Giving Lupus a Face

Dedicated to a friend in pain, with hope, because of love…

This is Taylor. She’s a cute, smart, adventuresome and adorable 7-year-old. She loves arts & crafts, basketball, gymnastics and cheerleading, singing songs that don’t make sense and her mother. Taylor’s mother loves her about as much a mother can love a child and has spared no expense or energy in showing her how much so, though energy is at a premium at time for, because she has lupus. Lupus is a chronic autoimmune disease that damages various parts of the body, especially the skin, joints, blood and kidneys with symptoms that last from days to weeks to years.

It’s estimated that nearly two million Americans are living with lupus and dealing with a disease that creates autoantibodies that destroy healthy tissue, causing inflammation, pain, damage and generally making life unbearable at times. It’s these moments over the ten years that I’ve known Taylor’s mom that I’ve felt a fraction of her pain, but recognized her strength as she’s pushed through it all and carried Taylor to term amongst flares, excruciating pain and remissions. Every day is a test in managing the recurring symptoms, taking a handful of meds, suffering from chronic migraines, neuropathy and pleurisy, yet wearing a smile for her little girl.

Read the rest at The Fresh Xpress

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The Hump Day Song of the Week: Destiny's Child "Emotions"

Cry me a river, that leads to your ocean...

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I'm Disappointed in America: Whoopi Goldberg's Poise Ads

I really don’t care much for Whoopi Goldberg. Never have. Never will. I’m not sure what it is exactly, but after she put that root on Mister, I was done. I didn’t watch the “Comic Relief” series on HBO, hated Jumpin’ Jack Flash and was completely disgusted by her relationship with Ted Danson. I’ve had my moments over the years though, she was excellent in Ghost and she is the voice of the people on “The View”.

However, when she interrupted the NBA Playoffs clad as the Statue of Liberty talking about light bladder leaks, I damn near lost Easter dinner. I understand that it’s a problem older people deal with and all, but did I need to see Whoopi Goldberg talking about wearing diapers? Hell no! That was TMI, but if Jamie Lee Curtis is doing commercials for regularity, I guess Whoopi can talk about wetting herself. I know she can’t need the money, maybe it’s an issue that’s personal to her and she wants more women to face it. But I don’t want to see it, I still cringe when I hear her say that “Mister” would climb on top of her and do his “business”.

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It's Cool, I Got It (I Love it When She Says)

After reading my “Inevitable Truths: Lady Liberty” by my baby sister, I started wondering just when is it cool for a woman to pay for a date. Just as she learned at the feet of a very special group of women, some of you picked up bad habits from vultures. There are a few of you with what you say are old school beliefs that a man should always pick up the tab, when the reality is that times have changed and we’re on equal footing, so you can dig in your pocket a time or two. I can hear all of you independent women screaming “I can pay for my own damn food!”, I see you boo boo, but the moment you have a guy willing to pick up the check and tip…

Be clear, I’m talking about partnerships here, showing a man that you’re in it just as much as he is and lightening the load a little. You guys have a strange way of weighing a brother down at times. Like those Saturday morning texts that say “Let’s hang out today” and he suggests catching a matinee and getting Rita’s afterwards, but you’re so busy that you can’t kick it until later. In manspeak he was saying that he just paid all of his bills and has $92.62 to last until payday, but that was lost in translation, because getting your eyebrows done was more important than saving this brother a few dollars. So now he spends $60 on dinner and a movie and can’t work for two days because he can’t put gas in his car until his direct deposit goes through. God forbid a brother use a coupon on a date...

Maybe I’m exaggerating, but somewhere during the courtship you have to show a willingness to kick in on the festivities, give a brother a break. There’s nothing better than when a man knows things are gonna be tight after he pays for dinner, the show or whatever and the woman stops his motion and says, “It’s cool, I got it”. It’s one of those moments when you realize that she can be introduced to your boys, because she’s a keeper.

I know far too many women out there trying to get free meals and drinks or see Trey Songz for on the house, not realizing that a brother may be risking his rent money to show you a good time and they are completely oblivious to his plight. Then they wonder why their dating experiences were so short-lived. It might be because you didn’t appeal to the part of him that needed to know that you had his back, because men need to know that you will hold us down when we have reached the point when keeping our heads above water has us feeling like James Evans Sr.

Not to say there aren’t women who commit themselves financially to their dating, but far too many of you leave a brother over extending himself, living without lights just so you can see Jill Scott and eat well. What I’m asking you to do is add a little balance to your dating, let your debit card work on one or two outings; it may go a long way. So, if you’re willing to contribute to our outings and don’t look at me like Captain Save’em, you may be the one to wear my last name.

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The Inevitable Truths: Lady Liberty by Tranaé P.F.B.

