Filed under: Observations
I always knew something looked a bit peculiar about Fox News analyst/all-around tool Juan Williams, but it didn’t really click till I saw some old rookie AI footage on NBA TV the other day.
From the glazed over eyes, to the buck teeth, these dudes are certainly related somehow.
Question: Do Allen Iverson and Juan Williams look like distant cousins or do I need to lay off the Benadryl?
I can’t tell ya’ll how much I’ve appreciated my regular readers sticking around this week. Sometimes, the combination of life, the Day Job, family, vocoders, and general Obama disappointment causes you to take a mandatory fall-back to get everything in order. As I told you guys Monday, I’m currently on a weeklong “media fast”, which is a nice way of saying I’m not reading, watching, listening to, or blogging about anything political. This isn’t nearly as easy as it sounds, even though I spend time in the car listening to The FoxxHole, and haven’t picked up a newspaper since last Friday. When you try your best to intentionally avoid something, it seems like that thing somehow seeks you out even more.
It’s been hard getting up in the morning and resisting the temptation to flip on American Morning or Fox And Friends [1] while I get dressed. I’ve felt to itch to tune into The Chris Plante Show at 9am, because listening to Jamie Foxx and friends on Sirius radio gets old after the 900th “black folks/white folks” joke. Bypassing Jack And Jill Politics to peep Bossip seems like botched priorities. But I’ve managed to do it so far, for both my sanity, and the overall content balance of AB.com. I realise this gets lost in the shuffle sometimes, but this is emphatically not a political blog. Period. Thankfully, the show, as I’ve learned, goes on, politricks or not. So, if I choose to open up the Guest List, or switch gears to Nuthin’ But Africans and Negro Nonsense, it’s nice to know my audience doesn’t desert me. You folks haven’t let me down with the hits (still at an alltime high) or comments all week, and all I can say for that is a sincere thanks.
I’m somewhat aware that there’s a Political Forum on CNN or some such channel tonight. My goal was to fast the entire week, but something about missing an “unofficial debate” seems kinda wrong, so I figured I’d ask you guys what I should do. I’d normally throw this in a poll, but I sorta need a consensus ASAP. So drop your advice you-know-where.
Question: Should AB watch tonight’s Political Forum or stay off the horse for a few more days?
[1] Yes, really. Sure, they’re catty, petty, digusting folks, but it’s all about entertainment.
Man, I tried. No seriously, I tried. But after a couple of hours of the GOP Convention I’ve had enough.
I mean, come on, what decade are these folks living in? I know the Republicans are the party of Lincoln, but seriously, ya’ll couldn’t hire some token Negroes to fill the expanse of empty green seats? None? Surely there are some starving black students over at Saint Paul College. I know this because I saw some with my own eyes when I was there last Winter.
It got so bad that AverageSis and I were playing “count the Negroes” at one point, and couldn’t make it past 7 without seeing the same folks over and over again.
Last week’s convention in Denver looked like a white dude’s Freaknik. This week looks like an Amway gathering. I mean that with as much respect to Amway as possible.
Wasn’t Brian McKnight available again? Michael Steele can’t be the sole black face, surely. Instead, I see lots and lots of the party core: plenty of middle aged guys in cheap suits with cheaper combovers. Change we can believe in, indeed.
The rare brotha you see looks halfway embarrassed to be there. Seriously, watch when they pan the crowd. There’s always that look of trepidation and discomfort, like they’re just bracing for some dumb idd’ish to jump off.
Between the lack of color, the dry speeches, and the overdose of Americana, a brotha can only take so much before the itchy Tivo finger kicks in.
Here’s G-Dubbz scintillating 8 minute speech, obviously tape delayed live from DC. Watch this cluster if you need a sleep aid.
“…My Mom and My Dad. And I Love You A Lot.”
Man, Latarian Milton could have delivered this 3rd grade speech.
Well, at least The Shield is back. I bet the GOP had something to do with planting that wise diversion as well.
