Wednesday, April 27, 2011


The night was glare, the moon was yellow, and the leaves came tumbling down. Quantum banter relinquished it's liberally greased floors to silence. Like the toes of the Wicked Witch of The East, retentively coiled upon losing their ruby red glass slippers, I am suggesting the appendages of the black blogsphere should relax it's pointed index fingers to a slightly paused position.

Here I go again. To make a point, I opened with a line from the song Stagalee . Well, let me hit you with a few more lines...

"I was standin' on the corner when I heard my bulldog bark; he was barkin' at the two mens who gamblin' in the dark. It was Stagolee and Billy, Two men who gamble' late, Stagolee throw seven, Billy swore that he throwed eight. Stagolee told Billy, "I can't let you go with that; You have won my money and my brand new Stetson hat." Stagolee went home, And got his forty-four. Stagolee found Billy, "Oh please don't take my life! I got three little children, And a very sick little wife" Stagolee shot Billy, Oh he shot that boy so fast"

Okay, now I’m thinking about some white folks and Democrats vs. Republicans. Therein lies the core of my discontent with people like Donald Trump and those of his ilk. Look, some folks have no shame and are constitutionally incapable of telling the truth. So no matter what you or I say, real change will never come from their mouth. My daughter has a couple of sayings that addresses that point... “ don’t make a liar lie” and “That’s yo lie, you tell it, I’m not cosigning that bullsh*t”

Both Stagolee and Billy knew who was wrong, but somebody didn’t budge.

And you know what, Langston Hughes spoke on The Ways of White Folks. I loved the brilliance of Langston Hughes. His artful way of showing people their evil ways - without yelling at them, or calling them enigmatic names - was a stroke of genius.

Hughes's stories were messages from that other America, sharply etched vignettes of its daily life, cruelly accurate portrayals of black people colliding -- sometimes humorously, more often tragically -- with whites".

So now I’m thinking about President Obama and this latest birth certificate fiasco. But wait, if you’re of the mindset that those who use “bad words” and/or vulgar language, only do so because they possess a limited vocabulary, I say miss me with that BULLSH*T, okay. And, if you’re offended by such language, as Dr. Seuss said,

Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Now, cuz I am about to let it all hang out!

Listen, as I’ve said many times, telling white folks what they’ve done wrong and shame shame shame on them does little or nothing to persuade them to stop their evil ways. So, since Obama is a black, and every black person knows how to say “motherfu*ker”... real good, I know he would like to say exactly what’s on his mind. Seriously, if you show me a black person that can’t cus when they have to, I’ll show you an Oreo or a black man that lived in a cave on the south side of the moon. So, although all that political “correctness” and purple prose we (and the president) find ourselves engaged in - is the championed voice, I can’t help but believe our president would like to sometimes, some GOTDAMN time, tell a mfer what’s really on his mind. Check this out.

Donald Trump: Mr. President, since you’re a black man and we’ve never had a black president, would you show us your birth certificate. We know your mother was white so we have a few questions.

The President: Look here you fu*kin’ weasel, you can miss me with that bullshit and kiss the pink part of my assh*le. How dare you offend me and my mother in that fashion.

Trump: But Mr. President, the public has a right to know about all the affairs of your mother and rather or not you’re really an American.

The President: Is that right? Well, I hate to talk about yo momma , she was a good ol' ho, with a two dollar pumtang, and a rubber a$$hole. See man, you done pissed me off and set off the natural black man in me. Your mother was talking about wrappin’her thang around my neck and chin. I told her she should be blowing it out her a$$ and try to be my mutherfkin’ friend.

Trump: OH NO, not the angry black man?

The President: OH NO MFer, don’t start crying like a bitch now, you started this shit. Your eyes my shine and you teeth my grin, but I’m tired of you diggin’ in my ass one mo again... you and all your friends. Hug me, love me, or leave me the fu*k alone, because I’m the HNIC up in this motherfu*ker.

Well my friends, that’s what the president would like to say and do. Yeah, he’d like to pull out his Johnson and slap some folks with it. See, as I said, some people are never going to change regardless of what we say or what names we call them. So we might as well lead with a left hook and an uppercut while they keep on jabbing. Yeah, fuck’em and the confederate horses they rode in on. Hey, my daddy told me you have to bring some to get some or get out of the fight. Bullies love punks. I don't like punks and I've never been one, and I am not afraid of controversy. I gotta speak what's on my mind.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

I Need A Priest. Who's Really Listening?