I think it was a short time after the night of great conversation, laughs, and finding out we both had a love for The Wood, but somewhere right before the casual cuddling on the metro, accompanied by the quick goodnight kiss on the cheek before the doors closed at Chinatown-Gallery Place. No. It had to be after the bar, where he ordered me a Corona with grenadine, yet sometime after the dinner at the barbecue spot in Georgetown. Or maybe it was right before we left the Fro-yo place, and he held my to-go bag of barbecue chicken quesadillas while we walked down the street. Okay. Right. It was definitely right before then. Definitely. The check. The check we both reached for.

Yep. I’m THAT girl.

Don’t blame me though. Since I can remember, I was the observant little girl raised by a myriad of aunties and the beautiful black women at our hair salon. A common scenario of me patiently waiting to get into Yvette’s chair after my mom, listening to grown folk conversation about everything from men to mammograms has been imprinted into my being. Even back then, in the midst of dreaming about how dope my pressed ponytails were going to look in school the next day, I was being schooled, almost subconsciously, on womanhood and what that even meant.

Over the years in that salon, I got a crash course on men and relationships from some of the most strong and independent women you could meet. Yet, they all came in different forms. They were married, single, divorced, looking, creeping, reaching, happy, in love, in lust, pissed off, abused, abusive, attracted, appreciative, ride or die, and every other thing you could possibly be in a relationship. They were also doctors, salespersons, teachers, lawyers, writers, and artists. Older, younger, mothers, grandmothers, great-grandmothers. I’ve heard their experiences firsthand, listening to their stories as if they were from the mouths of griots.

What I took away from them was that I needed to be a strong and independent woman too. That I should never depend on a man, let alone, anyone for anything. I didn’t want to be categorized as weak and I definitely didn’t want a man to confuse me for someone who couldn’t make it happen on her own. I wanted to let him know that I had it together, and that while he’s cool and everything, I got this.

So I reached for the check on our first date.

Some guys wouldn’t understand why this is even being discussed. What man doesn’t want a girl who doesn’t mind footing the bill sometimes? And he’d be right. It’s cool to be able to do things for each other. Anybody who has some sense knows that any relationship is a two-way street and compromise is just as important as communication. This wasn’t about me reaching. It wasn’t about reaching at all. Even in the midst of having a great time getting to know this guy, I was still subconsciously vying for control.  

He finally asked why I was so adamant about paying. I told him I was just trying to relieve him of any obligation to carry my weight. I thought it would translate to him as I’m not someone who needs to be taken care of, not realizing to him, it might have translated as “I don’t need you or any man. Matter of fact, I’m probably a lesbian.”

However, he told me he doesn’t want his dates to pay.  He took me out, and I should just enjoy it, and let him do that.

He was THAT guy.

I said I understood. And I did. Throughout the times we kicked it, he showed himself to be a stand-up kind of guy, and my commitment to put up an iron-clad front began to soften (at least a little bit) after a while. I began to realize that I had only focused on what the women in my live had taught me about standing on my own and protecting myself and my heart. So much so that I thought I had to be a statue on an island, clutching my tablet of independence for dear life. And while strength and independence are extremely important to who I am today and are great qualities for anyone, it can’t be everything. I also realized that over the years, I never quite interpreted for myself how to need someone, let alone build a real relationship with someone who is willing to be there for me. And one of the lessons I learned through this was, every once in a while, you have to let go and let a man be a man.

That’s the oldest and most simple concept in Dating 101, yet it took me nearly 23 years and a check for dinner to really feel and understand it.

What can I say? I’m learning.

About the Writer
Tranaé is a freelance writer residing in Washington, D.C. and connoisseur of all things fresh! She also happens to be my little sister, which in itself makes her fresh! Check out her dope moves via Twitter @naesonFBaby

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The Chicken Finger Days

I look back to when I first started dating seriously; back when I would go to the ATM, take out $60 and have a great night. That $60 was easily distributed, $10 to fill the gas tank, $14 for the movie, $8 for snack and the remaining $28 was for dinner. Ahh…the chicken finger days! Those were the days when no matter where you took your date, she ordered chicken fingers with honey mustard. What a difference a dozen years make, you’re not filling your gas tank for less than $40 and the movies is $12 per ticket, but some of you are still dating women who order chicken fingers or at least acting like it.

Once you’ve crossed 30, dating changes. Actually, it evolves. As a man, in your early 20’s you were hoping to make a return trip to the ATM for $40 (think about it), in those next few years, you thought you had someone that you could spend a few years with, see where it went and go from there. Once you headed towards the end of your third decade, you were making babies, thinking about marriage and hoping to keep the night from exceeding $200.

That’s what happened when you started defeating tax brackets, your date nights ascended to events, women aren’t accepting AMC & Applebees on a Saturday night anymore. Now it’s dinner, some live entertainment and drinks, leaving you $150 in the hole hoping her kid is sleep when you get back. The focus on the end of the night never changes, but the morning after thought has, now you’re looking for someone to have breakfast with for the rest of your days.

