What Little Boys Are Made of

I said I wouldn’t do any more posts like this. I said that I would keep the GOP’s name out of my mouth and off my blog. In the state the party is in now, it's just not worth mentioning. To criticize them has become all too easy. But then sometimes you see something so utterly foolish, so completely inane, that you have to say something.

It seems next week the RNC will meet in an emergency session, and during that emergency session a resolution to rebrand the Democratic Party the Democrat Socialist Party is on the agenda.

Come on now, WTF? Is that the best the GOP can come up with? I’m disappointed. Hell, I’m just plain pissed!

Let me reiterate my position. Democracy works best when rational beings, regardless of ideology and party affiliation, come to the table with rational ideas and then work to come to a consensus through compromise. But the GOP is not holding up their end of the bargain. It’s been quite a while since they have come up with any idea worth a damn. And now it becomes abundantly clear that they don’t have jackshit. The best they can do is to resort to some old playground shit. It appears the party is populated with a bunch of spoiled little boys. Even Michael Steele in his infinite wisdom has all but said this ain’t going to work; it’s just going to backfire in their faces.

Let me take time to explain the ramifications of an irrelevant opposition party. Extremism in any form is undesirable. We just lived through eight years of extremist driven government with Bush. But to swing too far left is equally unacceptable. But the absence of rational thought from the right is all but taking the GOP out of the game. Far leftward we go!

I would like to think we could expect more from our elected leaders and officials. I would think someone with courage and halfway good sense would stand up and put an end to the foolishness. It's time for someone to show us just what the GOP is really made of. But it appears ignorance and conceit are the things these little boys are made of.

NOTE: It also came to my attention that Sarah Palin is writing a book that is to be published by Rupert Murdock. Or, better still, Sarah Palin is “collaborating” (wink, wink) on a book. Even further, that book is expected to bring Palin a huge payday. That she still remains a relevant and viable figure in certain circles is further evidence of the dearth of rational thought on the right.

Protecting and Serving California Style

Damn! Did you just see that? The police in El Monte, California, are just straight gangsta’. After a high speed chase in a stolen vehicle and a brief foot chase, the suspect lay prone on the ground, spread eagle, and gave himself up. A policeman then runs up and just kicks this guy upside the head like he's trying to split the uprights from about sixty yards out. And then the policeman and one of his boys high five each other.

I would estimate that perhaps the vast majority of policeman are out there doing their jobs to the best of their ability; daily they put their life on the line. And that vast majority has my greatest respect and admiration for the job they do. Lord knows I couldn’t do it. Rarely do cameras catch them doing their job. But it’s the small minority who always seem to get caught on camera in the middle of foolishness like this that give all police a bad name.

I’m not quite sure what will happen to this rogue cop; no further news has been released; however, I hope part of his punishment is for him to lay defenseless on the ground and let some crazed mf kick him in the side of his head.

Where is Stacy Dash?

Every now and then, I look up from my labors in the vineyard, and a member of the tribe is missing. So, I have to send a search team out to bring them home. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work. Now people are sending me requests to find people like I’m some kind of negro private eye.

Anyway, evidently someone out there is seeking out Stacy Dash. Remember her? She made a career out of playing teenagers even after she was well past thirty. But if you can get away with it, who am I to hate? Now even at 42 years of age, she still looks absolutely marvelous.

Well, the first thing I found out about her is that her name is actually spelled Stacey, though it’s often misspelled Stacy (oops!). Did you know she first appeared on Sesame Street? And according to her bio over at IMDb, former Rocafella mogul Damon Dash is her cousin, and she is listed as an assistant producer at Rocafella Records. Who knew?

However, I must confess. The last time I even remember her on the big screen was the movie Clueless. It appears though she has very busy with appearances on television shows and doing voiceover work as well as a number of movies I don’t recall ever hearing anything about. Her most recent TV role was on the CW Network show The Game and is embedded below. She has completed production on the movie Phantom Punch, directed by Robert Townsend and starring Ving Rhames, and has starred in three other movies which are either in the pre- or post-production stage.

But fellas get this. I knew she was on the cover of King Magazine, but apparently as part of her bid for a comeback, she also appeared in a 2006 issue of Playboy Magazine. Take a peek if you’re grown and sexy.

It’s good to see Stacy still at work. However, as absolutely beautiful as she is, I’m afraid she will probably never be anything more than a B-list actress. But that’s okay. We’ll love her just the same.

Peace, Love and the Klan

Dollar Bill, the Ebony Lothario, dropped another one off in my box. On this clip, ex Klan Imperial Wizard now evangelist and civil rights activist Johnny Lee Clary discusses the affect minister and NAACP leader Wade Watts had on him and his decision to leave the Klan.

Perhaps it’s just me, but I am highly suspicious of such conversions. I do believe in redemption, and I do believe one can change. And certainly, I don't want to question God's ministers. But when you call me a nigger one day and hug me the next, I begin to get a bit uneasy.

I would like to believe Clary is a different person, but once a bigot… Well, you know the rest. Perhaps, it's just the accent that has me worried. What do you think?

Fish Fried in an Old Wash Pot

A good friend asked me how I came up with topics to write about each day. I thought about it for a second. Then I realized where most of my material came from—other bloggers. Daily I am inspired by the thoughts and musings of my fellow laborers in the blogosphere. Daily I am asked to question my own opinions and look at things from a variety of viewpoints.

One such moment of inspiration came just recently. I ventured over to The Soul Poet’s Journal just to poke around a bit. I instantly felt right at home. Who could not love a lady who “like[s] [their] fish fried in a wash pot, outdoors, over a fire between two cinder blocks.”? That’s exactly how I like my fish!

