Nappy-headed hos

My question: Why do so many people listen to this fool from the get go? This clown has had everybody and they mama on his show, and I mean prominent everybody's and they prominent mamas. Yet, we're suddenly shocked when he says something foul?

So that raises the question: Why do we listen to Don Imus? And, why have we let this moron get away with so much for the last few decades?

I think it's because he's white, and he says what a lot of people think. He connects with people who think the same way he does, which is the majority of the country, unfortunately. I have no sympathy for this clown. He has pushed and pushed and pushed to the point where this was coming.

But why are so many calling him out when, ultimately, a lot of people agree with him? You have the so-called white liberals calling him out, but, at the same time, listening to his show while being awed by his message. I have heard that many celebrities have cancelled appearances on his show. But, would they have cancelled had he not showed his ass?

Who's right and who's wrong?

NAACP = National Association of Assbackwards Copped-out Punks

I saw this one coming. Bruce S. Gordon, President of the NAACP, resigned last month. When he took over in 2005, I said to myself: "That bruh won't last."

Here's why I made that statement: Gordon is a hard core, no nonsense, business first, kind of guy. He came from the corporate world. He spent 35 years as a business man at various companies. He does not play.

The NAACP, meanwhile, has been stuck in the 60s for decades. The organization is old school, old school, old school. They CLAIMED they hired Gordon because they wanted a business guy to come in and clean house and move the organization forward.

But, that's not what they wanted. They wanted a tool. The NAACP wanted a guy who, like the organization itself, was stuck in the past. They wanted a successful, educated guy who was a businessman on the surface, but deep down was an "old school bruh" who would do nothing but obey.

The problem with that thinking is that the NAACP's way of handling their business is - at best - trifling. As someone who has covered the NAACP for stories, trust me when I say they are disorganized: Barely returns phone calls; Ignores emails, the whole gamut. It's a shame.

On top of that is the irony: this is the same organization that's forever struggling with recruiting younger generations.

According to the Associated Press, here are a few of Gordon's accomplishments during his short tenure:

• He smoothed strained relations between the NAACP and the White House, meeting with President Bush three times in less than a year.
  
• He used his corporate ties to lend quick assistance to black New Orleans residents after Hurricane Katrina.
  
• he hired a number of key national employees whose reputations inspired staff members

Clearly, Gordon was all business. But I suspect that the NAACP didn't care about any of that, that the 65-member board of directors (Alright, what kind of company or organization has such a large board?????) only cared about someone who would "keep it real."

The problem is, in the middle of keeping it real, the organization, as well as the Black Agenda, suffers.

Sometimes, keeping it real involves hard choices.

Apologies for the delay

My bad on the huge delay on posts. It's been a crazy-ass six weeks. I'm caught up in house hunting drama, and it's an almost all-consuming experience, as some of you know. Don't give up on a bruh. I promise to post more regularly.

Speaking of which, peep the above post about the NAACP...

"Nigger"

So I'm having lunch with a friend at Spaghetti Warehouse the other day. I go into the restroom. Like most bathrooms, where was grafitti on the stalls. But one word caught my eye:

Nigger.

Someone etched - with a knife or the edge of a key, I'm guessing - the word nigger in the metal wall containing the stall. I went back and mentioned it to the waiter, who apologized and said he'd take care of it. Then, a few minutes later, the manager comes over and apologizes and said they'd take care of the word, "We'll probably paint over it or something. We'll get rid of it."

Besides the obvious metaphor about "painting over" racial issues as if they're no big deal, I'm wondering why the manger didn't pick up our meal. I wasn't EXPECTING it, but it would have been nice, and would have been a nice gesture. It's not about asking for something for free, it's about hooking up a customer after a jarring experience.

Also, it reminded me that, yet again, even though this is the year 2007 and this is the 4th largest city in the United States, there are racist fools everywhere.

Damn a Grammy

I honestly don't care about the Grammy Awards. I used to. Way back when. But, I don't anymore. I think it's a function of me getting older and thus being more discriminatory in my tastes. Most music these days suck.

I know, I know. I sound like an old man. I sound like my parents. But, hell, it's true.

