The Black Conundrum

My favorite movie scene of all time is from the 1991 cinematic masterpiece, “Lean on Me”. A film starring Morgan Freeman as once outcast principal “Joe Clark”, hired by School District Superintendent "Dr. Frank Napier", played by Robert Guillaume, to save New Jersey Public School, Eastside High, from a state-mandated takeover.  

During the scene, Napier, as he is upset with Clark’s mistreatment of the Eastside High faculty & staff, eccentric antics, & general performance as incumbent Principal, reprimands Clark... Clark demonstratively fires back:

“We are being crucified by a process that is turning blacks into a permanent underclass! Yeah that’s right Frank, a permanent underclass! Yeah, nobody wants to talk about that! What good is Mrs. Elliott’s missionary zeal about Mozart gonna do a bunch of kids that can’t go out and get a job!!!”

Bravo!

Like many native New Yorkers, I am fairly resistant to offer lavish praise & adulation to any city outside of my indigenous land… So while it’s true that blacks have made enormous individual & collective strides across the nation, after nearly 6 years of residing in the District of Columbia, even I must concede that outside NYC, DC is decidedly the city where the Nation’s best & the brightest overachievers most voluminously converge to live, work & play.

But I also must remind myself that this working professional’s Land of Milk & Honey serves more accurately as the exception than it does the rule...

This reality begs the question; Are blacks really a “permanent underclass”?

Well that’s a difficult question to answer. What we do know is that historically, our people have been bombarded with an unparralled onslaught of complex socio-economic & geo-political inequality.

Inequalities such as Slavery & Jim Crow ... Inequalities that can be inextricably linked to widespread epidemics such as generational poverty, crime, gun violence, drug abuse, incarceration, unemployment, lack of education, disproportionate ratio of fatherless households, Waka Flocka...  The list goes on and on. You name a social inequality, and black people have been forced to bravely overcome it.

Perhaps even some of the blame should be shouldered by the extraordinary popularity of 1980’s television sitcoms Different Strokes and Webster...

Let’s face it, the wildly farfetched notion being expressed to our community suggested the likelihood that not ONE, but TWO impoverished, inner-city youths, afflicted with severe hormonal-growth deficiencies, could suddenly be swept away from a near- certain lifetime of destitution & squalor, and thrust into an abundant lifestyle of co-habiting with affluent Caucasian families, in swanky Park Ave penthouses & posh suburban confines, could not actually have aided our community’s grasp on reality. It could only have bred false hope.

And that was just Gary Coleman and Emmanuel Lewis. I made no mention of Todd Bridges, who demonstrated the most unconsciounable ingratitude by repaying Phillip Drummond's overwhelming kindness & generosity by seducing his pasty-white, freckle-faced, daughter Kimberly, and introducing her to a lifestyle of drugs, alcohol & prostitution...

I swear you cant give give a n*gga sh*t... Or maybe I'm confusing the shows plotline with the real life events. But whatever... Still, you know how we are...


Two steps forward... Two steps back...

Barack Obama is elected President…  Star Jones climbs back from the very brink of obscurity to make a deep run on "Celebrity Apprentice"...

Oprah Winfrey launches her OWN television network…  Gayle King is awarded with yet another talk show...

Keysha Cole's reality show is cancelled, thus we no longer have to tolerate Keysha's mother Frankie... Love & Hip Hop debuts, therefore we are forced to put up with Jim Jones' mother/Frankie's separated-at-birth, siamese twin, Nancy. (Seriously, a DNA test is in order here)

The Yings and Yangs of life I suppose.

For the purpose of today's blog, I will reveal the three foremost issues that plague contemporary Black America, thus creating, The Black Conundrum.

3. The Black Machismo.

Why is it that the black man can be but only so sophisticated & refined?

In a rather ironic twist, Prince (of all people) is the only Black male celebrity whose bravado I've never heard questioned.

I vividly recall how harshly rapper Jay Z was criticized when photographed wearing (gasp) thong sandals on the beach in St. Tropez? Never mind the fact that he was strolling hand in hand with perhaps the world’s then most-sawed-after woman, Beyonce... Can you imagine what would have happened had he been barefoot, as opposed to donning sandals? Wendy Williams would have been leading the charge to have him beheaded.


Black men are categorically the most oppressed human subset inhibiting the earth. Our civil rights & liberties are constantly being attacked, impeded, infringed & eroded. And not just by The Man, but also by the harsh judgment we are constantly subject to from our very own people.

I mean don’t get me wrong. I enjoy enthusiastically shouting violent, misogynistic rap lyrics, and objectifying women just as much, and some might even say more than the next guy... (Hell, I just finished threatening this broad for taking too long when I sent her ass out for Mickey D's... I like my Mcnuggets hot, and my sweet-tea cold. Apparantly she thought it was the other way around.) But there are some things that I, as a black man, just cannot do because they are viewed as “suspect.”