The fact that you’re thinking maybe she is matrimony trying to save you is causing you to step your game up, increasing the pressure to make the time you spend with a woman more precious, just a little more memorable. Back then you could substitute any ol’ young lady and just about every night would look the same, dinner, movie and those chicken fingers. The conversation has changed, been extended, holds more substance, at least it should.

Ladies, if he’s telling you that he could make you dress better; you are a candidate to be sending on one side of the bed telling him that you’ve got sorry greeting you at your front door.

Here’s where the gap is between men and women, we don’t have anything to talk about and ladies have too much to say, so finding that happy medium is essential. Let me back up, we do have things to talk about, but not what you’re really trying to hear over the course of a night out.  Just as we’re not trying to hear all you have to say that night either…but we listen.

The necessary stuff in building relationships doesn’t happen on dates, but between them, the conversations, the interactions, the gestures that show you care, you’re thinking about the person, that you have an active interest in their life away from you. That’s a fundamental difference from when you first began dating, when the only thing that married was those three to five hours that you spent in each other’s presence, now you should be spending time growing together into a relationship, not independently trying to find your way to one. Then again what do I know, I wouldn’t give a second date to anyone who ordered chicken fingers on the first date…

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It Is What It Is...by A Brown Girl

Since I've been out of the dating scene for nearly 10 years, my opinion on dating is strictly from observation... and thankfully so. I certainly commend the diligent 'daters' for continuing to keep their hope of finding love alive, because based on what I see, the pool is the frighteningly shallow.

Aside from the resources being extremely limited, the competition is fierce. We constantly hear popular radio personalities recite 'hoes be winning,' and while its entertaining and comical, there's a sad truth to it. The nice girls are finishing last.

We live in a society where sex tapes and stripper poles make you desirable a la Kim Kardashian and Amber Rose. The brothers expect model chick looks with video vixen, down for whatever attitudes; and while some sisters fit the profile, the rest are left on the shelf because they aren't willing to sacrifice their self worth for any man, much less a date.

Since there are so many women willing to do whatever, with and for whomever, that's the expectation for all women. As adults, our choices, and mistakes are our own to make. The problem, however, is when you decide that you want different results from the same scenarios. When you think that the same brother who 'smashes random chicks,' is willing or is going to change for YOU. You think he just hasn't met the right girl yet or that your bending over backwards and accepting disrespect means that you're down for him. What I've learned, is that people, namely men, don't change overnight. If he is an ass today, he was an ass yesterday.

And our poor brothers are confused because you're sending mixed signals. You firmly plant your feet, hands on hips, chanting you're not a hoe. Yet, your 'dates' with said brother only take place inside of multiple motel rooms and your communication only consists of late night sexts and brief phone calls, planning your next rendezvous. Now, I'm not calling you a hoe, I'm merely pointing out that your actions have all the symptoms and the makings of one. So please excuse that brother for mistaking you for what you claim not to be, when you do what it is that they do.

What I want to know is when will you think it's time to raise your standards? When will you stop accepting mediocrity and realize that the hand you're dealt is the hand you continue to accept and play? Until you finally accept that your behavior plays a major part in how you're treated by others, the bar will remain to be low and the cycle will continue. I say all this to say, changing your pattern may change your dating life. #imjustsaying

About A Brown Girl
I don't have the mind of the typical woman. Life has taught me to see things from all sides. You were thinking it, I just have the balls to say it. Take a journey to The Recesses of My Mind and follow me on Twitter (@cocomecocoa).

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The Thrill of Victory...and then...the Agony by Black Diamond

I remember growing up as a little girl and dreaming of all the wonderful things that I would accomplish with my life once I got “grown” and “out on my own.” Of course, all of the primary basics were in place in my dreams: graduating from high school, going to college, and getting a job.  I pretty much did not have a problem achieving all of my primary dreams and (patting myself on the back) I accelerated and overachieved in all three areas. Thus, the exciting life pheromones of Victory were constantly being released all around me. Achievement tends to make ones head big….and my head, at times, has been as big as Charlie Browns.

But then, “LIFE” begins to happen…..yea, you know…”Life.” When you look around and you are constantly being invited to engagement parties, weddings, baby showers, and housewarmings for friends who you have met along your life journey in high school, college, and at your jobs who seem to have met “the last good guy on the face of the planet.”  “Life,” when you go from sitting in the pew watching wedding ceremonies take place, to actually walking down the aisle as a bridesmaid. Or…or...sitting at a baby shower and hearing a grandiose announcement that you are going to be a godmother.  Or even, helping your best girl in the kitchen at her housewarming while her husband grills it up in their new backyard.