Rap is a joke.
Hip hop is dull.
And what has happened to R&B?

The mainstream media doesn't help. It's YEARS behind trend, and often miss the boat. Remember a couple of years ago, when several rap albums and songs won Grammy Awards? All the headlines and news stories were like, "Rap Comes of Age" and "Rap goes mainstream."

Please. Rap was mainstream years ago, long before being coronated by the elite media.

But I digress. I won't be watching the Grammys. Period.

Control your damn kids

I still can't get over the story of the family that was kicked off an airplane because their child had a tantrum. I'm not shocked that the child had a fit. Kids do that.

No, I'm tripping about the parents. They're pissed that Air Tran kicked them off the flight.

I'm with the airline. The child was kicking and screaming and hiding under seats and refusing to take her seat before takeoff. The parents apparently kept saying that the child "needed more time" to calm down.

Hell, how much "time" did she need? Was the pilot supposed to hold up the entire flight schedule so that little heffa could "calm down"? Was Air Tran supposed to screw up its entire flight plan for the entire country because little Elly Kulesza could decide when SHE wanted to take off? Come on, now. She's 3.

My mother would occasionally carry a belt in her purse whenever she took me and my brothers and sisters out, just in case. And, if she didn't have a belt and we acted like fools, we'd have Andrew Senior to deal with when he got home from work. That's not child abuse. That's discipline.

I agree with this piece from MSNBC. If we don't teach kids how to behave in public how will they act as adults?

Should we have just let the little brat calm down for as long as she wanted?

Hell naw. Bump that. We should remember the following equations:

Child = 3
Parents = grown.
Solution = what my parents did when I acted out in public - beat her ass.

Sambo

So I'm on my way to meet friends for Margaritas. I pull up to the restaurant. In front of me was a truck. I was talking on my cell while driving, but I couldn't help but notice the word printed on the truck's license plate.

Sambo.

The guy pulls to the curb, parks, and gets out. I pull up behind him, and park. Our restaurants were opposite each other. He was a big, white-haired white guy that looked like he was still pissed about The Civil War. A friend of his came out to greet him, and they talked for a minute. The friend walks back in, and the guy in the truck lingers, taking stuff out of his truck (it looked like he was changing his shoes or something).

I almost - almost - left it alone and went about my business.

But, I couldn't help it.

Sambo?

"Excuse me," I asked.

"Yes, sir?" he replied.

I told him I noticed his license plate and was wondering what it meant.

"Oh. My name is Sam," he said, "And growing up, people called me Sambo, and they called me that as an adult and it just stuck."

Silence.

Me: "Oh. Just curious. Because to black folks Sambo means something totally different, and I was just wondering."

He laughed. "Oh, no. I get that a lot. Trust me. There's nothing pejorative meant in the name on the plate. That's just my nickname."

Ok, just curious, I said. "Thanks."

"Take care," he said.

To be fair, he seemed like a genuine guy, so I can only take him for his word. But, this is Texas. You don't know what you're going to run into at any given moment. Even in major cities like H-town, big, racist mutherfuckers are everywhere, waiting for their chance to show their shit. Maybe a confident black man questioning a big white guy was not a good idea. I suppose I could have gotten my ass kicked (he was a big mofo) or gotten my head blown off by one of the myriad guns I assumed he kept in the back of his truck.

But, I didn't give a damn. I wanted to know. Had the right to ask. After all: we won the war.

"Our credit limit with the world is endless..."

Real estate is a monster. It's competitive. It's rough. And it can really piss you off.

I bid on a house this week. A fucking awesome house. And it was a steal, because the buyers were relocating. It was my first time bidding on a house.

This house was da shit. Trust me. Some of you have seen the photos. The photos didn't do the place justice. I dreamt of this house. I cancelled vacations to Mexico and Central America because of this house. I was willing to shell out $2000 to break my apartment lease for this house.

I got outbid. This was AFTER I upped my offer by nearly $20,000 within a matter of hours. I was a pissed Negro. But, after my girl Jemele pointed out, the shady-ass realtor/buyer knew she had a great house and was trying to start a bidding war between me and another buyer.