But anyway, the resident poet, one Ms. Lesli Corbin, took me back, way back. She took me back to a time when I truly loved poetry. I loved hearing and feeling the rhythms and cadences of the language of my community. I loved hearing the verbal acrobatics of self-taught street poets, as well as the vivid prosaic pictures of those old country preachers.

When I heard my uncle, the late Reverend Harold Gentry of Memphis, Tennessee, give a reading of Etheridge Knight’s “The Idea of Ancestry” and “Hard Rock Returns to Prison from the Hospital for the Criminally Insane” when he was a student at then Memphis State University, I knew exactly what I was going to study in college. His reading was so penetrating that for years following, everyone simply referred to him as “Hard Rock.”

But after eight years, college all but stole my love for poetry and literature. It is one thing to love something, but when that object of your desire becomes your job, the joy somehow is wanes. But slowly and surely, that joy is returning. And Ms. Corbin’s place reminds me of just what I have been missing all this time.

So, Ms. Corbin, this is my offering for you, Etheridge Knight’s “Idea of Ancestry.”

1

Taped to the wall of my cell are 47 pictures: 47 black

faces: my father, mother, grandmothers (1 dead), grand-

fathers (both dead), brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts,

cousins (1st and 2nd), nieces, and nephews. They stare

across the space at me sprawling on my bunk. I know

their dark eyes, they know mine. I know their style,

they know mine. I am all of them, they are all of me;

they are farmers, I am a thief, I am me, they are thee.

I have at one time or another been in love with my mother,

1 grandmother, 2 sisters, 2 aunts (1 went to the asylum),

and 5 cousins. I am now in love with a 7-yr-old niece

(she sends me letters in large block print, and

her picture is the only one that smiles at me).

I have the same name as 1 grandfather, 3 cousins, 3 nephews,

and 1 uncle. The uncle disappeared when he was 15, just took

off and caught a freight (they say). He's discussed each year

when the family has a reunion, he causes uneasiness in

the clan, he is an empty space. My father's mother, who is 93

and who keeps the Family Bible with everbody's birth dates

(and death dates) in it, always mentions him. There is no

place in her Bible for "whereabouts unknown."

2

Each fall the graves of my grandfathers call me, the brown

hills and red gullies of mississippi send out their electric

messages, galvanizing my genes. Last yr/like a salmon quitting

the cold ocean-leaping and bucking up his birth stream/I

hitchhiked my way from LA with 16 caps in my pocket and a

monkey on my back. And I almost kicked it with the kinfolks.

I walked barefooted in my grandmother's backyard/I smelled

the old land and the woods/I sipped cornwhiskey from fruit jars

with the men/I flirted with the women/I had a ball till the caps

ran out and my habit came down. That night I looked at my

grandmother and split/my guts were screaming for junk/but

I was almost contented/I had almost caught up with me.

(The next day in Memphis I cracked a croaker's crib for a fix.)

This yr there is a gray stone wall damming my stream, and when

the falling leaves stir my genes, I pace my cell or flop on my bunk

and stare at 47 black faces across the space. I am all of them,

they are all of me, I am me, they are thee, and I have no children

to float in the space between.

Something for Our Daughters to Aspire to

Now that the furor has died down over Rhiana and Cassie’s butt-naked, spread eagle internet pix, I would like to posit a more appropriate role model for our young men and women.

As I was driving home from Tallahassee, Florida, this past Saturday, I happened to catch a National Public Radio (NPR) segment on this incredibly gifted sister, Jade Simmons. I was so impressed by the broadcast that I decided to take a closer look at Ms. Simmons once I got home.

Ms. Simmons was the 1999 Miss America first runner-up, but before you write her off as just another airheaded beauty queen, I know that stereotype is a hard one to get past, just check the resume.

After the pageant, the Charleston, South Carolina, native threw herself wholeheartedly into both local and national causes focused on increasing the quality of life for the young people of our community. Among other efforts, she founded the national school program Where Do You Stand?! which presents a series of interactive presentations on topics ranging from culture to the political climate.

Ms. Simmons began taking piano lessons at age 8, and she used this training to launch a career as a classical pianist. During 2008 and 2009, she has toured extensively in support of her debut CD, Revolutionary Rhythm (also, see sidebar), which is remarkable in that she marries the classical music form to hip-hop. She even designed the clothing she wore on stage during the tour.

From her resume, Ms. Simmons appears to be a solid woman of character. Her style, talent, intelligence, beauty, and grace are attributes I would certainly want my daughters to aspire to. Take a closer look at Ms. Simmons and see if you agree. I think she deserves our support.

Obama and the White House Correspondence Dinner

The White House Correspondents' Dinner was held this weekend. According to published reports, President Obama was a hit. President Obama appears as though he has a healthy sense of humor. Is he writing his own stuff or does someone write it for him? Some quarters did take him to task because he did not wear a bowtie. You know they had to find something.

He got in a shot at Fox Network, though it was not as strong a shot as I would have hoped. It was funny though. I wish the camera had panned over so we could get a look at their faces. Also, he took a shot at Michael Steele who was in attendance, but I don’t know if Michael Steele had the sense to even know he was being clowned. He was probably just glad to get the attention. What a shame.

Most of the opprobrium, however, was aimed at Wanda Sykes. But I don't see what the uproar is. It was a little heavyhanded but it's Wanda Sykes; what do you expect? What did they think they would get? The right sure can sling shit, but they certainly get seriously offended when the shit is hurled back in their direction.