Yea, “Life”….you look up and it’s started to happen all around you.  And then….you….pause.  And you realize that at some point in your life journey you came to a fork in the road and you didn’t necessarily go in the wrong direction…you just decided to go in a different direction. Your mind begins to play tricks on you and thoughts of being alone and lonely (Oh, the Agony!)  begin to creep in your head. You begin to wonder if you will ever find “that guy,” or if you already did find him but in your immaturity let him slip away. You begin to wonder if you will end up in your Golden Years…still seeking for your Knight. No? You haven’t had these thoughts? Oh. Ok. It’s just me? (Ok, Sis, it’s cool.) 

Well, albeit late in the “Life” game, I find it exciting and thrilling to be actively dating from month to month. “Dating” is the operative word because in my search for achievement of my secondary dreams of companionship, emotional bonding, and intimate relations I’ve come across some of THEE most colorful characters. I’m certain my King is out there…may take him a minute to find me (clearly, lol), but he will. 

Black Diamond is a poet, social worker, and friend hailing from The Mighty Midwest, follow her on @DiamondSutra17

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Why Don't You Date? by Jillian Robinson

 Why don't you date?

A question I am constantly asked....and to be honest...I've asked myself the same question at least 100 times. I've never had a concrete answer. Until now.

Today....I received a text message from the latest victim...and it read: I miss you.

Now...one would think that any single girl would be glad to get a message that said such....especially from someone you have been spending time with....but nope...not me.

I was aggravated.

My first thought wasn't aww or how sweet....it was....I don't have time for this....followed by I should just put him out of his misery....because I can't do this.

So that's exactly what I did.

I kept it short and to the point.

I told him how I felt...

I told him that he was a great person....

AND

I told him (again) that I wasn't ready to date anyone.

I was honest.

He wasn't impressed.

(This is how the story always goes)

I meet someone.

I tell them I'm not interested in dating.

They seem to feel that for some reason...they are or could be the exception.

We talk...go out...etc.

It turns into too much to quick... (there's no way you love me after two weeks) then I call it quits.

I hit them with the it's not you it's me...they ignore me (it's cool..whatever) ...or stalk me.... (I'm heartbroken)...and the saga continues

Maybe I'm the black widow of dating....but I don't think so.

I just enjoy peace in my life....and not being obligated to something or someone unnecessarily equals peace to me...right now

I value all of the relationships I have.

I would be happy to one day find myself in a nurturing partnership...but that won't happen if I am not whole...myself.

I don't expect for anyone to complete me...and I don't expect to complete anyone else.

Don't get me wrong....I find it unfortunate that I come across as rude...or insensitive...but being selfish is my current reality...and I won't apologize for that.

My time and energy have to be used wisely....there's me...my children...an then all of the learning relationships and connections I have...or will have...and none of the above require me to "date" anyone.

So...back to the question..

Why don't I date?

Because I don't want to.

Right now....dating seems like a game....and I'm not interested in playing....

So until further notice....

I am on a "dating" strike.

 

About Jillian Robinson
The 20-something mother is a photographer, music lover, part-time writer and in the closet painter. She bares her soul through her art over at http://undressingmysoul.wordpress.com/. Follow her on Twitter @aJILLionreasons

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For the Hearing Impaired

I don’t know about you, but when I’m out to dinner with my lady, I’m really out for a nice quiet meal. Sure, there’s conversation between she and I, but we’re really there to enjoy some time away from the house and good food. The last thing I’m anticipating is having a soundtrack to my meal, by a couple of your cousins clear across the dining room, over the tables that separate us. It’s one thing to be loud, it’s another to be loud and inappropriate, but you know your family knows no boundaries.

I understand that some folks naturally have loud speaking voices, but those of you with inner ear problems, really need to learn how to use your inside voices. I really don’t want to hear about your child support troubles when I’m trying to eat a caesar salad, and I damn sure don’t want to hear the two of you discuss anything sexual. It is really not that type of party at Red Lobster(s).

But there you are, eating with your head down, rapidly, trying to remove yourself from the situation as soon as possible, because these people are embarrassing you. Why are you embarrassed? The White folks in the dining room are looking at all of the other Black folks like they expect them to break out in a cacophony of ill-timed discourse, something that confirms exactly what they’ve been thinking about you the entire time.

My question is, do you not know when you’re loud or do you not give a damn? At what point does the comfort of those around you not matter? Are we that selfish or disconnected from the experience of other patrons to be so inconsiderate that you may ruin a first date, an anniversary, Sweet 16 or some other significant moment in someone’s life for your loud, immaterial conversation? I tell you the next time someone soundbombs my dinner, I’m going to polite toss a biscuit and tell them to shut the @#$% up!

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You Never Told Me You Were Waiting, Contemplating

All alone, by the phone, waiting for you to call…on a busy weekend

Carl Thomas never lied!