The irony is, I could have easily afforded the full asking price. Hell, more. But, based on the location, I felt that the offer I submitted was fair. That, and I was trying to be all Donald Trump. But, I made one mistake that Trump would never make: I got emotionally attached to the property, which is a big mistake.

BUT, as a co-worker said, How can you NOT get emotionally attached to a house? It's where you're going to LIVE. Hell, that's personal!

I swear, I've been stressed before, but submitting a bid, then having it rejected, then having it rejected again, then calling my mortgage broker and keeping him on standby, then calling the insurance company for a quote on homeowners insurance, then scrambling for a private inspector was a pain in the ass.

As childish as it sounds, I kinda felt like I deserved a kick-ass house. I work my ass off. I don't live extravagantly. My credit is good. I have almost zero credit card debt. I don't have a car payment. I'm not a clothes whore. My one luxury is travel, and even when I do that, I do it for cheap. So, I feel like I've been a good boy, and that I should have been rewarded for a tight-ass house with a ton of equity to start building wealth.

Childish, I know. But that's how I felt.

Then, Steve, who was trying to cheer me up and let me know that there are other houses out there, responded with this: "Our credit limit with the world is endless..."

Deep. And he's right. Life goes on.

Ego

Lately, I've been musing about the importance of ego. Ego is important. In everything we do. In work. In life. In personal relationships. If you don't have an ego, you are screwed.

Taken deeper, I'm talking about self esteem. Look, if you don't think highly of yourself, no one else will. Cliche? No. The truth.

I'm not talking about being a prick. Being rude, mean and nasty isn't the answer. Shit, I'm also a firm believer in Karma. Being mean and nasty to other people will come back on you.

But I'm talking about ego: a solid, healthy belief that what you are doing, and who you are, is important.

Sometimes, we forget that.

Seeing them suffer

My boy Steve said something really profound when I was down in Sarasota visiting him the other week. It was so deep (and yet hilarious) that I can't get it out of my head. We were relaxing on the beach, having a few beers, and talking about covering hurricanes.

Steve is a reporter, and said he enjoys covering hurricanes. I asked him why.

"Because I like to see rich white people struggling with real-life issues," he said. "Oh, so you have no water? Boom. OK. What, oh, you're stressed out and have no electricity? Boom. OK, what else?"

Damn. He has a point. And it got me to thinking about how we handle adverse situations. I have seen, time after time, rich people get upset and bent out of shape over small, seemingly non-important situations. For example, there was a situation here in Houston a few years ago where people in a neighborhood were trying to save a tree. They were serious about it. They didn't want the tree knocked down, which is what the city wanted to do.

They organized. They protested. They chained themselves to it. That's all good. I'm a pseudo-environmentalist. I like trees. More important, I like hell-raising.

But. These fools went so far as to say they were willing to mortgage their homes to save the tree. That's where I stop. No way in hell I would ever do such a drastic step just to save a tree. But these people were perfectly willing to do so.

And did I mention that this was a fairly well-off neighborhood?

I agree with Steve. It's not that I like to see people struggle. It's just that rich people's "struggles" are so far removed from those of us working class folks that it's surreal to see what they get upset about.

But, I suppose that's what happens when you don't have to worry about paying the electric bill. Must be nice.

Not the flight attendant

Ok, this is a new one. I rolled to the Florida coast over New Year's weekend. Was treated like a king by my boy, Steve and his girl, Michelle. Real cool peeps.

My flight out of Houston was delayed on the runway because of a storm. They started the movie and gave us peanuts, but they wouldn't serve booze, which pissed me off. While I was stretching my legs near the back of the plane, a guy walks towards me and is like, "Can I get a Cranberry Juice?" I'm like, "I'm not a flight attendant." He goes, "Oh, well, you look like one. You look like you're in charge. Ha ha."

Ha ha my ass. For one thing, I wasn't "dressed" like a flight attendant. I was wearing a red silk shirt, black slacks and black shoes. Work attire. The flight attendants were all wearing uniforms, dark uniforms at that. Most of them were wearing blazers with patches on them. How the hell did I possibly look like a flight attendant?