Last night I was watching Kat Williams. Yeah, that Kat Williams. Some people believe he's a funny guy, I do too. Last night, he said something that wasn't funny, it was real. Okay, hold that thought. Stay with me.

There's an accounting phrase that speaks to the price that's attached to a large inventory of goods. That phrase is "first in, first out" (FiFo). For accounting purposes, if an inventory of goods are bought on different days and at different prices, the first item sold is given the price of the first item brought into the inventory. That's important. "Carey, why is that important?". Well, in simple terms, if the total inventory consisted of 100 items, and the first 98 were purchased for $1.00, and the last 2 for $10.00, there's a potential for fraud. "Fraud?....... fraud who?". Well, some slippery businessmen will conveniently forget the purchase price of the first 98 items, and thus, hide profits by claiming or implying that the price of the last 2 items is the price they paid for the entire stock. Do you get it? Check this: 100 items @ $10.00.....Total $1000.00 - Okay?

 Now, 98 items @ $1.00 = $98.00, plus 2 items @ $10.00 = $20.00, grand total...... $118.00! Ut oh, somethings fishy. Yeah, something is rotten in the old accounting books. "we ain't made no money sir. See here, dis my receipts, dis what I paid for dem der socks". Yep, an Harvard grad turned Step-n-Fetch-it.

Now, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, Kat Williams. Okay, hold that thought.

Is there a difference between an opinion and a fact? Sure there is... that's a fact. An opinion is a belief not based on certainty or knowledge. A fact is a thing that has actually happened or is true. Now tell me, why do some individuals get upset when their opinion is questioned? I mean, facts don't lie, and yet, opinions are based on what seems true or probable. Therefore, is it wrong to question a person's opinion if that person stated it as a fact? Oh lawd, do I hear the tap-tap-tap of haters? Do I hear the klump-klump-klump of naysayers? Do I smell the breathe of those that frequently see the glass as half empty? Well, if your jaws are tight - right now-I might be talking about you.

Remember Kat Williams? Okay, hold that thought.

But wait, in this post, have I stated any opinions? Nope, I don't think so ......check it out. Have I excluded myself from any of the aforementioned character flaws? Nope, I don't think so...... check it out. Is a confession an opinion? Well, that's a tough one. I mean, if a person is confessing their wrongdoings, why do other individuals see it as pointing fingers at them? That does happen sometimes - doesn't it? I've noticed that sometimes, when someone speaks of the errors, some individuals see it as self-righteousness. It's been my observation that some individuals get offended by facts that might hit home. I think it's safe to say that happens- okay. Okay, in this post, have I stated any opinions? Nope, I don't think so...... check it out, you tell me.

Oh, do you remember Kat Williams? Well, last night he said something that struck a cord with me. He was talking about R. Kelly. The core of his conversation was his opinion that R. Kelly was a genius. See, I can't dispute that. I mean, R. Kelly has skills that some would consider are of a genius nature. His personal life aside, the man has talent. Kat Williams continued talking about other individuals that he respected. He didn't focus on the negative aspects of their lives, only the areas in which he believed were tantamount to their success. He voiced his belief on the passion and preparation needed to achieve a specific goal. Also, he spoke of those who say "do you" and "get outside the box", yet those same people are okay with a person doing their thing, only if it conforms to their ideology. For many years, Kat Williams made less than $10,000. After viewing that video of Kat Williams, I understand why he is now a millionaire. He didn't eulogize negativity.

FiFo (First In- First Out)? Well, I wanted to start with Kat Williams, and at the same time,  I didn't want you to forget about him. I mean, while watching football games, I've noticed that some referees only see the retaliatory punch- the last punch.

Anyway, I need a Priest. I believe he'd be listening. Sometimes I wonder who's really listening or what they are listening for. I have come to believe that people find what they are looking for, and sometimes, in all the wrong places. I wonder if some individual hate or don't understand something that they can't find in themselves. Is that an opinion? Nope, it's a question. 

Monday, April 18, 2011

Grandchildren! Who Needs Them?