Bonus: Here’s CindyMac and Laura Bush speaking earlier in the week. How many combined Xanax tablets did these two consume to pull this off?
Question: Are you watching the GOP Convention? What do you think about Bush’s driveby address? How many Negroes did you count? Was Bush’s speech prerecorded because he was watching The Shield season premiere too?
Since it’s mandatory that everyone in the Presidential campaign have a nickname (Budden, Cotton Hill, The Magic Negro, That Woman), I figured I’d enlist you guys help with this one. I’m stumped. Does Alaska Governor and would-be Veep Sarah Palin look more like 40 Rock star Tina Fey or King Of The Hill matriarch Peggy Hill?
The Fey thing is mostly the glasses and dark hair. The voices are totally different. I kinda like the Hill comparison more. Palin’s got the whole beehive thing going, and the synergy with Cotton Hill is hard to pass on, although Peggy and Cotton of course don’t get along in real TV life. I’m just sayin’, think about the possibilities.
I’d run a poll for this sorta thing, but I’m too lazy to set it up. So, tell me which one in the comments.
Bonus: Here’s a very interesting and enlightening interview with Palin a few months back. Peep her answer about the whole Veep thing.
Yep, we’re screwed.
Question: Which one is it? Peggy Hill or Tina Fey?
[That's right. Another new series.]
Yep, it’s that time of the month. I don’t exactly know what time, but do I know certain people have really been pissin’ on my Kashi of late, so how better to get back at these folks than call them out here at AB.com? Note, no actual names are mentioned below, but if you’re smart enough, you’ll know whom I’m speaking of.
BTW, hate is such a strong word. I don’t personally “hate” anyone, although Sean Hannity darn near pushes the envelope. So no, this ain’t about hate, this is garden variety dislike. Don’t get it twisted.
That said, I wish ill will, disease, and pestilence on the homes of the following:
DC Urreah Weathermen – Last week, AverageSis mentioned the possibility of a Day Trip to Delaware to hit the beach with the kid, have some Grottos, and generally just chill. But the sage meteorologists of the Capitol region were all saying the same thing. The weekend would be a wash, so don’t bother. Thus, we canned our plans.
Wouldn’t you know it, I wake up Saturday morning and it’s sunny as all get-out. The forecasters are now saying severe t-storms that evening. So, I don’t second guess my decision to cancel… until I wake up Sunday morning and realize there still isn’t a drop of rain on the ground yet. Then the forecasters say “severe thunderstorms Sunday beginning around 2pm”. And again, nothing.
Today was the final straw. These bamas were screamin’ “t-storm warning, leave the office by 3pm if you can” on my commute in this morning. I’m still here at 4pm, and guess what? It’s clear and 85 outside.
So, not only did these boobs ruin my weekend, but now, since I’m nearly 5 days late watering the lawn, I gotta go home and run the sprinklers all evening.
I’ve gotten used to them screwing up forecasts in the Winter. They’ll say a blizzard’s on the way, and people buy up every loaf of bread and gallon of milk in captivity, only to find sun the next morning. But now they’re messing up routine Summer forecasts, and that just ain’t right.
Cause messin’ with a man’s beach time is like messin’ with his emotions and whatnot.
I’m just sayin’.
[Editor's Update: No sooner than I pressed the "Publish Post" button did I look outside my window and notice the sky had dramatically darkened. It wasn't exactly a monsoon, but it was a nice enough rain to satisfy my lawn and keep WSSC in check. I suppose I should be happy about this. I'm still not.]
Question: Just how darned difficult is it to get a weatherman’s gig anyway?
[1] Lewes Beach, DE is the best beach EVAR, man. Assuming you’re over 30 and go to the beach to relax, not take in scenery.
[Editor's Note: Warning! Lots of disconnected rambling ahead. You like it when Lil' Wayne does it, so roll with me. It's about my Pops for crissakes. Enjoy Responsibly.]