For example, why can’t I don my smedium custom fit Ralph Lauren Polo’s without facing ridicule? So what if you can see my heart beat through my shirt...

I much prefer a chilled glass of Pinot Grigio to a shot of once-distilled Ciroc; and a gentlemen’s match of tennis, to the potential of risking life & limb on some dilapidated basketball court covered in broken beer bottles and blades of grass growing through cracks in the uneven cement; as I argue a bad call with some two-bit, middle-aged, has-been who still introduces himself by his high school nickname, as he desperately attempts to recapture the fleeting glory of his Junior-Varsity yesteryear.

And don’t try to tell me that you don’t prefer the British pronunciations of the words SCHEDULE, (pronounced SHED-ULE) & STATUS, (pronounced STAY-US), because I know you do. Everybody does!

But sadly I’m relegated to the ever restricted role of “Black Male”. Thus when asked, I am obligated to feign enthusiasm over Big K.R.I.T.’s new album… And when watching a game with the fellas, I must inconspicuously sip my Pinot out of a Pilsner mug, as opposed to being free to allow it to properly breathe, thus maximizing the full-potential of it's flavor & aroma, as it would have, had I been free to pour it into a traditional long-stemmed goblet… As for the smedium Polo’s, well they’re non-negotiable.

2. MULTILEVEL MARKETING Companies

If your business card reads; Amway/Quixtar/YTB Travel/Herbalife/ Primerica /Prepaid Legal, please do not ask me to attend your “business" meeting, for I simply am not interested. And kindly save that tired rhetoric about the value of “passive/residual income” and “Entrepreneurship”, as I understand these concepts quite effectively... What I don’t understand is what would possess you to think that I would have even the slightest interest in sitting through a 3-hour pep rally with you tonight at the Holiday Inn, and subsequently soliciting unsuspecting strangers tomorrow at the mall.

Just recently, I was approached by a Pyramid Schemer while shopping at the grocery store.

Pyramid Schemer: Hey there. I see you’re buying vegetables today.

Me: Look, I know I’m wearing thong sandals, but I don’t swing that way.

Pyramid Schemer: No. You must be mistaken. I just saw you buying vegetables and thought “Now there’s a man that would be interested in a business opportunity”.

Me: You were able to discern all of that from a box of creamed spinach?

He handed me his business card. It read YTB Travel, with a Mississippi PO Box address …

I suppose it to be a good thing that he’s a “travel agent” because that would probably help to circumvent the cost of having to find his way to Mississippi every time he needs to check his PO Box… Okay look, if you’re going to conduct illegitimate business, at least attempt to do so in a legitimate manner... I mean how pertinent are your "business" dealings if you have to travel 800 miles to Mississippi to retrieve your mail?  Do yourself a favor and scrape together the $60 required to purchase a PO Box in the DC metro area; because right now you look about as legitimate a businessperson as my barbershop’s resident hustler, Demetrius. "D-Money" (as he’s called) has Bootleg flicks, Vitamin Water economy-size 36-packs, Edible Arrangement bouquets, fish dinners… You name it and “Big D” (his other overly-obvious nickname) got it for sale in the back of the shop, next to the bathroom.

1. The All – white linen summer outfit

Let me preface this by saying that if we collectively turn on our television sets and see President Obama pictured in an all-white linen short-set, grilling up steaks on the Whitehouse lawn; while Michelle pours a vat of Lawry’s Seasoned Salt on a cluster of crab legs, and Sasha & Malia get it in on a Slip & Slide, then all bets are off. At that point, do you.

But until then, black men over 40, because apparently you were not in receipt of the memo way back in 2008, allow me make this perfectly clear… That all-white linen outfit is DEAD!

And I’m not even suggesting you donate your garments to charity or anything extreme like that. Because quite frankly, you may still be able to garner adaquate usage from your alabaster-colored linen button-down, and your ivory-shaded linen pants. You just can’t wear them in conjunction with one another.

No mas! Not in Summer 2011! 

I mean I know it’s tempting and all, but I promise you that if you log on to Macys.com, what you’ll find are a myriad of less-antiquated options. Options that don’t so effectively give away your age.

I mean I know the Honorable Elijah Mohammed said a woman should be “half a man’s age + 6”, but you’re just over doing it… Whereas I’m 32 and generally awesome, you Sir are pushing 50, donning a dated all-white linen outfit, & a pair of Stacy Adams alligator wingtips (Not Awesome); so why the hell are we even at the same venue anyway? Oh, it must be our mutual adoration of fertile 25-year-old biddies.