Well, maybe I should say I do, I need to remember the good ol'days. I also need to be reminded that life is not always about me.

I took a little vacation from blogging. I didn't go anywhere but my grandson came to visit me. Oh, but wait, before I tell you how that went, I have to tell you how it started.

See, he's only six and he had never been on a plane. His school was on some kind of break and his mother had to work. So his mother and I decided to put him on a plane by himself. OH LORD! His other grandparents had a fit. They said we were nuts and crazy and everything in between. We had to endure a multitude of stories about child predators and the slave trade. I don't know, but I think they called Children & Family Services to get our rights revoked.

In my daughters last conversation with her mother-in-law, she heard the big "SLAM CLICK" and the silence. Her mother-in-law couldn't stand the pain, she hung up, and didn't say goodbye.

Okay, for those that don't know it, an unaccompanied child is escorted to the plane's gate (not the curb outside of the airport) by their parent. The child is escorted to their seat and chaperoned on the flight. Papers are signed on both ends of the flight that designates who can retrieve the child. When the child departs the plane(on the other end), they are passed only to the waiting adult who's name is on hand carried documents. Those same documents are also in the computor.

I feel safer putting them on a plane than taking them to the mall.

Anyway, he made it here and now he's back home, so here's the rest of the story.

My grandson is a southern boy, which means no snow. Boy, do I remember the fun I've had playing in snow. Not only as a kid, but with my wife and our children. One winter I broke my wrist while sled riding. I was laying down on the sled and my wife and daughter were on my back. We were riding down a hill called DOUBLE DUTCH! It was steep and fast. I think the added weight increased our speed. Well, we overshot the slow-down area and headed straight for a parked car. My wife and daughter, who were fraught with fear, refused to roll off...    BAM!!! ...  car dent, wrist broke.

This past week,  my grandson and I hit the town. In one of our many journeys we went tubing. That's a form of sledding without sleds. See, large round inner tubes, like those from semi-truck tires, are the weapons of choice. Yep, long steep hills and inner tubes. And, we go at night.

When you go up north you gotta make a snow man!

Wow, I look pretty good in that picture. It appears as if I lost a few pounds and a few years. Okay, that's not my grandson but it is me. The little boy is actually my son and that picture was taken 20 years ago. But, look at the size of that snowman. I'll call that snowman pre-2011. Well, over the years I've gained a few pounds and I've lost a few muscles, so these days I have to rethink the size of the snowman that I get involved with. Check it out. Snowman 2010! We found an open field in our neighborhood and went to work.

That sled riding ain't free. Nope, it's akin to taking a family to see a 3D movie. Plus, it gets pretty cold outside. So after I shot my bankroll, we decided to have a little indoor fun. There's no better place to take children than the warm free confines of McDonalds. Come on now, grandchildren don't know it's free, and filled with grimy little germs. Well, free says it's for me and it does stinks in those tunnels, but they don't care.

And hey, who said you have to go to a club to find a hot chick.

Now, what real black man has never been to a black barber shop? I stop by my barbershop even when I am not getting a haircut. But see, my daughter is in the haircare business, so my grandson doesn't get the full blast of a group of men sitting around telling a bunch of lies. He has managed to learn a few cuss words (don't point your finger at me) but I think every black child needs to know how to cuss in case they ever need to sound tuff. So, it was off to the barbershop. But on this day the language was very clean. Check out the older fella. Well, that's my uncle, he's not the barber. Other people know him as Pastor Johnson. He was there to get his hair cut, so no cussing on that day, but big black men telling big white lies were a constant.

We had to visit his great-grandmother. I told him that if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't be having so much fun. He didn't get it, but later I told him about the birds and the bees.

Oh, my grandson is one of those middleclass suburban black kids. Well, his mother keeps him sort of sheltered. So, like any good grandfather, I took him to the hood for a little cultural diversity. Look at the kid in the bottom right corner. My grandson is in the back, on the left, on the floor. WEST SIDE BABY!

Oh, remember the picture of the little girl that my grandson met in the tunnel of love? Well, she was with her grandmother. Come to find out, the grandmother had never made a snowman or rode on a sled. Now, I can't imagine a person going through life without ever making a snowman. So I solved that problem. Last week, she kicked off her 4 inch hills and put on her long underwear. She never completed her snowman but she had a blast. I don't think she really wanted to build a snowman. I think she was trying to catch a man.