The lead flight attendant was a black male, but he was heavier and dark-skinned. We didn't look anything alike. The funny thing is, I'm not shocked that a white person mistook me for another black man, even though we didn't look anything alike. It's happened a million times before. I'm just surprised that it was on an airplane. That's a new one.

A big-mouthed moose

"Rosie's a loser. She's been a loser always."
- Donald Trump

I agree with Trump. Rosie is a loser. I used to like her ass. She was cool back in the day: Alternative, edgy, off-center. But over the last several years she's become - in the apt words of Jimmy Kimmel - "a big-mouth moose."

This whole conflict between them is a trip. Who cares what Rosie thinks?

I don't know if it's coming out of the closet that has done it to her. I'd like to think not. But, she's morphed into a stereotypical, loud-mouthed, chip-on-her-shoulder, overly butch, lesbian. And I don't say that as an offensive to lesbians, obviously. I know a few lesbians that are cool people.

I honestly don't think it's a lesbian thing with her. She's just an annoying wench, period.

Old School parents

Flint, Mich. - My parents are Old School. As hip and progressive as they can be (or like to think they are) they're pretty much like any other parents: set in their ways.

To wit:

* They don't have a dishwasher. They still hand wash every...single...dish. Claim that they don't trust dishwashers, whatever that means. I didn't know inanimate objects could be trusted. Now, this brother can't live without a dishwasher. I've rejected apartments because they lacked them. I hated washing dishes as a child, almost as much as I hated cutting grass. Andrew and Earnestine have decided - despite years of protests by me and my brother - that they don't need one of those contraptions. "I like washing my own dishes," my mother said, slopping suds around in the sink.

* They don't have air conditioning. Do not adjust your computer screen. This is not a mis-print. Their reasoning: It doesn't get hot enough in Michigan to need it. That, as anyone who has ever been in The Mitten for the summer knows, is bs. It gets hot. Africa hot. Granted, the heat doesn't stick around for half the year like it does in Texas, but the intensity is just as bad. My parents also argue that because of the design of the house - the family room being hidden in the back, the front of the house facing West - the house keeps itself cool, for the most part. There is a bit of truth to that. Still, there's a reason why I refuse to come home in the summer.

* They still have dial up Internet. This is just trifling times 10. Andrew Sr. gets free AOL from his job. Alright. But high speed doesn't cost THAT much more. It wouldn't kill them to splurge for the extra $25 per month to upgrade to dial up. It's hell trying to do this blog from their computer, which is why I'm doing it right now from a Starbucks. Of course, if they DID upgrade to high speed Internet, they would have trouble, because...

* They still use Windows 98. You read that right. Not Windows 99. Not Windows XP. They are still using Windows 98. The other day I tried to pull something up using adobe acrobat, and I couldn't because their version of Windows is so outdated.

Reason number 876,99619,99817 why I left Colorado

NBA brawls and airline hypocracy

I lost interest in the NBA years ago, so the big brawl that happened between the Denver Nuggets and the New York Nicks didn't really concern me. Millionaires fighting. I really didn't give a damn.

But after hearing that Northwest Airlines was removing its in-flight magazines because this month's issue featured a profile of Carmelo Anthony, I just laughed.

Northwest claims they didn't want to be associated with an athlete that was violent.

First of all, no athlete is squeaky clean. Hell, if Northwest had that policy they would NEVER have ANY athlete in their magazines.

Secondly, what does the Denver-New York fight have to do with Northwest? Not a damn thing. So they should stay out of it.

Third, have you flown Northwest lately? Worst airline in the country hands down. It's the only airline that charges for food, the only airline that, after passengers check their luggage, sometimes - instead of, oh, I don't know, PUTTING THEIR LUGGAGE ON THE PLANE - will just say fuck it and pile luggage behind the counter (True story. Happened in Detroit last winter). Northwest is the same airline that sent a list to employees who were about to be laid off advising them on how to cut costs. One of the suggestions: Use old newspapers for cat liter.