Nonetheless, quite honestly, the All-White linen outfit is about the least effective means of achieving what it is you desire to accomplish.  Why? Because when said 25-year-old woman sees you in your dreadful All-White Linen outfit, it acts as a signal to warn her that despite your overly Duke Pomade-d head and Just-for-Men jet-black-dyed mustache/beard, underneath that pendulous linen short-sleeve button down shirt, lays a grossly distended belly. One that has been devastated by 2 to 3 decades of Heineken bottles identical to the one you're currently holding in your hand.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying you have to sit at home and wait for death. You most certainly do not. I’m simply suggesting that there are other activities that are more suited to a man of your “experience”.  Say for example, slipping back on the wedding band you so coyly tucked into your pocket when entering the door, exiting that same door, and returning home to your devoted wife & teenage children.

Okay, so that concludes today's lesson. What did we learn? Well hopefully we learned that if we too closely identify with the characteristics that I have addressed, instead of taking offense to my words, we should take a long look in the mirror so that in the future we may no longer be so susceptible to these pittfalls that constitute "The Black Conundrum".

                                           "And contrary to popular opinion, I'm the head nigga in charge!"

Ridding my Twitter timeline of lies, exxageration, braggadociousness & general tomfoolery.

Please help me in my crusade to save Twitter, for its awesomeness is quickly deteriorating… It’s hard to imagine that just 3 short months ago I felt so overwhelmingly positive about my then Twitter experience that I actually dedicated my inaugural blog post to addressing its superiority to Snoozebook. But lately it seems that Twitter’s once hallowed grounds has increasingly become a breeding ground for gratuitous lies, gross exaggeration, lowbrow braggadocios-ness and general tomfoolery.

Take last night for example; the slaying of Osama Bin laden was a great victory for the US intelligence community. Seemingly the entire Twittersphere took to their phones, PCs, and tablets to discuss the breaking news. Suddenly, without license, everybody was a political pundit for the evening…

So whats the big deal? The big deal is that political commentary isn’t meant for everybody. Now I’m not claiming to know everything about current events, nor you anything at all, but I do know that if 75% of your day is spent online tweeting Phaedra from Real housewives of Atlanta to ask for her advice on what you should do about your husband’s cheating ways, this whole current events/political discourse arena is most likely not for you.  

I dunno, it’s just that over the past year the only news update I’d previously witnessed you administer was a link leading to the specific cities & dates of Beyoncé’s 2010 world tour.

I guess what I’m saying is that I know which topics of conversation are in my wheelhouse and which are not. Don't get me wrong, I am not above reproach. I too am oft-tempted to lend my 2 cents when conversational topics metriculate outside of my realm of expertise. Still, I somehow manage to practice enough self-discipline to abide by my predetermined guidelines of self-regulation. For example, if I’m at a cocktail party and a conversation about Nuclear Physics breaks out, I’m either going to:

A) Sit & listen and see if I can learn something, or B) Politely excuse myself from the conversation to refresh my drink.

Most likely “B”. Nonetheless, what I’m not going to do is start sophomorically interjecting with unsolicited & uninformed opinions. So the next time a highly relevant news story breaks, and the Twittersphere lights up with activity, ask yourself:  

“Self, do I typically get my breaking news from” A) Perez Hilton B) Wendy Williams or C) Steve Harvey

And if you’ve answered yes to any one of these questions, then just do us all a favor and keep quiet because I just honestly cannot comprehend the value of tweeting every word that comes out of Barack Obamas mouth verbatim.

Barack Obama: “Osama Bin Laden is dead.”

You immediately tweet

@IdiotgurlnDC: “Osama Bin Laden is dead” – Barack Obama

Really? I mean the news has only been all over the television & internet for the past hour & a half. During which time the entire country has been anxiously waiting for President Obama to finish reading Sasha and Malia a bedtime story, tuck them into bed, proceed to breaking Michelle off, effectively puttin that ass to sleep, come downstairs, grab the mic, commence to delivering his speech, effortlessly drop the mic on the floor ala Jay Z after his finale at a Madison Square Garden concert, fire up a Newport, pour a glass of Ciroc, and casually strut back to the Oval office as Jeezy's "My President Is Black" crescendos through the P.A. system, serving as background music for his triumphant exit; thus reassuring us that the world is safe, so we too may peaceably join the Obama females in a state of deep, blissful slumber.

Basically, im just suggesting that you stay in your lane.

Okay, now that I got that off my chest, there are just a few more Twitter issues I’d like to address. The first being Black people's affinity to tweeting about Shellfish

New rule I’d like for all of us to try out. Just for this summer. Like a probationary period or something. No tweeting about Shellfish. You can eat it till you regurgitate. Just please dont tweet about it. No Shrimp, no crabs, no lobster, no clams, no mussels. No nothing.

I don’t know what it is with black folk and shellfish. Perhaps we see consuming shellfish as the middle-rung on the ladder signifying our middle-class success; you know, right between landing a job that offers comprehensive health Insurance benefits, and successfully embarking on our annual weekend trip to Miami for the umpteenth year in a row.