This is that type of weekend; a lot of folks are off today and extending the weekend, doing the family thing or enjoying some sunshine. Many others are taking these next few days to go out on a date (or two), while a few are jumping each time they hear a sound that resembles their ringtone, because they are waiting to hear from that special someone.

You know that person they went out with and had an amazing time but have yet to call them back. Isn’t that the pits? The two of you seemingly have a great time, they seem like they’re into you and you agree to see one another when your schedules permit…but your phone hasn’t rung, your Facebook page hasn’t been blowing up either. So what exactly is up?

It’s just the dating game, the ebb and flow of emotions that make up trying to get to know someone and actually establish a foundation for a relationship. Today is “Date Night” at The World According to Teef, so I’ve invited a few friends to share with dating looks like from their perspectives and I may drop a line or two as well.

Enjoy and as always, please read responsibly…

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Fighting Words...

Note* It's funny that I wrote this prior to Tyler Perry's press release in which he told Spike Lee to "go straight to hell" and he's a Christian? It seems that not only his acolytes believe that he's beyond criticism, but the 300 million dollar man is drinking his own kool-aid. I guess if people laugh and it makes money, it's good enough in his book, regardless of how poor the quality of the movie. But your church is taking a bus load to see it on Good Friday...

Take me to see Madea’s Big Happy Family…

I told yall last year (read: "The Line") that’s the defining moment in many relationships and here we are facing another crossroads, do I or do I not take her to see this “Madea” bullshit! The answer is simple, hell to the naw! However, I know many of you are going to fall prey to your lady, the woman you want to be your lady or homegirl you’re trying to GTD. I pity you fools, show a little spine and tell her that you don’t want to see that crap. It is not like this is going to be the defining moment in your relationship, she is not going to kick you to curb if you don’t want to see a Tyler Perry movie and if she does…you don’t need her anyway, she probably can’t read too well.

I make light of Tyler Perry’s films all of the time, partly because they’re horrible and the other part is because of what they’ve come to stand for. His hack jobs have become the standard of contemporary Black film, cashing out on opening weekend and placing him in a position of being beyond reproach, right behind Jesus, and Barack Obama, slightly ahead of Martin Luther the king. You and you, your mama and your cousins too, swear by these films, ignoring every stereotype you point out in other films, completely disregarding how shoddy the texture of the films and the static in the script, but I’m the hater.

I’ll wear that, I’ll gladly be a hater of poorly produced farces of film, I’ll be a hater of what I consider to be new millennium blaxplotation, I’ll be a hater of his onscreen flirtation with lightskinned men and flimsy definition of spiritual relationships. I guess raising my standards has made me a hater…nah, it’s made me Teef. Don’t waste your time telling me how you feel.

Check out previous Tyler Perry criticisms…

If I Don't Like It, I Don't Like It, That Doesn't Mean that I'm Hating

Drum Major Hustle

Lions for Lambs

The Grudge

The Grudge 2

The Line

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Noel Gourdin: The Definition of a Fresh Sound

Every so often, an artist reminds us of the purity of rhythm and blues, the honesty that emanates from the soul and spreads itself out over a long playing disc. Nearly three years after the release of his debut album, After My Time, Noel Gourdin is back with the release of Fresh: The Definition. This album is an extension of the music many of us, including Gourdin, grew up on and by definition alone that separates this album from much of what’s trendy in R&B today.

Read the rest at Eurweb.com

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Ain't Now, But It's Gonna Be...Black Enough for Me

Occasionally I like to respond to the comments I receive via e-mail. For some reason, these folks would rather address me personally than place a comment on the website, I really don’t understand why. An interesting comment I came across recently was in reference to my penchant for capitalizing the word “black” in regards to a race of people. This reader got her English teacher on and decided to correct my usage of “black” in describing race. I hope she didn’t expect me to reply to her e-mail…privately.

African-American, Negro, Colored, Afro-American are all given the proper respect as titles for a race of people in texts, receiving capital letters, but why not Black? How can the term most commonly used to describe these people be overlooked? Does it have something to do with our people’s resistance to identify ourselves as “Black” for some long, back when your grandparents preferred to be called “Negro” or “Colored”, when other, less cordial words weren’t being opted for.

During the height of Jesse Jackson’s popularity and influence, the term “Afro-American” gained recognition, giving way to “African-American” and all of a sudden we had a politically correct term, sanitizing Black people. That moment may have also signaled an end in the struggle for progress, because it caused many to believe our spot at the table had been solidified.

I’m not sure if people understand the pride in calling yourself Black, the history attached to the term becoming the accepted usage for this lost-found people. After “nigger”, “boy”, “girl”, “wench” and the others gave way to “Colored” and “Negro”, the mid-sixties brought a revolution of pride in defining yourself as Black and it continued on through the seventies right on up to the Reagan Era, when many of us lost our minds, our way and our culture.