Yesterday I was unpacking my new lawn mower and getting ready to cut my grass for the first time since firing the lawn service I’d been paying $35/week to completely ruin my grass. Despite being an engineer and relatively handy, something about having to assemble and potentially repair a piece of mechanical equipment generally bugs me out. But all goes well. I fill the mower with gas, let go of the choke, and it cranks right up. So I’m mowing and mowing away for a solid 5 minutes, and suddenly the brand-new lawnmower just sputters and shuts off.
And my internal voice says “Aww crap!”
I pace around the yard, looking puzzled for a few minutes. I don’t know the first thing about the mechanics of a lawnmower. Sure, I cut the grass every other week (rotating duties with my brothers) growing up, but when the mower occasionally stopped working, I was never the one to fix it. So, I’m stumped.
I contemplate calling my brother, or walking over to bug one of my neighbors, until common sense finally kicks in.
Read the manual, dummy.
Item #5 in the Troubleshooting Guide is check the spark plug, and sure enough, I check it and it’s not in it’s housing. I reconnect it, the mower cranks right back up, and I finish the lawn.
I know some of you are wondering what in the world this has to do with Father’s Day.
Everything.
The lawnmower was obviously a simple fix. But what happens when life’s problems don’t come with solutions so easily found in a list of bullet points? Then what?
There’s no owner’s guide on how to deal with adversity and keep things in perspective. No book to tell you how to remain humble, self-assured, and grounded in a world that seldom rewards either. How to stick to the commitments you make. How to respect women as your equal. How respect is earned, not given. No manual on how to keep your emotions in check and not let them overpower logic, resulting in poor life-altering decisions. That there are no shortcuts in life, just hard, and smart work. No tome written to teach a boy how to become a young lad in the most crucial aspects (integrity, responsibility, selflessness) of manhood.
That’s where Dads come in.
My father was like most others of his generation: a disciplinarian and provider first, all other things second. He brought home the bacon, and made sure we understood just how hard he had to work for it. He kept his three sons in school and on the straight and narrow. He respected his wife as his equal, and they provided a safe and loving home for us.
The funny thing is, few of the lessons I mentioned above were actually explained as such. Although I’m a firm believer in “teachable moments”, and use them with my own kids (ie: my basketball team, mentee, and my own son once he gets old enough) I think my brothers and I learned a lot from our Dad through Negro Osmosis. Namely by just watching what he did, and following his lead.
Growing up in a very working-class neighborhood full of two parent black households, I really didn’t understand the depth of this whole “epidemic in black fatherhood” until I was in college. And since most of my friends today are more or less at the same point in life as me[1], I can’t even truly say I completely comprehend the longterm effects of boys (and girls for that matter) who grow up without the constant presence and guidance of the man responsible for bringing them here. I can certainly empathize, which is why I put so much time and effort into mentoring and tutoring, but I cannot fully relate. I just can’t.
And words cannot explain just how thankful I am to God and both of my parents for this.
As I got older, I began wanting more from the relationship I had with my Dad. I knew him my entire life as a Father, but never so much as just a Man. Unlocking that door was naturally part of figuring out my 20-something self as well. I didn’t really understand his fears, what made him tick, what made him well… him. Since his job of rearing us was mostly complete, we began spending time together as just buddies. Watching sports. Shooting the breeze about my impending marriage. Fishing. It was never quite Theo and Cliff, but it was getting there.
So when my Dad passed unexpectedly a few years ago, it was devastating. There were so many conversations yet to be had. So many questions that would forever go unanswered. Grand kids who wouldn’t have a Pa-Pa. But over time, my appreciation for what he and my Mom (who is still with us) did in staying married over 30 years and raising me and my brothers with purpose has grown exponentially. And with a son of my own, I see more and more of my Dad everyday. He’s got the same-shaped head. He’s opinionated. He’s funny. He even looks like my Pops when he cries. It’s a gift that keeps on giving.