Drama on Mount Hood

A co-worker asked: "Should I feel guilty for asking who is going to pay for this rescue up on Mt. Hood?"

Well, no. I think it's a legit question. The co-worker went on to say that the climbers knew the risks, and wondered why the wall-to-wall world coverage was necessary.

My issue about the Mt. Hood Drama is this: Why do people climb mountains?

Now, I've heard that reaching the top of a major peak can be an almost spiritual experience. I've heard and read that reaching the literal mountaintop and looking down on the rest of the world is a surreal moment that can't be matched by anything else.

Ok, but...why? When I lived in Colorado I never went skiing. Sometimes, I regret it, until I remember all the stories: Clowns playing football on skis and are surprised when they get decapitated; fools thinking they were at the Olympics rolling down the mountains at 50 miles per hour and breaking legs.

As beautiful as the mountains are, they can be menacing and dangerous.

The family of Kelley James, one of the climbers found dead on the mountain, said that when he climbed mountains, he felt at peace and closer to God. That's why he did it.

That's all good, and I'm all for seeking whatever provides internal peace.

But, sometimes, it's just not worth it.

$90 worth of beer and wings

Met a couple of buddies out for beer and wings Saturday night. We watched the Cowboy-Falcons game. Buddy number two was late, so it was basically me and buddy number one, shooting the shit for a few hours and drinking and eating wings. Had a good time.

Later, the bill came. It was $90.

Now, ya'll know I like to have a good time. When I'm in the zone, I start swiping the credit card left and right. I am the king of "put it on my tab."

But...when I emerged from my drunken coma this morning, I was like: How in the hell does two people consume $90 worth of beer and wings?

Damn.

Ok, Ok, I'll keep blogging

Damn. Yall love this blog, huh? Yet another friend who I haven't heard from in a while was like, "Well, I thought I could keep up with you via your blog, but I guess that wasn't the case." He said he got sick of seeing Terrell Owens.

Well, damn. I didn't know I had a fan club. Quite honestly, not many people posted, so I wasn't sure if it was worth blogging. But, I see that's not the case. And, shit, sometimes I don't have anything to say, you know?

But, this brings up another issue: If someone is trying to keep up with me, why not just pick up the phone and give me a shout, or shoot me an email? It got me to thinking about how we as human being communicate. That's one reason I hate text messaging. It takes SO DAMN LONG to send a message. In the time it takes to send a text message I could have easily dialed the person I was trying to reach and talk to them.

Sue the bastards, but keep your name

My boy JB has been on my ass about updating this blog. OK, OK, my bad. I'll do better (I know I've promised that before. But I will).

Anyway...

This is bugging me. And I don't know why. It shouldn't. But it does. Nicole Paultre wants to legally change her name to reflect the name of her dead fiancee, who, we all know, was killed when a group of NYC police officers lost their damn minds and got all Michael Richards a few weeks ago. She wants to change her name, she says, to have the same name as that of the children she bore with him.

Awwww!

But, hold up. I'm not buying it. Not to sound crass (well, it's going to sound crass anyway, but I don't care) but, my bet is that she wants to cash in on having his last name. I'm sure some PR person, or even Rev Al, told her she could possibly milk this for years if she had his last name.

Cynical? Yep. But this doesn't feel right.

I'll buy that she kept the wedding ring he gave her because she wanted something he'd bought for her. I'm sure that ring will be very important to her for years to come. But I'm not sure taking his name was done mainly out of sentimental reasons or even to have the same name of her kids.

I'm not trying to be insensitive or crass. But I've seen genuine crime victims morph overnight from warm, devastated citizens to money-grubbing, attention-seeking media freaks. Does she deserve money from the NYC police department? Yep. She should sue the hell out of them.

But this bruh ain't buying the reasons she changed her name.
Taking bets on when the book/movie deal will be announced.

$25 million reasons to live (i.e. how to say some dumb shit)

The plan was to comment on the Terrell Owens saga and what a buffon he has become. But, I read my girl Angry Black Bitch's take on the matter, and decided to just defer to her. Check out her take on what TO's weave-wearing-ass publicist said.