We got strung out on materialism, crack and rap, saw Cliff & Claire and figured we’d made it to that Promised Land Martin Luther King Jr. got a peek of and took what we were given. Activism died and African-Americans were born; a generation of people disconnected from the horror, grief, and the beautiful struggle that led to the minute before they chose to ignore everything that came before them.

I'm Black and beautiful, Black and proud. I’m Black like James Brown and Stokley Carmichael. Black as the man Elijah Muhammad wrote his message to, Black like that month before March and those millions that marched! Black like Fred Williams up in Harlem or those gloves in Mexico City. I’m Black like Huey, Bobby and Chairman Fred. Black like Jesus…Earl the Pearl and the carpenter.

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The Hump Day Song of the Week: Melba Moore "Black Enough (Ain't Now, but It's Gonna Be")

Courtesy of Amazon

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Chris Rock on Broadway? That's The Motherf**ker with the Hat!

There are some places I always thought I’d never see Chris Rock; I’ve always figured I wouldn’t bump into him at Quick Chek getting money from the free ATM or Foot Locker buying Adidas. I also never considered that I would watch him on Broadway either, at least not acting, I figured maybe his stand-up comedy would get a run. I’m pretty sure many others thought the same thing (not about Quick Chek or Footlocker), but about heading to a Broadway play and seeing Chris Rock’s name on the marquee. Good thing director Anna Shapiro and playwright Stephen Adley Gugis didn’t think so, because The Motherf**ker with the Hat was the perfect vehicle for Chris Rock to make his debut on The Great White Way.

Alongside Bobby Cannavale (Will & Grace), Elizabeth Rodriguez, Annabella Sciorra, and Yul Vazquez, Rock holds his own in Gugis’ tale of addiction, recovery, betrayal, and love. Cannavale stars as “Jackie”, a recovering addict and ex-con who suspects his girlfriend “Veronica” (Rodriguez), who’s still using of cheating on him once he spots a hat that doesn’t belong on a table in their apartment. That’s the initial cut into the fabric that unravels to reveal the complexities and philosophies. From that moment, Jackie struggles with his sobriety and rage, while Veronica goes deeper into her addiction. Jackie’s AA sponsor “Ralph D.” (Rock) and wife “Victoria” (Sciorra) have numerous years of sobriety, but are watching their marriage come apart at the seams. Vazquez steals the show as “Julio”, Jackie’s seemingly homosexual cousin.

The provocativeness does not end at the title; I lost count of the “F-bombs” dropped during the opening scene and the rest of the script is littered with language meant to shock, amuse, define, but most importantly authenticate a story based upon harsh realities and crushed dreams.

While Chris Rock is the name that gets people in the door, Cannavale’s star turn is an exploration of redemption and desperation, as we watch Jackie agonize over Veronica’s alleged indiscretion. Overall The Motherf**ker with the Hat is a study of character; Shapiro’s vision of Rugis’ script delves into the worldview and philosophies of each of the players, culminating with Ralph D.’s warped cynicism.

But this is about Chris Rock isn’t it? Not exactly. He’s the star power, but he’s green on the stage, but the material is somewhat of a comfort zone for him. As he gets deeper into the run, the impeccable timing he exhibits in his stand-up will translate on stage and the crowds will settle into seeing him in a different setting. Just make sure you’re in one of those seats, tickets are going fast and the engagement is only fifteen weeks.

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When the Rainbow Ain't Enuf...

You know the story by now, 25-year-old mother of four drives van into a river, killing three of her children, plus herself. Her eldest son escaped and now must live with the horror of this ordeal and the pain of losing his mother and three siblings, but the guilt of not being able to save them either. As a mother you felt for the children, as a woman you couldn’t understand what drives such an action, as an African-American, you just knew she was White.

99.9 percent of these types of child murder-suicide stories in the news seem to be committed by White women; at least that’s how it feels. However, when the facts started rolling in on this case, it started to take on a different feel. When you heard she was 25 and had four kids you got that funny feeling in your stomach, then when her name was released and you found out her oldest had a variation of her name, your throat got a little dry.

Now the story reads: 25-year-old Lashanda Armstrong kills herself and three of her four children by driving into a river, only 10-year-old Lashaun survives. So now you need to know that happened, what drove that sister to do such a thing, how could she do that to her babies, because that’s some white people shit.

My Blackness won’t allow me to believe this woman killed herself and her children. Especially after her landlord told investigators and reporters that he changed the locks to her place twice in the last six months or that a relative reported a domestic violence incident that may have involved her boyfriend. You add those factors in and if you’re Blackness is anything like mine, you’ve concluded that she was being chased and lost control of her vehicle and died trying to protect herself and her children.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. It may take days to sort out what happened. We may never find out what happened, but what is for sure, is there’s a mother and three of her children gone, leaving one to go on through life bearing the scars of this one day. I guess the rainbow wasn’t enough; she needed something real, something that she couldn’t find here, someone sing a Black girl’s song…

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The Hump Day Song of the Week: Al Green "Let's Stay Together"

Happy Birthday Al Green!