I guess that’s why all the incessant Daddy-bashing that goes on in the Black community always ticks me off a bit. Sure, you can toss out that tired 70% of all kids being born out of wedlock stat, but does that really tell you everything? Of course not. Just because those Dads aren’t married doesn’t mean they aren’t engaged, loving, nurturing, and providing for their kids. And while the fact that %51 of all black households are headed by Black women is indeed distressing, it does also mean that the nearly other half of them indeed do have a Dad present. Again, it’s not perfect, but do you see the glass as half full or half empty? It’s all about perspective.
I won’t pretend that Black men don’t have our issues. We do. But the legions of black men I see with their kids when I go to the park, or coach basketball, or visit my mentee’s school, or go to church aren’t all deadbeats. I don’t have any empirical evidence, but I’d say an overwhelming majority of all Black men are good fathers. It’s just the sorry assed Negroes that give the rest of us a bad name. You can disagree with this point if you’d like, but it’s what I truly believe.
There’s really no point to all this rambling, other than to say, if you’ve got a Father, be appreciative. Screw a comment, pick up the phone right now and tell the Old Man you love him, just on GP, like I wish I could.
If yours is still alive but you don’t have a relationship, assuming you’re emotionally capable, seek to build one. If you never knew your Dad, honor the men (Uncles, Grandpas, Big Brothers, Mentors, Coaches) in your life this Sunday with something more than just the Big Piece Of Chicken.
Tell these men you love them, and why.
Question: Sobering statistics aside, what do you think about the state of Black fatherhood in America? Do you think numbers tell the whole story? Without getting too personal, did/do you have a good relationship with your Dad?
[1] Which is completely coincidental, yet somehow oddly intentional. I mean, seriously, what business do I have hangin’ around a bunch of bamas who don’t take care of their kids? I’m sure this relative “bubble” of folks I’ve chosen to associate myself with my attributes to my somewhat rosier view of black men as Dads, but seriously, are things really that bad?
[Editor's Note: Warning! Lots of disconnected rambling ahead. You like it when Lil' Wayne does it, so roll with me. It's about my Pops for crissakes. Enjoy Responsibly.]
Yesterday I was unpacking my new lawn mower and getting ready to cut my grass for the first time since firing the lawn service I’d been paying $35/week to completely ruin my grass. Despite being an engineer and relatively handy, something about having to assemble and potentially repair a piece of mechanical equipment generally bugs me out. But all goes well. I fill the mower with gas, let go of the choke, and it cranks right up. So I’m mowing and mowing away for a solid 5 minutes, and suddenly the brand-new lawnmower just sputters and shuts off.
And my internal voice says “Aww crap!”
I pace around the yard, looking puzzled for a few minutes. I don’t know the first thing about the mechanics of a lawnmower. Sure, I cut the grass every other week (rotating duties with my brothers) growing up, but when the mower occasionally stopped working, I was never the one to fix it. So, I’m stumped.
I contemplate calling my brother, or walking over to bug one of my neighbors, until common sense finally kicks in.
Read the manual, dummy.
Item #5 in the Troubleshooting Guide is check the spark plug, and sure enough, I check it and it’s not in it’s housing. I reconnect it, the mower cranks right back up, and I finish the lawn.
I know some of you are wondering what in the world this has to do with Father’s Day.
Everything.
The lawnmower was obviously a simple fix. But what happens when life’s problems don’t come with solutions so easily found in a list of bullet points? Then what?
There’s no owner’s guide on how to deal with adversity and keep things in perspective. No book to tell you how to remain humble, self-assured, and grounded in a world that seldom rewards either. How to stick to the commitments you make. How to respect women as your equal. How respect is earned, not given. No manual on how to keep your emotions in check and not let them overpower logic, resulting in poor life-altering decisions. That there are no shortcuts in life, just hard, and smart work. No tome written to teach a boy how to become a young lad in the most crucial aspects (integrity, responsibility, selflessness) of manhood.
That’s where Dads come in.
My father was like most others of his generation: a disciplinarian and provider first, all other things second. He brought home the bacon, and made sure we understood just how hard he had to work for it. He kept his three sons in school and on the straight and narrow. He respected his wife as his equal, and they provided a safe and loving home for us.