Children & grandchildren, what would we do without them?

Would you put your young son or daughter on a plane by themselves?

Do you have any snow stories?


Who hasn't heard the tragic story of Othello and his trusted - not to be trusted - ensign Lago. Because of its varied and current themes of racism, love, jealousy, betrayal, and deceit, I am using it to open my post. In that play all the antagonist died and many messages were left behind.  But, if you have not read the play or seen the movie, turn your head because I am going to speak on the scandalous dog named Lago (for a second). Iago is upset with Othello for promoting a younger man (Cassio)  above him, and tells Roderigo,  a rich and dissolute gentleman, that he plans to use Othello for his own advantage. Iago's argument against Cassio is that he is a scholarly tactician with no real battle experience from which he can draw strategy; in contrast, Iago has practical battle skills. Okay, that's all well and good, the man was lobbying for a position, but he takes his plan to the dark side. He bends the ear of Othello and convinces him that his loving, adoring and faithful wife, who treats Othello like a god, is slipping and sliding - creepin' - with another man. Damn!  I even hate thinking about what happened next, however, Othello strangles his wife to death.

Now, although my post has similar subtle themes of  deceit, love and death,  the following is where I am at today.

In my community we have a barn theater and I am thinking about auditioning for a play "A Lesson Before Dying".  The play is based on a novel by Ernest Gaines. One of the main characters is a formally educated African American teacher (Grant) who often feels helpless and alienated from his own country. In the story, Grant is the only educated black man in the area and the only member of the black community who might be considered capable of becoming free of overt oppression.

The title of this novel is imperative in understanding one of the major themes. The entire book focuses on Grant’s attempts to teach Jefferson a lesson. In order for Grant to be able to show Jefferson how to ‘become a man,’ he must himself understand the meaning.

While preparing for the play, my thoughts drifted from the character Grant, to my own lessons before dying, which took me back to a post I wrote 1 year ago. It follows:

Death! What is it good for?

Today I am laying out my black suit. My favorite uncle passed away,  he was 81 yrs old. I've been asked by my family to say a few words. I've been here before.

I gave the eulogy at my father-in-law's funeral. He died 9 months ago. My favorite aunt passed away 3 months ago. I spoke at her husbands funeral 20 yrs ago. He, my uncle Wallace, took me on my first hunting trip and bought the suit I wore to my father's funeral. I spoke at my aunts funeral.  Gosh, so many memories, so many messages,

Now it's time to say goodbye to my Uncle Scooner. He was a wise man and a very good man. I've been searching for the right words to say. I will be standing in front of my family and friends. I want to say what's right,  NOT merely "say" it right.

Death can be a learning process for the living. I've had a few personal experiences that required me to look deep into it's meaning and the lessons left behind.

My wife passed away from cancer. From her diagnosis to the end, our time spent together was probably  one of the better parts of our lives. When the end is inevitable, life takes on a different meaning. False images of success lose their luster and the true meaning of love blossoms.

Two weeks before her passing the doctor told me there was nothing else they could do. He suggested I take her home from the hospital. My wife was in great spirits. On the surface no one couldn't tell she was dying but the end was near. I left the hospital to prepare a place for her in our home. A special bed was needed along with several machines that needed monitoring day and night. I felt overwhelmed. When I arrived back at the hospital, my wife greeted me with a smile. She was strapped in a gurney waiting for me to take her home. We had traveled many roads together and now I felt lost and alone. I didn't know how I was going to do all the things necessary to keep her comfortable. When she greeted me, I didn't want to show my fear but my face couldn't hide it. My wife asked what was wrong? I told her I didn't think I could do this. She looked at me and gave me another smile. She said we will do the best we can. When I heard the word we, I knew she was worried about me. We would travel the road together, just like we've done in the past. She was prepared for her next journey.

Over the last few days our communication was reduced to small movements of her toes. She could hear me but she couldn't speak or move most of her body. I slept underneath her bed with a string tied to me so I could feel her subtle movements. She had faith in her god. She didn't fear death. It would be years before I found that same faith.

My father passed away under similar circumstances.

All my family is in town today. My uncle was a good man. I hope I can find the right message.