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Who Killed Little Boy?

When I was coming up, I would finish my homework as quickly as possible to join my friends, who seemingly never had homework (thanks Gifted & Talented program) outside to play football, basketball, ride our bikes or just run the streets. We would hurry home to preserve as much daylight as possible, harassing the girls in the neighborhood, just having fun, being kids. Sure, we had Nintendo and Sega game consoles, but those were reserved for rainy days or after the street lights came on, we’d rather be outside making the ice cream man stop for no reason.

I took a ride through the hood yesterday and saw nothing reminiscent of my childhood. There were no kids walking home with overstuffed bookbags, no football games, no little girls playing double dutch, and no boys chasing girls or girls chasing boys. I saw the hustlas, the gangbangers, the Black girls lost that chase them both and a few nine to fivers in search of Happy Hour, but the mighty sounds of joy that once filled the afternoon air were noticeably absent. When our neighborhoods permanently became hoods, all of that afterschool fun transitioned into the house, parked in front of the television watching “106^th & Park”, playing video games, Facebooking or just up under their mothers and company hearing the latest gossip and picking up on bad habits.

Read the rest at ThyBlackMan.com

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A Winter Love is Cozy, But I Need So Much More

Today is the day that many of you have been looking forward to since the days became a dirty gray back in November, an 80 degree day! Before you lose your minds, take a look at the rest of the week and realize that it’s new-monia weather (Old folks say it, so it sounds right), so dress accordingly. Being that spring may have officially arrived, I figured the time has come to unleash this year’s version of the Spring Rules, so without further ado…

• Wake up 15 minutes earlier, you’re gonna need that extra time to moisturize your situation. Over the past five months, you’ve jumped out of the shower into your clothes and lotioned your face and hands, now there’s a lot more skin to take care of.
• Get some new shoes! I have plenty of DSW and Famous Footwear coupons to help get your toe game situated. Take $75 out of your next three checks and get you some new sandals and other spring footwear.
• But get your toes done first...
• And shave your legs...
• And your underarms...
• And get your eyebrows done.
• Fellas, I know you’ve been doing crunches and all that, but getting out of those Buster Browns won’t hurt you too.
• While you're at it, let this be the year you cut those cornrows!
• Everyone, please keep that fleshy patch of skin between your thumb and index finger touched up. I don’t want to see any of you doing the quick lick to catch that ash.
• While the wind has died down, that does not mean tuck your Chap Stick and lip gloss away, the Pookie lip is not a good look in the sun!
• Hey Ladies! I know some of you have been on that Jennifer Hudson trying to get your beach body ready for the summer, but you still have 12 pounds to go…keep it covered!
• Get up, get out and do something! However, conserve your days; you wasted one on Biggie Day (March 9^th).
• Fellas, back off the dark liquor, you know you don’t have bail money!
• Read something. Seriously, pick up a book or two that feeds your soul, just make sure it isn’t written by Steve Harvey, Snooki, Tyrese or some nigga you met at bar!
• Let go and let God…someone used you to stay warm through the winter and now they’ve moved on. Please don’t be the stage 3 clinger that tries to turn what yall had into a relationship. It’s a new dawn, a new day; don’t answer that “What’s good for the night?” text…

Once again, these are the sho-nuff rules to a happy spring, make them law, make yourself happy. After the winter we endured, hopefully the snow and cold is far behind us, but you must follow these rules others to make a seamless transition to summer.

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In Search of...Shabba Ranks

Back when I would at least listen to a reggae song, Shabba Ranks was the king of the dancehall. I really couldn’t understand a word he was saying until he got to the chorus, but it didn’t matter. It also didn’t matter that he was among the most unattractive brothers you would ever see, because it seemed like every station you tuned you radio to or every time you turned to BET in ’91, ’92, there was Shabba! Yeah, back during my middle school years, when you would Bogle to damn near every song, because damn near every song seemingly had Shabba!

Just as hot as he was, he disappeared just as fast. It seemed like record companies and artists alike decided it was time to capitalize, because Mad Cobra, Mad Lion, Supercat and a slew of others soon replaced Shabba! They came and went, and then Elephant Man, Beenie Man, Buju Banton, Bounty Killer and others had their run before Sean Paul got hot. I never really understood the fascination with Sean Paul, by then the music was commercialized and he seemed to fit the bill. That’s another story for another time, this is about Shabba! I know someone has seen him recently, somebody get him the word that I got one last Butterfly in me…

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I'm Disappointed in America: The Judds

First, I’m extremely pleased that the OWN network absolutely sucks right now! The fact that Oprah is giving her friends shows and doing Reality TV as opposed to giving fresh faces and fresh ideas a chance is not lost on me when I look at the horrible programming and dismal ratings. However, pulling Wynonna and Naomi Judd out of the mainstream graveyard is definitely not the move and if the week heading into the premiere of their show is any indication, they are willing to go to extremes to reclaim their relevancy in pop culture.