The funny thing is, few of the lessons I mentioned above were actually explained as such. Although I’m a firm believer in “teachable moments”, and use them with my own kids (ie: my basketball team, mentee, and my own son once he gets old enough) I think my brothers and I learned a lot from our Dad through Negro Osmosis. Namely by just watching what he did, and following his lead.
Growing up in a very working-class neighborhood full of two parent black households, I really didn’t understand the depth of this whole “epidemic in black fatherhood” until I was in college. And since most of my friends today are more or less at the same point in life as me[1], I can’t even truly say I completely comprehend the longterm effects of boys (and girls for that matter) who grow up without the constant presence and guidance of the man responsible for bringing them here. I can certainly empathize, which is why I put so much time and effort into mentoring and tutoring, but I cannot fully relate. I just can’t.
And words cannot explain just how thankful I am to God and both of my parents for this.
As I got older, I began wanting more from the relationship I had with my Dad. I knew him my entire life as a Father, but never so much as just a Man. Unlocking that door was naturally part of figuring out my 20-something self as well. I didn’t really understand his fears, what made him tick, what made him well… him. Since his job of rearing us was mostly complete, we began spending time together as just buddies. Watching sports. Shooting the breeze about my impending marriage. Fishing. It was never quite Theo and Cliff, but it was getting there.
So when my Dad passed unexpectedly a few years ago, it was devastating. There were so many conversations yet to be had. So many questions that would forever go unanswered. Grand kids who wouldn’t have a Pa-Pa. But over time, my appreciation for what he and my Mom (who is still with us) did in staying married over 30 years and raising me and my brothers with purpose has grown exponentially. And with a son of my own, I see more and more of my Dad everyday. He’s got the same-shaped head. He’s opinionated. He’s funny. He even looks like my Pops when he cries. It’s a gift that keeps on giving.
I guess that’s why all the incessant Daddy-bashing that goes on in the Black community always ticks me off a bit. Sure, you can toss out that tired 70% of all kids being born out of wedlock stat, but does that really tell you everything? Of course not. Just because those Dads aren’t married doesn’t mean they aren’t engaged, loving, nurturing, and providing for their kids. And while the fact that %51 of all black households are headed by Black women is indeed distressing, it does also mean that the nearly other half of them indeed do have a Dad present. Again, it’s not perfect, but do you see the glass as half full or half empty? It’s all about perspective.
I won’t pretend that Black men don’t have our issues. We do. But the legions of black men I see with their kids when I go to the park, or coach basketball, or visit my mentee’s school, or go to church aren’t all deadbeats. I don’t have any empirical evidence, but I’d say an overwhelming majority of all Black men are good fathers. It’s just the sorry assed Negroes that give the rest of us a bad name. You can disagree with this point if you’d like, but it’s what I truly believe.
There’s really no point to all this rambling, other than to say, if you’ve got a Father, be appreciative. Screw a comment, pick up the phone right now and tell the Old Man you love him, just on GP, like I wish I could.
If yours is still alive but you don’t have a relationship, assuming you’re emotionally capable, seek to build one. If you never knew your Dad, honor the men (Uncles, Grandpas, Big Brothers, Mentors, Coaches) in your life this Sunday with something more than just the Big Piece Of Chicken.
Tell these men you love them, and why.
Question: Sobering statistics aside, what do you think about the state of Black fatherhood in America? Do you think numbers tell the whole story? Without getting too personal, did/do you have a good relationship with your Dad?
[1] Which is completely coincidental, yet somehow oddly intentional. I mean, seriously, what business do I have hangin’ around a bunch of bamas who don’t take care of their kids? I’m sure this relative “bubble” of folks I’ve chosen to associate myself with my attributes to my somewhat rosier view of black men as Dads, but seriously, are things really that bad?
[Yep, more exclusive New Series! Take that Deborah Lee!]
You know em’. You prolly hate em’. For all I know, you might could be em’.
