandDad now.
Oh yeah, this was the point of my post. When he returned from the war, he'd brought my father a souvenir. It was a german pistol, a wallet chain & a knife. My Dad waited until I was an adult to show them to me. He said my Grand Dad & a german soldier had one of those one-on-one fight scenes acted out in "Saving Private Ryan", & obviously my Grand Dad won.
He killed the german soldier, & took his personal effects, just to drive home the point. I'm not sure there's any point left to prove to a man who one has just killed, but hey, those were different times. Then, when he returned to the States, he gave them to his son (my dad) in an ultimate show of "Your Dad's is no punk!". I could just imagine how a game of "My dad can kick your Dad's ass" would have gone;
"Oh yeah? My Dad murdered a man. & got paid for it, too".
"Okay, you win."
God Bless America & those who defend her honor.
I would get bits & pieces of stories growing up, but he never got too graphic. How could he? He was too busy telling me how my earring made me look like a little girl & that my hat looked "stupid" backwards.
He died when I was about 13, from lung cancer. He was definitely an Army dude; even after he was diagnosed & they started him on all the necessary treatments, he still smoked. The last picture of him I had was on my 13th Bday. Smoking one of his uppity, skinny, douche bag cigarettes on the couch. Stubborn until the day he passed away in his bed;
One day my Mom came home early from work. She didn't like being home much when I was a kid, so when I heard her coming up the back steps in the middle of the day, I knew something was wrong. The look in her eyes confirmed my suspicion. She didn't say much, although she didn't say much to me anyway, so that wasn't anything unusual. However, I saw tears before she had the chance anyway.
"Damn".
I walked into my room, & in an odd act of grief, I changed my clothes. I had a USC pull over & my Grand Dad graduated from there. He was very proud of his alma mater, so I replaced my Black Bart t-shirt, out of respect, right before we left for my uncle's house.
When we got to my Dad's brother's house, my Grand Dad was in his bed, long passed away. I heard the adults whispering about how he was sort of smiling. I tried to see it, but No Dice. All I saw was my Grand Dad dead. No smiles, no grins, no type of personality whatsoever. If anything, I didn't see the same grimace from pain, so in hindsight he looked somewhat peaceful. Relaxed. More & more family gravitated to the house, & within a couple of hours, it seemed that all of my father's side of my family was crammed into my uncle's modest house. It turned into a party, & among all the grown folks reminiscing & children running about, small groups of relatives would check-in on my Grand Dad from time to time, as if he needed anything. If he were alive, he would have said "Everything I need is already here", granted he had a cigarette to complete the family gathering.
Eventually, the coroner was called, & they gathered the shell that was my Dad's Dad, & took him to the place that dead people go. That was the sad part. I'd never see him again. Funny but, out of all of the things I've forgotten throughout my years, some of which was very important, I've never forgotten his laugh, his smell, his voice & the plenty things he told me. I have a hard time remembering what I did last Thursday, but I can still feel my Grand Dad hug me. He bought me my first computer, first telescope, took me back & forth to junior high when I broke my leg & unbeknownst to me at the time, he'd been putting away money for me for when I graduated high school. I guess it's only right that my Dad is such a good GrandDad now.
Oh yeah, this was the point of my post. When he returned from the war, he'd brought my father a souvenir. It was a german pistol, a wallet chain & a knife. My Dad waited until I was an adult to show them to me. He said my Grand Dad & a german soldier had one of those one-on-one fight scenes acted out in "Saving Private Ryan", & obviously my Grand Dad won.
He killed the german soldier, & took his personal effects, just to drive home the point. I'm not sure there's any point left to prove to a man who one has just killed, but hey, those were different times. Then, when he returned to the States, he gave them to his son (my dad) in an ultimate show of "Your Dad's is no punk!". I could just imagine how a game of "My dad can kick your Dad's ass" would have gone;
"Oh yeah? My Dad murdered a man. & got paid for it, too".
"Okay, you win."
God Bless America & those who defend her honor.
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