So I’m disappointed in all of the Judds: Wynonna, Naomi, Ashley, even Judd Nelson! In full promotion mode, the Judds³ dropped bombshells about sexual abuse, parental neglect, the ups and downs of stardom and more to drump up interest in their show. Ashley released an autobiography and pitted herself against her mom, sister and hip-hop. Wait, hip-hop? Yup, in her book she calls Hip-Hop a “rape culture” and the soundtrack to misogyny. Talk about your momma and sister all you want, but keep Hip-Hop out your mouth. She even got into a little Twitter beef with ?estlove of the Roots. A pretty good week of hype leading up to a show that will probably be weak, but Oprah’s loving it all…and laughing all the way to the bank!

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The Secret's Out

It’s that time of the year again, I’m participating the 2011 AIDS Walk New York on Sunday May 15^th in Central Park. I’m urging you to get involved through participation, advocacy, or donating your time and/or money to the event and research. For 30 years AIDS has ravaged our community and destroyed many of our households, yet we still act irresponsibly in taking the precautions necessary to slow its destruction in community and families.

Blacks or African Americans account for over half of the new HIV diagnosis and just below half of AIDS diagnosis. While many choose to live in ignorance that HIV/AIDS is a homosexual disease or drug users, Black or African-American high-risk sexual contact transmission triples the rate of its next highest group, Latino/Hispanics. Those numbers are disturbing, but while we’re so quick to express ourselves sexually, the conversation about consequences seems to be kept quiet.

Well, the secret is out, we are dying by the tens of thousands at the hands of an opponent that can be fought through the spreading of information, advocacy and self-responsibility. I am asking you to speak out against HIV/AIDS by joining the World According to Teef on May 15^th in Central Park, NYC. If you can’t walk, donate a few dollars to research and treatment. If you’re unable to donate, help spread the word about the event and my team. Forward this post, share it on your Facebook wall, tweet it, just do something!

Here’s some information regarding AIDS Walk New York:

AIDS Walk New York, the world’s largest AIDS fundraising event, benefits Gay Men’s Health Crisis (GMHC) and over 30 other tri-state area AIDS service organizations.  GMHC is the nation’s oldest and most comprehensive AIDS service organization, serving approximately 15,000 people living with HIV and AIDS and their families each year, and countless more through its prevention and advocacy work locally and nationally.

To join the team or donate, Click Here

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I'm a Grown Ass Man: The Evolution of Friday Night

Remember when Friday night meant something? Back when your countdown began Monday morning and leaving work Friday afternoon unleashed an entire weekend of mischievous plans you couldn’t wait to tell someone the following Monday? The sound of the gun on Friday afternoon sent you off to the races, cramming as much as you could possibly think of into two days. Movies, mall, club, date, all of that, because you were living for the weekend. That was in your younger days when you used to sport a smile. Now, you’re just hoping that work doesn’t follow you home on Friday and interrupt plans of crashing on the couch with your remote control and a “House” or “SVU” marathon. The end of the week now signifies the pregnant pause in a hectic life, a much needed break from the hustle and bustle of everyday life…a reprieve from the bullshit!


Friday has not only changed for the career man (and woman), but it’s changed for the party people as well. If you ask me, Thursday really sets the weekend off now and how many of you go to Happy Hour on Wednesday? Or know of a $2 or Tini Tuesday? The entire landscape of the social scene has evolved, leaving Friday wondering what happened. Shoot, I’ve been to a concert, grocery shopping, dinner, had three meetings, a stomach bug and a basketball game this week, by Friday morning, I was hoping to sleep ‘til Sunday!

I know there are tons of people that still get it in on Friday night, but these are the same people you can find out on Tuesday too, they just love the scene (or being seen). Even the ol’ dinner and a movie Friday night date has been adjusted. Many of us have gotten tired of competing with your cousins to hear the dialogue of the film, so now we’re catching the early show on Saturday morning or taking half-days to see movies we really want to see. The restaurants are packed, you have to wait 20 minutes to get a drink at the bar and you’re more likely to run into the chick that left the house with enough money to buy one drink for herself.

How many of you rush home from to take a nap when you have plans on Friday night? That’s exactly what my lady and I did before dinner and dancing last weekend, because we have reached the age when hanging out all night isn’t feasible without a power nap. Many of you know what I’m talking about, those of you who don’t…wait until you reach 30! Well, I gotta go, the couch is calling me, I’ll leave Friday nights to Johnny Kemp and those of you trying to hold on to your youth.

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The Hump Day Song of the Week: Fonda Rae "Over Like a Fat Rat"

Push on back from the desk and get your groove on!

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