Yep, I’m talking about The Office MotorMouth.
Every office has that one person who just can’t stop talking. I’m not necessarily referring to gossipers (another topic for another time), rather that guy (or girl) whom you hate getting caught in the break room with, because you know there’s no way of possibly avoiding the 15 minutes of pointless conversation they’re about to subject you to.
My office has one such Chatty Cathy or Talkin’ Tim. We’ll call mine Stanley, or Stan for short. Stanley is probably one of the most technically savvy and experienced of the engineers on staff. He knows his stuff, and thankfully, he’s not so conceited and selfish that he won’t help you if you need some assistance. The problem is, that advice comes with a stiff pricetag. Because there’s so such thing as a short answer when you’re dealing with The Office MotorMouth.
A routine question about an obscure programming routine becomes a half-hour dissertation on biography of the programming language’s author, the weather in Fort Wayne, and what Stan bought his stepson for Christmas back in 1998. And since you need that answer, you endure the extracurriculars, because hey, Stanley wants to talk.
Even worse is when I run into Stanley (in the copy room, the restroom, or the aforementioned break room) when he’s in a talking mood (which is always). Your lunch plate cannot warm up quickly enough. Worst of all, on rare occasions I’ve had Stan “just drop by my office to talk”, nearly always when I’m trying to ditch work early. 20 minutes later, I find myself cursing my employer for not allowing me to telecommute, and wishing I had those 20 precious minutes of my life back.
It would be easy to just tell Stanley to kick rocks, but in Corporate America, few things are so simple. For one, he’s a tech guru, and you don’t need him pissed off the next time you’re in a bind on a client site and really need an answer. And… well, okay, that’s the only answer.
So, as I try and run to the elevator without somehow crossing paths with Stanley in the hallway, I pose this query to you guys.
Question: How do you handle your fellow Office MotorMouths? What is a tactful way of telling someone to “step off” without pissing them off to the point that you won’t be able to get at em’ when you actually do need em’?
Man, I need to step my game up.
I dabble a little bit in photography. Okay, who am I kidding? I’m obsessed with photography. My son has to be the most thoroughly documented child in the history of the world evar. I’ve taken classes, and read dozens of books to hone my craft. I’m not Ansel Adams, but it’s fair to say I’ve got an eye.
That said, as good as me and my little Panasonic Lumix are, sometimes when I’m perusing photo blogs, I run into another dude who’s doin’ sh*t so big, it makes me wanna just quit altogether and go back to those disposable jawns they sell at CVS.
Such is the case when I run across a site like RaleighSkyline, a photo blog dedicated to the belated[1], yet city-fication of my hometown. I know ya’ll will probably peep the site and say “what’s the big deal, it’s just another Southern town that closes at 5pm?”
And you’d be correct, but darnit, just look at the clarity of these photos.
21.1 megapixels!!!!!
These photos are clearer than my eyesight. Jeez.
Good photography can make a three stoplight “downtown” look like Times Square. And yep, I’m jealous.
Gassed up, I started doing a Google search trying to figure out just how many of my Wizards Bobbleheads I’d need to hock to afford the batteries for a Canon EOS 1Ds Mark III.
Uh, that would be about $7,999 worth of bobbleheads. I don’t think I’ve got that many in the collection.
Needless to say, between this and that 150 inch plasma I’m feenin’ for, I’m gonna need some ends. So, I need ya’ll to start clicking through on those ads, coppin’ a t-shirt, or droppin’ somethin’ in my PayPal commissary (link below on right).
Either that, or I’m gonna have to go back to hustlin’. Take your pick.
Since this post was completely pointless, and you and I both know I’ll never drop $10k on a camera, I figured I’d flip the script and pose a question to you guys.
Question: If you had a $10,000 windfall, what completely frivolous item would you blow it all on? Two stipulations: you have to spend the money on yourself, and you cannot save or otherwise invest it.
[1] Seriously, they’ve been talking about “making downtown more liveable” since the late 70′s.