Honestly, I really don’t know what it is. And don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a the sweet juices of a Maine lobster as much next as the next guy, but I honestly can’t understand why my timeline has to be innundated with tweets that read “bi-winning” accompanied by a photo attachment of greasy fried shrimp remnant every time you spend $3.99 at Long John Silver’s for a basket of Popcorn Shrimp?

Maybe I’m off. Maybe we have like some sort of genetic predisposition toward shellfish. I mean anything’s possible… I vividly recall one instance at a pot luck office party when a coworker generously provided our department with platter of shrimp cocktail.

One of my Bubba Gump-like, runaway slave coworkers was so overly excited about the prospect of an entire platter of cocktail shrimp that she actually spent the entire afternoon gluttonously devouring cold shrimp on her way to iodine poisoning. By 4pm she was doubled over in such excrutiating pain that an ambulance had to be dispatched to the office. But not before the Resident Office Bible Beater reached into her purse, whipped out a bottle of Anointing oil, laid hands on said shrimp-fiend, and made us all join hands, as she bellowed in tongues; desperately pleading for the 2nd coming of Jesus, the swift recovery of my coworker, and the endangered well-being of the unborn lovechild that was growing in my coworkers poisoned womb.

The integration of Yelp into Twitter is also something that is also causing me agitation. I honestly don’t understand. Once activated, can this “Yelp Check-in” feature not be disabled?  My whole timeline is polluted with your Yelp Check-in updates.

@Doin2muchinMD just checked into the Department of Motor Vehicles.

@Doin2muchinMD just checked in at the Post Office.

@Doin2muchinMD just checked into the Hospital because her silly ass poisoned herself & risked the life of her unborn lovechild by overindulging in a platter of grocery-store-bought cocktail shrimp.

Quite honestly, unless your stalker tendencies lead you to unexpectedly check-in with the security guard at the front gate of my Condominium Compound without having been extended an invitation, I honestly couldn’t give a crap where you are.

Oh, and one more thing as long as we’re on the topic of Yelp... Please do not send me a friend request on Yelp… We’re already friends on Facebook, Twitter, BBM, Foursquare, MySpace, Black Planet, Yahoo Messenger, Bump, Live Profile, Gchat and Gchat BUZZ.  So although we’re friends on 10 different social networking sites, the obvious reality that neither one of us bothers to exchange even the occasional “hello” on any one of these mediums speaks articulately to the fact that we don’t need to add Yelp as yet another networking site that we will almost certainly mutually agree not to interact on.

And the final Twitter violation I'm seeking to put the kibosh on happens a lot less frequently. It is far more prevalent in "real life", but recently I have noticed it beginning to seep into online discourse...   Women who pretend to have boyfriends…  Why are you always tweeting about all the fun stuff you and your phantom boyfriend are getting into? Meanwhile, No one but you has ever made acquaintance with the chap.

You even went so far as to create a bogus Twitter page for him. I know its bogus because he has 3,642 tweets & yet mysteriously:

A)   He only follows one person. That being you.

B)   He only has one follower, which coincidently also happens to be you.

C)  His profile picture is a photo of Morris Chestnut... No self-respecting heterosexual  man is going to have a photo of Morris Chestnut as his profile pic. So what are you trying to tell me, that you're dating Morris Chestnut?

I know that as a result of Edris Elba's meteoric rise, Morris Chestnut could quite possibly be living under a rock in DC, as he hasnt received a callback from his agent for a paying gig since like '02, but I still dont believe you're dating him... Look, the jig is up.

You know you don’t have a boyfriend... I know you don’t have a boyfriend... You know that I know that you don’t have a boyfriend... I know that you know that I know that you don’t have a boyfriend.... So lets just do ourselves a favor and put an end to this whole charade.

I even wasted 10 minutes of my life sorting through your Facebook albums... 15,000 photos of weddings, anniversaries, graduations and club pics of you and your girls provacatively executing booty poses in front of airbrushed backdrops of Cadillac sedans and Giant bottles of Hennessy, and not a single solitary strand of evidence suggesting the existence of your significant other.

No long form birth certificate.  No Social Security number. No annoying Yelp Check-ins. Not a trace.

Ladies, allow me to be crystal clear. I'm not going to sugarcoat this. If you have a man, but no one but you ever sees your man, then you don't really have a man. What you have is a jumpoff.

Okay so that about covers it. I mean it really doesn't. But the rest will have to wait. Next time we'll address how annoying people who constantly tweet about being "Too blessed to be stressed"  & "Blessed & highly favored" are.

But for today, let us use this as a jumping off point...  I believe that by abstaining  from online rhetoric such as the previously documented examples, we have an opportunity to bring Twitter back from the brink of destruction.

               "There should be a throne for us, but for now that's a whole different zone from us."